AN UNQUIET MIND PDF, EPUB, EBOOK

Associate Professor Department of Psychiatry Kay Redfield Jamison PH.D. | 240 pages | 14 Jan 1997 | Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group | 9780679763307 | English | New York, NY, United States Kay Redfield Jamison - Wikipedia

Naturally, when the bee was turned upside down on its flight, the honey would pour down all over the kitchen table, leaving my mother to say, "Marshall, is this really necessary? You're egging on the children. It was enchanting, really, rather like having Mary Poppins for a father. Years later, he gave me a bracelet inscribed with words from Michael Faraday that were engraved over the physics building at UCLA: "Nothing is too wonderful to be true. My mother has said, many times, that she always felt she was in the shadow of my father's wit, charm, intensity, and imagination. Her observation that he was a Pled Piper with children certainly was borne out by his charismatic effect upon my friends and the other children in whatever neighborhood we found ourselves. My mother, however, was always the one my friends wanted to sit down and talk with: we played with my father; we talked with my mother. Mother, who has an absolute belief that it is not the cards that one is dealt in life, it is how one plays them, is, by far, the highest card I was dealt. Kind, fair, and generous, she has the type of self-confidence that comes from having been brought up by parents who not only loved her deeply and well, but who were themselves kind, fair, and generous people. My grandfather, who died before I was born, was a college professor and physicist by training. By all accounts, he was a witty man, as well as inordinately kind to both his students and colleagues. My grandmother, whom I knew well, was a warm and caring woman who, like Mother, had a deep and genuine interest in people; this, in turn, translated into a tremendous capacity for friendship and a remarkable ability to put people at their ease. People always came first with her, as they did with my mother, and a lack of time or a busy schedule was never an excuse for being thoughtless or unavailable. She was by no means an intellectual; unlike my grandfather, who spent his time reading, and rereading, Shakespeare and Twain, she joined clubs instead. Being both well liked and a natural organizer, she unfailingly was elected president of whatever group in which she became involved. She was disconcertingly conservative in many ways-a Republican, a Daughter of the American Revolution, and very inclined to tea parties, all of which gave my father apoplexy-but she was a gentle yet resolute woman, who wore flowered dresses, buffed her nails, set a perfect table, and smelled always of flowered soaps. She was incapable of being unkind, and she was a wonderful grandmother. My mother-tall, thin, and pretty-was a popular student in both high school and college. Pictures in her photograph albums show an obviously happy young woman, usually surrounded by friends, playing tennis, swimming, fencing, riding horses, caught up in sorority activities, or looking slightly Gibson-girlish with a series of good-looking boyfriends. The photographs capture the extraordinary innocence of a different kind of time and world, but they were a time and a world in which my mother looked very comfortable. There were no foreboding shadows, no pensive or melancholic faces, no questions of internal darkness or instability. Her belief that a certain predictability was something that one ought to be able to count upon must have had its roots in the utter normality of the people and events captured in these pictures, as well as in the preceding generations of her ancestors who were reliable, stable, honorable, and saw things through. Centuries of such seeming steadiness in the genes could only very partially prepare my mother for all of the turmoil and difficulties that were to face her once she left her parents' home to begin a family of her own. But it has been precisely that persevering steadiness of my mother, her belief in seeing things through, and her great ability to love and learn, listen and change, that helped keep me alive through all of the years of pain and nightmare that were to come. She could not have known how difficult it would be to deal with madness; had no preparation for what to do with madness-none of us did-but consistent with her ability to love, and her native will, she handled it with empathy and intelligence. It never occurred to her to give up. Both my mother and father strongly encouraged my interests in writing poetry and school plays, as well as in science and medicine. Neither of them tried to limit my dreams, and they had the sense and sensitivity to tell the difference between a phase I was going through and more serious commitments. Even my phases, however, were for the most part tolerated with kindness and imagination. Being particularly given to strong and absolute passions, I was at one point desperately convinced that we had to have a sloth as a pet. My mother, who had been pushed about as far as possible by allowing me to keep dogs, cats, birds, fish, turtles, lizards, frogs, and mice, was less than wildly enthusiastic. My father convinced me to put together a detailed scientific and literary notebook about sloths. He suggested that, in addition to providing practical information about their dietary needs, living space, and veterinary requirements, I also write a series of poems about sloths and essays about what they meant to me, design a habitat for them that would work within our current house, and make