Powerful, Painful, Pulitzer Prize Play

Give me pain, if that's what's real.
It's the price we pay to feel.
The price of love is loss,
But still we pay.
We love anyway.
~Light lyrics, Next to Normal

Spring is arriving slowly here…the way hope does sometimes. I went to see a powerful, but painful Pulitzer Prize play last night—Next to Normal—in which Diana, the protagonist, is bipolar. The drama watches her flying into a manic state before she descends into depression in the first act. The effect on her family is painful to watch as the play twists and turns. This rock opera kicks the audience in the stomach and silences them during the intermission. What can be said about what was just seen? None of the frivolous chatter that normally bubbles into the foyer made sense. At curtain call, the crowd was on our feet, applauding the cast for tackling such a difficult topic and shedding light on mental illness within a family.

Before I left for the theatre, a childhood friend who now suffers from schizophrenia called. I cried during some parts of the play, like during the conversations about whether or not Diana should receive electroconvulsive therapy. My friend received them too. I still remember how they affected her. She has been hospitalized for over a year now and is sinking deep into depression about that. I tried to tell her to hang on to hope because if she is depressed again, then she has to remain where she is.

A few days before going to the play, a woman from my church committed suicide. She had been struggling with depression over the winter, and it was not her first round of it apparently. I knew she had been off work due to stress. She had emailed me recently but I could not join her in her venture. She would invite me to a number of things; she was seeking happiness or contentment, something that seemed elusive, I guess. She wanted to belong. A number of us are saddened by this tragedy. She leaves three adult children who I could not help but wonder about watching the musical last night. Life in the house of someone with a mental illness is chaotic. Dan, the husband in the play, stays faithful, though he is clueless how to cope with the situation.

Scattered around the lobby, on tables and benches, were pamphlets and leaflets about depression, suicide, mood disorders, and other mental health issues. The program had information, too. Manitoba has soaring rates of mental illnesses. Perhaps more accurately, people are reporting mental illness more than ever before. There is hope in that. Spring is coming, even if it is too slowly for some.

Peace,

Suzanne