Farblondzhet

I’ve been in a black hole of a mood all day which makes me reluctant to blog because I’m afraid people will run screaming to the back arrow button. Which is one of the issues I’m struggling with in my therapy—the misguided notion that if I show my true self I will be judged and ultimately shunned. Equally destructive is the idea that I have no “right” to certain feelings. How dare I be depressed when I have so much to be thankful for? How dare I panic about money when I am so blessed compared to most people on this planet? How dare I feel sad when there are people who are so worse off than I am?

My family has its fair share of depression and mental illness. Actually, I think we have a soupçon more than our fair share! My dad’s mom was institutionalized when he was a young boy and she remained so until her death when I was about 19. For reasons that we all agree were not well thought out, my brother, sister, and I never met my paternal grandmother while she was alive and only saw her in her casket which, unlike traditional Jewish practice, was left open at her funeral. It was quite a shock to see this woman who looked so much like my dad lying in that coffin, especially since until then I had assumed that she died long before my birth. From the stories I’ve heard from my father and his brothers, my grandmother Jeannette Miller was a very loving woman who had a difficult time coping after her husband abandoned her and an even harder time raising her three boys with no money, often no home, and a quickly receding grasp on her sanity. Perhaps today with the proper treatment she could have led a normal life, but back then I fear she became the neighborhood crazy lady and was ultimately taken away for good. My father and my Uncle Willie visited her in the hospital every Sunday for the rest of her life, but we had no clue. Maybe they thought that it would be too traumatizing for us to see what condition she was in and that they could shield us from any knowledge of mental illness.

As if. We had it coursing through our veins on all sides. I better not start listing all the members of my family who had/have tenuous holds on reality. Let’s just say if I had a team of shrinks doing a mental health census report for all my close relatives we could probably start ordering Prozac in bulk from Costco.

Don’t get me wrong—short of barking like a dog under the dining room table or exhibiting behaviors that require a restraining order, I am all for a nice dusting of craziness among my loved ones. Aren’t those folks far more creative and fun to be around than anyone who fits a diagnosis of “normal?” I’ve always been attracted to the eccentric, the slightly off-balanced, and the rapid mood cycling types. (Hi, Kendall! Aren’t you relieved I’m not still writing my wedding vows?)

Maybe I’m attracted to the Dark Side of people because for so many years my role in our family was to be the “sane one,” as laughable as that may now seem to those who know all my warts. The more extreme the behavior was around me, the more I adopted the pose of the analytical well-balanced pseudo-family therapist who had his head screwed on right. This was just a front to avoid dealing with my own mishegoss, of course. I remember when I finally started seeing a therapist in my late 20s and told my mother about it, her initial response was, “YOU don’t need a therapist!” “And THAT is exactly why I do,” I shot back. And my father’s oft-stated credo, “Your happiness is my happiness” can propel me back to my role as Mr. No-Cares-in-the-World no matter what’s going on in my life. It's not fair to my family members if I acknowledge any internal struggles, right? They need me to be emotion-free.

I’m doing my best to stop being in such denial about my constantly changing mental states. If only I could be more like Jessica Lange and accept this part of myself. Thank God Kendall and I are able to talk frankly about this stuff and not just pretend that everything is always fine as I spent so many years doing. Kendall has done incredible work getting a handle on her bipolar condition so she feels strongly about not ignoring symptoms of depression. I also want Leah to know that it is perfectly okay to feel and express various moods as she is experiencing them. Do you ever listen to what many parents say about their infants, calling them “good babies” if they lie there like eggplants and “bad” if they cry or express anything other than a lobotomized state?

I’ve always been a huge fan of movies about depression and mental illness. The more I played my part as the eternally happy family mediator, the more I gravitated towards cinematic depictions of the volcanic emotions I was feeling inside. The first film I remember seeing that fit this bill was “The Snake Pit,” a 1948 film starring Olivia de Havilland as Virginia Cunningham, a woman who finds herself admitted to the state insane asylum and can’t remember how she got there (a recurring dream of mine). The doctors are very kind (not the norm for this kind of flick) but when Olivia has a relapse she is tossed into the horrific Snake Pit, the area where all the out-of-control crazies frothing at the mouth are locked up. Considering the time when this was made, though, the film’s depiction of mental illness has great compassion and Olivia is stupendous.