detailed observations of their behavior at the zoo; if I did all this, he said, my parents would then consider finding a sloth for me. What comes through is a remarkably whole person with the grit to defeat her disease. I devoured it at a single sitting and found the book almost as compelling on a second read. An Unquiet Mind may well become a classic. Jamison sets an example of courage. This is an important, wonderful book. An Unquiet Mind must be read. Powerfully written, it is a wonderful and important account of mercurial moods and madness. I absolutely love this book. The combination of the intensity of her personal life and the intellectual rigor of her professional experience make the book unique. A vibrant and engaging account of the life, love and experience of a woman, a therapist, an academic, and a patient. Cuts through the dead jargon and detached observations of psychiatric theory and practice to create a fiery, passionate, authentic account of the devastation and exaltation, the blindness and illumination of the psychotic experience. A courageous and fascinating book, a moving account of the life of a remarkable woman. A compelling work of literature. The questions, discussion topics, and author biography that follow are designed to enhance your reading of Kay Redfield Jamison's An Unquiet Mind. We hope they will expand your understanding of this extraordinary and disturbing story of a singularly courageous woman. What aspects of Jamison's early life and upbringing helped to provide her with emotional support on which to draw years later? What benefits did the conservative military lifestyle led by the Jamisons confer upon the young Kay Jamison? With what disadvantages did that same culture, with its stiff-upper-lip creed, afflict her in her battle with mental illness? In graduate school, Jamison writes, "Despite the fact that we were being taught how to make clinical diagnoses, I still did not make any connection in my own mind between the problems I had experienced and what was described as manic-depressive illness in the textbooks"[p. Why did she refuse to acknowledge the obvious? Why didn't she question the "rigid, irrelevant notions of self-reliance"[p. Why did Jamison avoid bringing her illness into the open for so many years, and what made her finally decide to do so? Jamison worries that we could "risk making the world a blander, more homogenized place if we get rid of the genes for manic-depressive illness"[p. On the other hand, E. Which point of view do you endorse? Can you sympathize with both sides of the issue? With her book Touched with Fire and her public television specials on artists like Byron, van Gogh and Schumann, Jamison has been accused by some of her colleagues of romanticizing manic-depressive illness by associating it with creative genius. Does this accusation seem reasonable or unreasonable to you? Has she convinced you that drugs plus psychotherapy is the answer for mental illness? In that case, might not psychotherapy benefit people suffering from any debilitating illness, not just a mental one? Some physicians wonder whether the increased use of mood-regulating medications might lead to a society-wide practice of chemically altering personality, with the result of making people blander and more conformist the widespread use of the anti-depressant Prozac has helped fuel this debate. Jamison's sister discouraged her from taking lithium, saying that her "soul would wither if [she] chose to dampen the intensity and pain of [her] experiences by using medication"[p. How much of personality do you believe to be intrinsic, and how much is a result of biological impulses and chemicals? Is such a question even answerable? Her work, and her own illness, convinces Jamison of "the total beholdenness of brain to mind and mind to brain. My temperament, moods, and illness clearly, and deeply, affected the relationships I had with others and the fabric of my work. But my moods were themselves powerfully shaped by the same relationships and work"[p. Jamison expresses anger against physicians who draw a distinction between "medical illnesses"and psychiatric illnesses [p. Does she imply that there is, in actuality, no difference? If there is a difference, of what does it consist? Manic states, on the other hand, seem to be more the provenance of men"[p. What might the results of this stereotyping be when it comes to giving treatment? After David's death, Jamison reflects that "grief, fortunately, is very different from depression"[p. How can you explain the essential difference between the two? Is it more possible to cope with the "real"causes of grief than with the impalpable causes of depression? Through bitter experience Jamison comes to recognize the value of emotional steadiness in a relationship, but "somewhere in my heart,"she writes, "I continued to believe that intense and lasting love was possible only in a climate of somewhat tumultuous passions"[p. Is this feeling peculiar to Jamison and her temperament, or does it reflect certain assumptions in our society? How is the importance of love and friendship demonstrated again and again in the story? How does each of the three principal men in Jamison's life help her to seek a cure? Jamison worries that her work may now be seen by her colleagues "as somehow biased because of my illness,"while admitting that "of course, my work has been tremendously colored by my emotions and my experiences"[p. Does this make her work less viable than strictly "objective"work, or more so? Has she succeeded, so far as you are concerned? Which of your preconceptions were changed by reading her account? She ultimately answers the question in the affirmative. What would your own answer be? Home 1 Books 2. Read an excerpt of this book! Add to Wishlist. Sign in to Purchase Instantly. Jeanine Cummins. Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. All Souls. Michael Patrick MacDonald. Reading with Patrick. Michelle Kuo. The Year of Magical Thinking. Darkness Visible. William Styron. Action Park. Andy Mulvihill and Jake Rossen. Hill Women. Cassie Chambers. For Laci. Sharon Rocha. A Very Punchable Face. The Line Becomes a River. Secret Daughter. A Mind Unraveled. Kurt Eichenwald. 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Following high school, Jamison attended the University of Southern California; she struggled with academics due to her mood swings, but loved learning and managed to accrue valuable research experience with some of her professors. She also spent a year studying abroad at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, which had a profound effect on her. Following undergraduate work, she continued her studies at UCLA, pursuing a doctorate in psychology. Though she preferred graduate school to undergraduate school, she still largely disliked the more rigid academic requirements, yet passed her exams and joined the faculty at UCLA in her late twenties. Part 2 focuses on the development of her manic- depressive illness, as it was around this time that she began to experience full-blown psychosis. She only gradually became aware of her illness, in part because she initially went a very long time in the manic phase without crashing into the depressive phase. Still, her mania grew worse and worse: she grew more impulsive, she spent money uncontrollably, her relationship with her husband began to deteriorate, and she grew suicidal. At the insistence of a colleague who recognized what was happening, she began to see a psychiatrist and take lithium. However, at the time, lithium was being prescribed in near-toxic doses, and its effect on her was quite pronounced: she frequently felt ill and lethargic, and she was unable to read or concentrate on anything complex. As a result, she entered a cycle of lithium acceptance and reluctance, continually stopping her medication only to bottom out and begin taking it again. Struggling with her illness and the effects of medication, she once again grew suicidal and attempted to take her own life via lithium overdose. Following her attempt, she was helped back on track thanks to close friends and family. She eventually got her life back in order and made tenure at UCLA, which she credits in part to the periods of extreme productivity she experienced while manic. Jamison is able to find in graduate school both the loose structure and understanding mentors necessary for her academic success. At 28, Jamison has a psychotic break and must finally accept her manic-depressive illness. She begins psychotherapy and a regimen of lithium. Stigma causes her to war against the medication for many years, and soon unchecked mania leads to the darkest depression of her life and a suicide attempt. Jamison's healing process is slow and ongoing, but she is able to regain control over herself and her moods through, among other things, the healing power of love. The purpose of this memoir is to show her motivation for studying mood disorders. She hopes that with the publication of this memoir, manic-depressives and mental health professionals both might learn what it means to be on the other side of the relationship. She also hopes to show the devastating effects of medication non-compliance, in the hope that she may save a life. Love Watching Madness. More about Kay Redfield Jamison. What comes through is a remarkably whole person with the grit to defeat her disease. I devoured it at a single sitting and found the book almost as compelling on a second read. An Unquiet Mind may well become a classic. Jamison sets an example of courage. This is an important, wonderful book. An Unquiet Mind must be read. Powerfully written, it is a wonderful and important account of mercurial moods and madness. I absolutely love this book. The combination of the intensity of her personal life and the intellectual rigor of her professional experience make the book unique. A vibrant and engaging account of the life, love and experience of a woman, a therapist, an academic, and a patient. Cuts through the dead jargon and detached observations of psychiatric theory and practice to create a fiery, passionate, authentic account of the devastation and exaltation, the blindness and illumination of the psychotic experience. A courageous and fascinating book, a moving account of the life of a remarkable woman. A compelling work of literature. When you buy a book, we donate a book. Sign in. Puzzles and Games to Play at Home. Read An Excerpt. Jan 14, ISBN Add to Cart. Also available from:. Jan 21, ISBN Available from:. Audiobook Download. Paperback —. Also by Kay Redfield Jamison. See all books by Kay Redfield Jamison. Product Details. Inspired by Your Browsing History. Girl, Interrupted. Susanna Kaysen. An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness by Kay Redfield Jamison

