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" When people hear\u00A0that my father has bipolar disorder, their next question is usually about my childhood. Was it traumatic? Dramatic? Horrible? They&amp;#039;re usually surprised when I answer that it was wonderful, and that my father&amp;#039;s illness taught me lessons I never otherwise would have learned. People with bipolar disorder\u00A0can swing between the highs of mania and the lows of depression. However, with medication and hard work, the disease can be controlled just like any other chronic health condition.  For almost all of my childhood, my father was stable\u2013although looking back it is clear that his stable always ran a bit manic. He was more outgoing than the\u00A0other dads, and never seemed to outgrow the childlike desire to chase all his dreams, no matter how crazy. However, I wasn&amp;#039;t embarrassed when he ran for mayor on a whim. I loved how bold he was. During that time, when my father&amp;#039;s illness was well-controlled, my parents spoke openly about his disease. &amp;quot;Why,&amp;quot; my mother asked, &amp;quot;would this be treated any differently from diabetes or cancer?&amp;quot;\u00A0 By introducing the biological basis for mental illness\u00A0when my father&amp;#039;s illness was well-controlled, my parents taught me to be aware of but unashamed of my father&amp;#039;s illness. I did a middle school chemistry\u00A0project on lithium, for example, because I knew that element was the medication that kept my father stable. In high school, I wrote my senior thesis on the stigma surrounding mental illness and stigma reduction techniques. When I was growing up, my father\u00A0self-published six children&amp;#039;s books that remain my favorite bedtime stories. This somewhat eccentric move\u00A0shaped my childhood as I accompanied my dad\u00A0to book signings and local events.\u00A0There, I would sit at the table and listen as my dad told his stories to a growing crowd, delivering an expertly crafted hook that would entice people\u00A0to purchase his books. As he signed books for festivals goers, exchanging a story with each one, I would collect their $5 bills and enjoy being the sidekick to a local celebrity.  While most fairs were fun, occasionally they were miserable\u2013usually because of the weather. Once, it was a brutally hot day, and no one was buying. Our booth was literally under a train track, making the afternoon very\u00A0uncomfortable. My dad took some money from the register and sent me to get slush for both of us. When I came back there was a women embracing my father and crying tears of joy. &amp;quot;Your father&amp;#039;s book saved my life,&amp;quot; she said to me, indicating his poem that was initially meant for children, but resonated\u00A0with adults. &amp;quot;You are so lucky to have this man as your father.&amp;quot; I never forgot that woman&amp;#039;s words. She was right. I was lucky. My father&amp;#039;s unconventional way of thinking showed me that it is possible to construct the life you want, and assured me that it was ok to stand out from the crowd.  At the time I never realized how much I would need to rely on her words in the future. When I was 18, after years of stability, my father had a massive manic episode, which then sent him into a crippling depression that lasted ten years. We tried everything, including ECT treatments (the modern, more refined cousin of electro-shock therapies), but nothing worked. All of a sudden the gregarious man who raised me had vanished. My parents&amp;#039; lessons about pushing back against stigma around mental illness were no longer an abstract idea, but something that I had to live with on a daily basis. During that time I realized that living with a loved one&amp;#039;s acute mental illness is incredibly hard. It&amp;#039;s physically and emotionally draining. When I really pushed myself outside my comfort zone I could see for the first time how mental illness does differ from other diseases, in the way that its symptoms can hide the person you love. However, through the years of dealing with my father&amp;#039;s acute illness, I was able to look back on the foundations that were laid during my childhood. My parent&amp;#039;s rejection of stigma allowed me to bypass the shame that many family members of people with mental \u00A0illness feel. That woman&amp;#039;s remark about how special my father was got me through the darkest time. After all, how many people can say their father saved a life? I&amp;#039;ve taken my dad&amp;#039;s greatest gift\u2013writing\u2013and now use that to advocate for people with mental illness and their families. I hope that, like him, I can touch lives with my words. My father is doing better now, although he has never returned to the gregarious man I remember. Looking back, I can see how his illness shaped every part of my life with him. During the good\u00A0times\u00A0his larger-than-life persona could be attributed in part to his disease. During the worst times, it was clear the toll that bipolar disorder had taken.\u00A0 Through it all, I can see the man who my father is, apart from his disease. This man is my father; he is the person I love; he is the man who raised me. He has bipolar disorder. But that does not define him. It isn&amp;#039;t who he is. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/life/friends-family/a44601/bipolar-disorder-father/>