Another landmark film about mental illness was 1957’s “The Three Faces of Eve” starring Joanne Woodward who gives a thrilling performance as a woman who has developed three distinct personalities in order to survive a pretty brutal past. Although it was based on a true story, the film itself was rather exploitative (and let’s face it, Joanne’s scary, volatile, on-the-edge Eve Black was far more interesting to watch than her scenes as the mousey Eve White) but the idea of having these different sides to oneself always stuck with me. To this day Kendall will comment when "Danny Black" rears his ugly head.

There are so many movies that touch on mental illness that they are far too numerous to name. Who can forget Sally Field’s career-changing performance as multiple personality disorder victim “Sybil,” or Jessica Lange’s tortured “Frances,” or Geraldine Page’s Ingmar Bergman-like angst in Woody Allen’s “Interiors,” or in more recent times Angelina Jolie’s troubled teen in “Girl, Interrupted," or Julianne Moore’s veiled psychosis in “The Hours?”

Are you wondering why all the films I’m mentioning have women as the main character? Please don’t add gender identity disorder to your diagnosis of this blogger, it’s not my fault! Think about it—every film involving women with mental problems includes scenes of hysteria and despair and sometimes even death. But all the movies I could think of that focus on men with mental disorders paint a much different picture. Remember Tom Hanks in “Forrest Gump?” Or Peter Sellers in “Being There?” Or Dustin Hoffman in “Rain Man” or even Billy Bob Thorton in “Sling Blade?” Okay, some of those guys were retarded or autistic and I don’t mean to confuse that with other forms of mental illness, but I think the message being promoted is clear: men with such problems will either be happy-go-lucky innocents or, at worst, go on an occasional killing spree, but hey, that’s just the way they are, they don’t really need professional help.

And I wonder why I still have a hard time accepting my feelings?

Comments

[Tamar]

Danny,
This is a posting that gives me courage to talk about some of my deepest issues. You are "rubbing off" on people not by your "neurosis" but by your ability to write so descriptively and WELL, and by sharing some difficult and uncomfortable issues in ways that are interesting, humorous and moving.

I can't get over the gender issue re: insanity. Women are hysterical and men have adventures. EVEN in a topic like this. Amazing!

I know that this posting could not have been easy for you.

Thank you.

[david]

Danny: What kind of role does ordinal position play in this? You're a middle child, right?

Is it my imagination, or do we, as Jews, have more trouble being comfortable in our skins than others? I had a great uncle who fell in love with a non-Jewish girl. Saw the writing on the wall and committed suicide. It goes on from there.

Great, great post. Lots to think about.
D

[Danny]

No, David, I'm the youngest in my family. But you're right, I believe that role of "the good one" is usually taken up by the middle child. And while I know, of course, that so many other cultures are rife with mental illness (doesn't Scandinavia have the highest suicide rate in the world? It can't just be the weather!), I do think that we Jews have certain mental disorders embedded into our DNA at this point. It's understandable considering our history over the past 5,000 years. Sometimes I'm surprised any Jew is able to have a relationship or open the front door when the doorbell rings. At least we eat well.

[Elaine Soloway]

Danny, now I know why I enjoy your blog so much: along with all the personal-family info, we get cultural touchstones. Your catalogue of mental illness films is terrific. I can still see the Snake Pit scene, but ain't you too young to remember that?

[Danny]

No, thanks to joys of revival houses and DVDs! But I almost feel like I was there in the flesh. Maybe Sue and I were Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine in our past lives. Oh wait, both of them are still alive...sorta.

[Danny]

Oh God, now I'm responding to my own comments! A new benchmark in Blog Narcissism? But my sister just yelled at me for my "mean" comment about Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine being "sorta" alive! In the event that Olivia and Joan are hunched over their computers devouring my every word, I'd like to personally apologize to them and tell them how much I've enjoyed their work over the years! I actually have a letter from Olivia de Havilland that I treasure from many years ago where she talked about what it was like to make "Gone With the Wind" and Kendall and I frequently quote Joan Fontaine's characters in "Rebecca" and "The Women." I guess the "sorta" was a cheap shot. I'd like to think I didn't mean it in an ageist kind of way but more a comment on how they've disappeared from the scene! Hey, I've even read both of their autobiographies! I wonder if they're still estranged. I read that they had a sisterly spat and haven't spoken in years. C'mon, ladies, if I can apologize, so can you!