View all 17 comments. Feb 02, Belinda rated it it was ok Shelves: non-fiction , kindle. As I go back through blog posts, Twitter feeds, book reviews, etc. It was all about someone else. And really, in this book, that's how Jamison seems to think it should be. I just had the opportunity to re-read this book when it was offered on the Kindle, and I was surprised. I seemed to remember it as being immensely insightful the first time I read it, but consider that that was immediately after my husband's initial bipolar 1 diagnosis. This was the first book everyone was recommending back then. Now, several years of living with a bipolar spouse later, I read it and think, "Meh. It seems to have been written more FOR herself than about herself, if that makes sense--it reads as very personal and cathartic. Is it helpful for others, though? I'm not so sure. There are some wonderful passages in which she borrows from images in poetry and literature, and those, for me, make the book worth reading. If my husband had access to the level of care that Jamison has enjoyed throughout her life, he'd probably be doing much better. Heck, I'd like to get in on some of that, myself. As it is, we receive financial assistance from our physicians, to lower our co-pay, so that he can see a therapist not an MD, but a psychologist once a week, and even that's a burden. Then there's couples therapy, because this disease puts a mighty strain on a marriage. As someone in the "caretaker" role, to use Jamison's own terminology, I found the message of the memoir a bit burdensome. Yes, she shows great appreciation for her loved ones and their unflagging support. That only reads as a compliment the first few times, then it becomes a sledge-hammer of obligation and guilt. I don't know--I'm conflicted this time around. It's a bit of "thank you for being there," and a bit of "but for you, I'd be dead. View all 21 comments. Mar 09, rachel misfiticus rated it it was ok. So far I think that the first chapter and the last chapter are the only ones with any weight. The second So far The second chapter is suddenly more academic and speaks about the semantics of the disease — manic depression vs. The rest of the book can be recycled. Here is a sum up of the book: SWF with mood disorder seeks tall, charming, handsome man for lots of passionate lovemaking; must be compassionate, understanding, and artistic. I write little anecdotes revolving around my manic episodes. I use lots of adjectives, such as black and bleak, to describe my depression. My family and friends support me and love me. Have I mentioned I am spectacular?! Take it or you will die! Insert Byron, Edna St. Vincent Millay, William James quote. I listen to Schubert and Mozart. I like art! For a book that is praised for its candor, Jamison did not seem very genuine or candid. Her first marriage, for example, ended in perceivable heartbreak when she left her husband on impulse. Instead of delving into her relationships that were injured by her bipolar disorder, she glosses over them. She explains that she and her first husband are still friends — no hard feelings — and leaves it at that. But oh! Jamison is redundant and self- centered. I wanted to like this book, but it fell so far from my expectations. I am curious about what her peers thought of her incessant self-grandiosity. I would agree that it takes courage to share such personal experiences with others, but do it right. Manic depression alienates. Jamison glorifies and romanticizes her disorder, calling it madness and relating her mania to flying around Saturn and dancing in the rain. Mania can lead to adventures and funny stories, but it also can incur humility and regret. Likewise, debilitating depression can cause one to miss out on positive opportunities. View all 13 comments. Oct 03, Tia rated it it was amazing Recommends it for: those trying to understand manic depression, autobiography enthusiasts, glamorizers of insanity. Shelves: biology , science , medical , health. An autobiography of a brilliant woman who suffered from manic depression she resists the more watered down label "bipolar" because she thinks it hides the essential nature of the disease. She made it through a PhD in psychology and became one of the foremost authorities in her field before finally getting the consistent treatment she needed. Just seeing how she was able to achieve such professional success while privately dealing with such hellish, frightening moments of near insanity is enoug An autobiography of a brilliant woman who suffered from manic depression she resists the more watered down label "bipolar" because she thinks it hides the essential nature of the disease. Just seeing how she was able to achieve such professional success while privately dealing with such hellish, frightening moments of near insanity is enough to be massively impressed. If you've ever looked at the world and thought it was so full of amazing things that you couldn't sleep for days, or alternatively, if you've ever spent days just imagining every single living thing on the earth dying slowly I believe she actually describes compulsively thinking of this during high school , then the feelings aren't that new. But she paints a cohesive picture of what it's like to live as a never-ending captive to these see-sawing feelings. She also gives clear insight into why people may resist taking medicine that dulls their manic moments, because they may feel so much more alive, productive, and vibrant during these spells. View 1 comment. Dec 06, Meaghan rated it it was ok Shelves: memoirs , read-in , psychology , bipolar-disorder , mental-illness. This was overrated. I learned very little about what it's like to actually have manic-depression; Dr. Jamison preferred to write about her love life and her visits to England. She glossed over her suicide attempt and the only description of hospitalization is that of one of her patients. Also, the memoir skips back and forth in time and it's irritating. There are