The day Carrie Fisher saved my life

As I've stated here before, I am Bipolar I & I have Season Affective Disorder. This time of year is always a challenge for me, as I tend to veer a little to the manic in early spring. "March Madness" is an accurate moniker. "Mad as a March hare" also applies here. So, it always a crap-shoot as to just how my mania will manifest each spring. Good times.

Anyway, I wasn't aware of this fact for what feels like a very long time indeed. I was married at the time, and was working in a job environment that was toxic to my spirit. I didn't know why I was so sad most of the time, especially since I had everything I "wanted" at the time.

One day I signed up to go along with another women in my office to a Working Women's fair at a local hotel. I neither knew nor cared what the fair involved, I was just glad to get out of the office for that day. Carrie Fisher was the keynote speaker.

Who doesn't love Carrie Fisher? Apparently, no chica my age, because the poor woman was mobbed by adoring throngs of young women praising her as a role-model for women's empowerment in the Star Wars trilogy. You could tell by her expression that she thought they were all insane. I liked her right away.

Being a literary sort I had read several of Ms. Fisher's books, starting with Postcards From the Edge. I had devoured her work, identifying with many of her zany characters. When it came my turn to have a little face time with her I mentioned how much I loved her writing. She cocked an eyebrow at me, "You look a little young to have read my books." (I was 22) "Oh, no, Ms. Fisher! I've read almost all of them, and I think they're great!" And that was that. Into the hotel meeting hall I went with my co-worker, eager to hear Carrie Fisher's witty monologue.

When Carrie stepped up to the podium I didn't know what I was expecting to hear about. Maybe some comedy (she's a very witty lady) or some dish about her notorious family tree. There were plenty of both of those things, sure. But what was amazing about her talk that day was how she opened up to the audience, with warmth, humor, and a few tears, about living with Bipolar disorder.

Midway through her talk I was nearly in tears. My coworker asked what was wrong with me. I answered her, "I think I have Bipolar disorder." It was like Ms. Fisher had held a mirror up to my face with her speech. I recognized the painful lows, and the maddening yet scintillating highs, the monomania, the excesses, the loss of control.

The next day I scheduled an appointment with my doctor to talk about my suspicions. Soon after that I was hospitalized (in March, natch) for Bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed Bipolar I, with Season Affective Disorder. I began a long string of chemical therapy to treat my symptoms. It took years, but my doctors finally found the right chemical cocktail to keep me at an even keel.

Carrie Fisher turned much of the monologue she shared with us at that conference into an autobiography titled Wishful Drinking. She has no idea how much of a difference her words made to me. I am horribly certain that, had I not received treatment for my disorder, I would not be here today.

I was thinking about her a lot this week because of the death of her step-mother, Elizabeth Taylor. She tweeted: "If my father had to divorce my mother for anyone- I’m so grateful that it was Elizabeth."

So, thanks Carrie Fisher. You're one of my heroes, and not because you played Princess Leia.

Agora and Hypatia

After what feels like an eternity the Alejandro Amenábar film “Agora”, based on the story of Hypatia of Alexandria, is finally seeing a limited release in American theaters this weekend. Rachel Weisz, who won my undying affection in the role of Evelyn Carnahan the plucky librarian in The Mummy, plays the role of Hypatia.



Agora has had a difficult time of being shown in the U.S. as The Wild Hunt Blog details here.

Hypatia is my hero. It feels fitting to me that she would come to America for our Memorial Day celebration, as this is the holiday when we honor our fallen heroes. Hellenics take stock in hero worship, and in my heart there is no hero of myth, legend, or history that shines quite like Hypatia.

Hypatia was a scholar, a teacher, a Neoplatonist philosopher, and, yes, a librarian. Her brutal death at the hands of an angry Christian mob marks the end of Classical antiquity.

My response to the horror of Hypatia's martyrdom is as close as I have ever felt to the feeling certain Christians attribute to meditation on the Passion of Christ. Hypatia has her own stations of the cross...

There she rides on her chariot, proud to be an independent educated woman in a time of increasing oppression and superstition. Now the mob interrupts her congress. They pull her down. Her robes are torn from her body. Her head smashes against the stone street rock. They beat her. They tear at her flesh with shards of oyster shells. They burn the ragged remains of her broken corpse. Who does she cry out for? In all of her studies concerning the goodness and richness of humanity did she ever fear that fate held such a cruel end for her by the hands of her own kind? Does her heart weep for their ignorance?

My heart weeps. Hypatia was murdered as a sign to all women who dared to live proudly, who longed for wisdom and freedom. She was battered as if she herself were a pagan goddess, brought low by this dark and fearful new religion.

This memorial day I encourage you to find and honor your own heroes, ancient, modern, or mythical. Tell their stories, adorn their altars, pour to them offerings. Honor the place within you that cries out for peace.