“I loved your book,” the email said, referring to my memoir, Mother of My Invention. “I would love to talk to you about mental health if you are free.” This message came a couple of weeks ago from a woman in my community I’d never met. She said she was a schizophrenia and suicide attempt survivor, but that she’d been doing well for more than twenty years. “I very much wanted to meet you today at the Leader Public Library where you were meeting for a journaling workshop.” She got my email address from the librarian who hosts the monthly group. We agreed to meet at the library the following week.
The woman, whom I’ll call Meera, stood just outside the main library doors when I arrived a few minutes before the appointed time. She looked nervously at each person as they passed but zoned in on me.
“Meera?” I asked.
“I thought it was you,” she said, and reached out to give me a hug. “Thank you so much for meeting me.”
It was a warm day, and we settled at a shaded table a bit distant from the library entrance. Originally from India, Meera moved to Texas from Massachusetts with her husband three years ago to be near a grown son and a brother. Being near family is important, she said. She’s now a retired elementary classroom aide.
Meera knew a great deal about me from reading my book, but I was eager for her to share her story with me. “Tell me about you,” I said.
When her children were young, she suffered from auditory delusions…She tried to commit suicide several times but survived.
Her journey’s been difficult, she told me, but she’s so proud of how far she’s come. When her children were young, she suffered from auditory delusions, which she believed were real when no one else did. She tried to commit suicide several times but survived. Things came to a head more than twenty years ago, when her mother was visiting from India. Meera had been in and out of the hospital for psychiatric care at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston numerous times. Her husband had trouble keeping a job because he so often had to care for her and their children. Her situation became so disruptive to the family that, with her mother’s consent, her husband called an ambulance to transport her for permanent commitment to a psychiatric facility. She was literally out of control.
Fortunately for Meera, her mother gave her one last chance. She and the medical staff brought Meera into the “quiet room” of the hospital, and her mother tried once more to secure a promise from Meera to seek and maintain appropriate treatment. “If you won’t at least try to be well, I can no longer be your mother,” her mom threatened. “I won’t attempt to contact you again.” Meera finally paid attention. She was subsequently diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which is akin to schizophrenia but includes more severe mood swings. She now takes medication that controls her condition.
“It’s still really hard. Every day is a struggle,” she said, “But I feel so much better when I continue my therapy. I now see how much better life is when I comply.” Meera is one of the lucky ones. She’s much more self-aware than most patients with mental illness. Many are so convinced by delusions or voices that they can’t separate them from reality. Others refuse to admit they’re ill or to take prescribed medication. Some simply don’t like the way medication makes them feel, or because of side effects. About 10% succeed in their suicide attempts.
“How did you find my book?” I asked.
“I read every book I can find about mental illness. I’ve read about 120 so far,” Meera said, with a laugh. “I come to the library almost every day.” The librarians know her well.
When I was writing Mother of My Invention, I read a lot of books about mental illness, too. Meera and I compared notes about the ones we’d both read, and what we appreciated about them. Meera’s now reading Hidden Valley Road, by Robert Kolker, one I found most memorable. While we read them from different perspectives, we both find it helpful to understand we’re not alone in facing hardship.
“I read your mother’s hospital records in your book, and it was like I was reading my own,” Meera said. “I cried when I read them. When I saw that you also live in Leander, I couldn’t believe it. I had to meet you.”
I’ve taken a lot of writing classes over the years, and one piece of advice I’ve found difficult to implement is the one that suggests you think of your ideal reader while you’re writing, so that what you write is exactly what they need or want to hear. It’s not as easy as you might think. I often struggle to picture who that unknown reader might be. I could never have imagined a more perfect reader than Meera.
I never wanted to write a New York Times bestseller—and still don’t aspire to it. In my post last week about goals, I shared that the reason I write is to connect with readers. Having an honest-to-goodness, face-to-face conversation with a reader about a common interest in an important topic is a greater reward than I’d hoped for when I started writing the book. That someone benefited from what I wrote is honestly more valuable to me than bestseller status.
Janice Airhart 