better books out there. View all 18 comments. Jan 01, Britta rated it liked it. I'm still not quite sure what I think of this book. It was recommended to me by a therapist thinking I would be interested as someone with bipolar disorder. Due to the source of the suggestion and the author of the book, an expert on and individual with bipolar disorder, I expected some practical insight into living with this disease. What I found was much different. This book is labeled a memoir, and the writing style and content certainly fit the label. Unfortunately, the author seemed to try t I'm still not quite sure what I think of this book. Unfortunately, the author seemed to try too hard, and quite unsuccessfully, to become a writer of creative non-fiction. This frustrated me extremely and made it difficult to actually finish the book. Still, I tend to be unnecessarily harsh when it comes to writing skills. My inner lit snob simply won't shut up. What seriously complicates my opinion of this book, however, is whether the author intended to give hope to individuals with bipolar depression. As previously mentioned, I expected just that from this book based on its presentation to me. Instead, I found myself wanting the author to remember more clearly how difficult it sometimes is for a person with bipolar disorder to see a way out. I found myself highly skeptical of the author's management of the illness considering her unlimited access to psychiatric treatment and information from experts. I think this book may be more useful to friends and family of people with bipolar disorder than those trying to dig their way out from mania or depression. I guess I like what this book tries to do, but I'm not convinced it was well done. View all 8 comments. Shelves: memoir , books-i-teach , psychiatry-ugh , psychic-pain. This seems to me of tremendous value. If even one person found in this book a story that helped her carry on and succeed in putting together a satisfactory life, the book would be worth its ink in gold. View all 12 comments. Feb 18, Julie Ehlers rated it it was ok Shelves: memoir-and-autobiography. I read An Unquiet Mind because I wanted to learn more about bipolar disorder. I remember all the attention this book received when it first came out, and it was recommended to me by more than one person, so I was somewhat baffled by how little I enjoyed reading it. Don't get me wrong--I wasn't expecting a memoir about bipolar disorder to be some kind of party. But I think I may have read too many beautiful memoirs by poets and novelists to be particularly impressed by the workmanlike writing in I read An Unquiet Mind because I wanted to learn more about bipolar disorder. But I think I may have read too many beautiful memoirs by poets and novelists to be particularly impressed by the workmanlike writing in this one. I didn't think the book flowed well at all, and I just didn't care enough about Jamison to be riveted by tales of her getting tenure, opening up a new clinic, and, most painfully, engaging in romantic relationships. Let's get real--love is difficult enough for experienced literary authors to write about well; for someone who'd written only scholarly material up to this point, it was clearly too much of a challenge, and the result was cringeworthy. All in all, the mediocre writing style made this book a slog. If that's your goal as well, I would encourage you to read this. Just keep your expectations in check. View all 10 comments. Shelves: z , zz-5star , readbooks-female-author-or-illust , goodreads-author , reviewed , mental-illness , non- fiction , psychology , biography. I really enjoyed this book. She comes across as completely honest and she allows herself to be vulnerable in the telling of her story, which makes her exceedingly likeable. Kay Redfield Jamison is a psychiatrist, an authority on bipolar disorder, and suffers from the condition herself. View all 7 comments. Shelves: psychology. Think of this book as an autobiography and you can't go wrong. Kay Redfield Jamison hardly needs an introduction here; her life and work stand for themselves. She literally 'wrote the book' on bipolar disorder with co-author Fred Goodwin, M. It is a deep and personal inside look at what it's like to live with manic depression from the unique viewpoint of a brilliant Think of this book as an autobiography and you can't go wrong. It is a deep and personal inside look at what it's like to live with manic depression from the unique viewpoint of a brilliant practitioner who has the condition herself - a combination the medical profession has always considered unacceptable. Jamison literally risked her medical career by publishing this book. It becomes clear through her ordeal that recognizing and accepting the disorder is tantamount to successful treatment, and that denial is a roadmap to hell. This book may save your life. Jan 11, StMargarets rated it liked it Shelves: bigraphy , 3-star , anxiety-mental-spiritual-health , non-fiction. Beautifully written memoir, published in , of a wildly intelligent and successful John Hopkins psychologist who has bipolar disorder. I took two things away from it: One- so much has been learned about the disorder since That explains so much about my childh Beautifully written memoir, published in , of a wildly intelligent and successful John Hopkins psychologist who has bipolar disorder. That explains so much about my childhood. So wow — lithium did work for her — even after years of instability and cycling. I was also reminded of the secrecy that surrounded the disorder — and the despair — and the magical