I went to the Ryan Litch Sang Bipolar Foundation’s annual dinner dance in Palm Beach on Sunday night. I did not know a soul besides Joyce and Dusty Sang, Ryan’s parents, whom I met a couple of years ago when I wrote a story about the Sangs’ efforts to raise money for research into early onset bipolar disorder and to help find an empirical test for bipolar.

At age five, Ryan began exhibiting symptoms of Bipolar Disorder, a serious mental illness which manifests itself with recurring episodes of mania and depression. Unbeknownst to everyone, Ryan had decided to stop all prescription mood stabilization medications because he did not like their powerful side effects.

He believed he could control his illness, a decision all too common with Bipolar Disorder. When Ryan suddenly entered a manic episode, he had nothing to help stabilize his brain chemistry. He had not slept in days, and in order to sleep, he self-medicated. Tragically, Ryan passed away in his sleep. Ryan was 24-years-old.

It was a swank affair – black tie, champagne and lots of beautiful people  with eye popping bling. Ruh-roh. My idea of jewelry is the permanent henna tattoo that wraps around my left wrist. I felt a teeny bit intimidated with my fake diamond earings, my one and only snazzy dress and my rental car. Thank God for Crest Whitestrips. At least I could stand there and smile if I nothing else.

But, no, as soon as I was introduced by my gracious host, I felt fine. “Christine has just written about book about her depression, bipolar and alcoholism…” Wow. That kind of intro usually provokes stammering and raised eyebrows. But not here. Everyone at this party had been touched by bipolar – whether a child, sibling, parent or other loved one. We all shared this one, very private secret about which we rarely speak. We all “get it” – as I like to say.

The walls fell down and, man, did we talk. It was so amazing to hear others tell their stories – what worked for them and what didn’t, what they had tried and what they feared. All my social phobias faded. We were just one little slice of humanity touched by a horrible mental illness and dressed in exquisite clothes.

I speak at and attend a lot of mental health functions. Sometimes people are open about their experiences. Sometimes not. But when I am in a social setting and people open up and share their experience, hope and strength with each other, I feel so happy and empowered. I feel light. It’s all going to be okay. We’re all in this together.

Ironically, the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure was a day before the dinner dance. Thousands of runners gathered by our waterfront downtown and shared their experience, strength and hope about a horrible illness that touched their lives – breast cancer. I wonder if there will ever be a event like that for mental illness that draws thousands touched by our mental illnesses.

Mental illness is slowly coming out of the closet. We have our events. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention has its Out of the Darkness walks – no where near as big as the Race for the Cure, but we’re getting there. Next week our local chapter of Mental Health America will hold its annual Bell Society dinner in Palm Beach – okay, it’s not at Donald Trump’s casa, Mar-a-Lago, site of the really big galas, but at a cozy, classic hotel. Still, it’s getting people together in a social setting with the goal of  raising money to help the mentally ill.

And next month NARSAD will make its annual trek to West Palm Beach, bringing the world’s top researchers together with those whose lives have been touched by mental illness for a morning of discussion – FOR FREE! There will be a room full of hundreds of strangers talking openly and asking question about their loved one’s mental illness. No judgment, no stigma, no stereotypes.

We are all in this together.

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    Last reviewed: 10 Feb 2010