BOOK REVIEW: From the frontlines of bipolar disorder

THE ATLANTA JOURNAL-CONSTITUTIONSeptember 1, 2013 

  • ‘HALDOL AND HYACINTHS: A BIPOLAR LIFE’

    by Melody Moezzi; Avery Books ($26)

One of Melody Moezzi’s biggest gripes about being bipolar is that nobody rewards it. “If you have cancer, you get flowers, visitors and compassion. If you have a mental illness, you get plastic utensils, isolation and fear. If you survive cancer, people consider you a hero and inspiration, and they tell you so.” What’s more, the mentally ill have no champions: “We have no especially loud and high-profile advocates. No Michael J. Fox, no Christopher Reeves, no Lance Armstrongs. No pink boas or bracelets or ribbons or T-shirts.” They do now. Consider Moezzi’s new book, “Haldol and Hyacinths,” the crazy, colorful rubber wristband for bipolar sufferers everywhere.

Blistering, brash and irreverent, Moezzi lays out the years she spent suffering from a combination of mania and depression that she describes as “so delusional and ecstatic that it tricks you into believing you can leap tall buildings in a single bound, or so depressed and hopeless that it has you begging gravity to work its morbid magic.” Moezzi, an Iranian-American writer, attorney, and activist now living in Raleigh, N.C., is a spokeswoman for a variety of issues, particularly those relating to mental health and human rights. Parts of her memoir have appeared in various articles for Bipolar Magazine, the website of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, CNN and other media outlets.

Moezzi describes her childhood, adolescence, college years — including Emory law school — and marriage, and the many frustrating attempts made over the years to nail down the exact nature of her mental illness: Bipolar I, the most severe form of the disease. In search of its origins, Moezzi sifts through various possibilities, beginning with the end to her parents’ comfortable life in Ohio when revolution in Iran resulted in their expulsion from the U.S.

Though she was born in Chicago in 1979, the nomadic life she was exposed to before returning to America in the early ’80s guaranteed Moezzi “a dual existence from the start.” The euphoria she felt during a summer in Glacier Park, Mont., now appears to have been a case of hypomania, a mild version of what would develop, within 10 years, into full-blown mania, a classic indicator of her disorder. Depression took its toll as well.

Moezzi has said that although she’s hardly “the quiet type,” this was not a story she was eager to share. “I didn’t particularly want to put all my crazy out there for the world to see and judge. I didn’t particularly want to relive all that trauma and madness.” But as an activist and advocate for the mentally ill, she knew her book might save lives. For the many who struggle to make sense of and survive this misunderstood disorder, her battered, courageous postcard from the edge can’t come too soon.

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