thinking. And boy, I wish I had known this when I was growing up. This is a beautifully written memoir. The author describes her childhood as the daughter of an Air Force officer and the elegant culture of days gone by. She has love affairs and European travel and horses and beautiful meals and sunsets and manages to get her Phd in psychology all while coping with her ups and downs in mood. He has absolutely no delusions of grander. I think this is an inspirational story in that it reminds the reader that a person can suffer and still have a good life. May 27, Thomas rated it it was amazing Shelves: psychology , nonfiction , biography-or-memoir , five- stars. In her bold autobiography An Unquiet Mind , Kay Redfield Jamison details her struggle with bipolar disorder in the midst of her career as a clinical psychologist. First published in , this book highlights Jamison's bravery: with such a prestigious academic position and a CV full of work related to manic-depressive disorder, she risked her reputation and her ethos by writing this wonderful, heart-wrenching volume. The Chinese believe that before you can conquer a beast you first must make it be In her bold autobiography An Unquiet Mind , Kay Redfield Jamison details her struggle with bipolar disorder in the midst of her career as a clinical psychologist. The Chinese believe that before you can conquer a beast you first must make it beautiful. In some strange way, I tried to do that with manic- depressive illness. It has been a fascinating, albeit deadly, enemy and companion; I have found it to be seductively complicated, a distillation both of what is finest in our natures, and of what is most dangerous. In order to contend with it, I first had to know it in all of its moods and infinite disguises, understand its real and imagined powers. Jamison reveals everything in An Unquiet Mind. She shares her family history, her scholarly successes, her romantic relationships, and how her bipolar disorder affected all of those facets in her life. Her writing, while full of emotion, maintains a professionalism and intelligence that never speaks down to the reader. Jamison has gone through many trials in her life, and though reading this book forces us to feel along with her, she adds words of wisdom and hope along the way. But, ineffably, psychotherapy heals. It makes some sense of the confusion, reins in the terrifying thoughts and feelings, returns some control and hope and possibility of learning from it all. Pills cannot, do not, ease one back into reality; they only bring one back headlong, careening, and faster than can be endured at times. Psychotherapy is a sanctuary; it is a battleground; it is a place I have been psychotic, neurotic, elated, confused, and despairing beyond belief. But, always, it is where I have believed - or have learned to believe - that I might someday be able to contend with all of this. The inspirational quality of An Unquiet Mind makes it a marvelous read. Even though Jamison contended with manic-depressive illness for several of the most important years of her life, she still earned success and acclaim. Her accomplishments speak to how mental illness should not be construed as a crutch that will inevitably handicap all those affected by it. Jamison also dispels the rumor that medicine will numb one's mind. She admits that taking lithium played a key part in her recovery, and while taking lithium, she worked and wrote and saw patients. Jamison acknowledges the stigma against mental illness, and she shows how she overcame it through her passion and dedication to the field of mental health. Overall, highly recommended for those searching for a book about bipolar disorder or mental health in general. Powerful and honest writing sets An Unquiet Mind apart from other books, and I look forward to reading more of Jamison's works. View 2 comments. Shelves: nonfiction , wishlist , self-improvement. Highly recommended if you are curious about Manic-depressive disease. A fascinating and even very well written insight from a woman who is both a Psychiatrist who treats it and suffers from it. She was very brave and very poetic in writing this book. Jul 27, Scot Parker rated it it was amazing. This is a deeply personal book to me and one that I recommend to everyone who is bipolar or who has friends or loved ones who are bipolar. It's a fascinating read even if you're just interested in psychopathology. Jamison has Type I Bipolar Disorder, its onset occurred during her childhood, and she has struggled with and benefitted from its effects throughout her life manic episodes are often euphoric periods during which one's energy feels boundless, one feels capable of enormous feats, in This is a deeply personal book to me and one that I recommend to everyone who is bipolar or who has friends or loved ones who are bipolar. Jamison has Type I Bipolar Disorder, its onset occurred during her childhood, and she has struggled with and benefitted from its effects throughout her life manic episodes are often euphoric periods during which one's energy feels boundless, one feels capable of enormous feats, intellectual or otherwise, and are often marked by extremely high productivity, that is until the episode progresses to the point where one tips over the edge into psychosis or one's brain becomes so locked up that they are no longer capable of anything resembling normal interaction or functioning. In this memoir, Dr. Jamison relates her experience with this disorder, her difficulties finding effective treatment back when the disease was known as manic-depressive disorder rather than