Bringing help and dignity to victims of mental illness

I met a man in Las Vegas, married him that day and together we took off in a rented Lear jet I couldn't pay for. I was 22 years old. The marriage was my second and it lasted only 13 days.

I went on the Dick Cavett show and talked about building an ark in the middle of the desert between Barstow and Bakersfield.

Typical behavior for a famous actress, right?

Typical for the peak of a manic episode. Supreme confidence and not a single thought for consequences.

I made life-changing decisions in split-seconds, which I've had to atone for in my heart ever since: the devastation of personal relationships, the abuse of my children, the depletion of my earnings and the loss of my own sense of human dignity. And I assure you, anyone who has battled mental illness will tell a strikingly similar story.

It affects one in four adults — an estimated 57.7 million Americans. Modern pharmacology and diagnostics have made treatments for mental illness as effective as treatments for physical illness. Yet, two out of three people never receive help.

Because we hate to speak openly about it, mental illness is often confined to the home — where parents, spouses and children can only attempt to understand and mitigate the ravages of intense mood swings, delusions, paranoia, suicide attempts and other violence.

A comprehensive system of mental-health services, including avenues for families whose mentally ill members refuse treatment, still does not exist.

Insurance companies still don't offer adequate coverage for mental illness — certainly not on par with the coverage available for physical illnesses.

And, in a culture that prizes individual perfection, mental illness is often mistaken for a myth — or, even worse, a personal choice — leaving the individuals and families who suffer from it isolated under shrouds of shame and silence.

If your neighbor were to break an arm or be in a serious car accident, you'd whip up a casserole for him or offer to collect the mail. Why is our response to mental illness so different? I had a woman come up to me in a department store who had the courage only to whisper in my ear: "My daughter has bipolar disorder."

Mental illness is a burden that can fall heavily on young women, especially those trying to maintain a family. Organizations, like the YWCA, that provide low- and no-cost access to counseling, supportive services and even housing are invaluable to our communities. They can empower women with the resources to become healthy and create positive changes that will persist for decades through the lives of their children.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder 26 years ago and have faithfully taken my medication ever since. When I first began talking about my illness, I believed I'd be successful if I could reach just one person. But now, I want to reach everyone!

I get 300 to 400 e-mails every day from people who have found affirmation through my story. They tell me, "I'm taking my meds, I'm doing well. Keep up the good fight."

I've also heard people say, "I don't want pills to run my life. I don't want to lose my creativity." At times, I wish there were another way to live — another way to fight this disease without medication — but there's not. I look to the day when mental illness is boring, as boring as a bladder infection or a kidney problem, and you just follow your doctor's advice and deal with it.

The most important message I can convey to women and men who have endured the horrors of mental illness is this: By getting help and complying with treatment, you'll gain something you could never buy: your own human dignity.

Forget about building that ark in the desert. Focus on what the world needs more of: humanity.