bipolar disorder, when lithium salts and antipsychotics were pretty much the only treatments, before more modern mood stabilizers with scary side effects but far less scary than those of older drugs were developed, before atypical antipsychotics were developed that can be taken without turning one into a husk of a person, before lithium dosages were titrated more effectively and managed so as to reduce its more terrible side effects, and eventually through her successful career as a professor of psychology with a thriving clinical practice and research focused almost entirely on bipolar disorder. I cannot imagine anyone better positioned to write such a book. While you may not agree with all of her decisions I've noticed a number of people who take issue with her decision to have children, a subject I'm undecided on myself and which is certainly a moral dilemma given that bipolar disorder is genetic this memoir nonetheless provides remarkable insight into the experience of someone who suffers from bipolar disorder and who thoroughly understands the disorder better than just about anyone in the world. I've read through it twice in the last four months and I have it sitting on my desk ready for another re-read; I highly recommend this book. I am tired of hiding, tired of misspent and knotted energies, tired of the hypocrisy, and tired of acting as though I have something to hide. Me too. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them u "There's no easy way to tell other people you have a manic- depressive illness; if there is, I haven't found it Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced is irresistible. But, somewhere this changes. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against- you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. It will never end, for madness carves it's own reality. Everything that once was sparkling now was flat. I seemed to myself to be dull, boring, inadequate, thick-brained, unlit, unresponsive, chill skinned, bloodless, and sparrow drab. I never talk about my manic-depressive illness. But if I could, if I didn't fear it would color me in such a wild, frightening way, I would talk about it the way Kay Redfield Jamison does. If someone close to you has a mental illness, read this book, and they will feel less alone. If you have a manic-depressive or any affective disorder, read this book, and you will feel vindicated. View all 6 comments. Oct 03, Darlene rated it really liked it. This memoir written by Kay Redfield Jamison is an open and honest portrayal of her life with manic depression bipolar illness. Starting in her teenage years, Dr. Jamison she is also a Ph. D in psychology describes the roller coaster of her own emotional health. With just a short remission during the years she was working on her graduate studies, her illness repeatedly returned Each time the illness recurred, the symptoms seemed to intensify so that in the time following her acquisition of her first professional job, she experienced a psychotic break characterized by frightening hallucinations. Jamison describes her illness with such vivid, honest details that I had to put the book aside for a time. Reading about her extreme emotional fluctuations and all of the bizarre and extreme behaviors that went along with them was making my own mind feel unsettled. Jamison talked about one thing that I happened to very much agree with and think is very important The two must be used together. I also feel she described her own experiences so eloquently regarding her resentment over needing to take lithium. She honestly described the effect that her illness had on her personal and professional relationships. This was a well-written, fascinating look at a very debilitating and sometimes fatal mental illness. I could not help but think however, that it seemed that Dr. Jamison reached a manageability of her illness in part because of her own training and background and through her professional relationships with colleagues who stepped in to help her when she desperately needed it. Learn how to enable JavaScript on your browser. NOOK Book. Into the Sun I was standing with my head back, one pigtail caught between my teeth, listening to the jet overhead. The noise was loud, unusually so, which meant that it was close. My elementary school was near Andrews Air Force Base, just outside Washington; many of us were pilots' kids, so the sound was a matter of routine. Being routine, however, didn't take away from the magic, and I instinctively looked up from the playground to wave. I knew, of course, that the pilot couldn't see me-I always knew that-just as I knew that even if he could see me the odds were that it wasn't actually my father. But it was one of those things one did, and anyway I loved any and all excuses just to stare up into the skies. My father, a career Air Force officer, was first and foremost a scientist and only secondarily a pilot. But he loved to fly, and, because he was a meteorologist, both his mind and his soul ended up being in the skies. Like my father, I looked up rather more than I looked out. When I would say to him that the Navy and the Army were so much older than the Air Force, had so much more tradition and legend, he would say, Yes, that's true, but the Air Force is the future. Then he would always add: And-we can fly. This statement of creed would occasionally be followed by an enthusiastic rendering of the Air Force song, fragments of which remain with me to this day, nested together, somewhat improbably, with phrases from Christmas carols, early poems, and bits and pieces of the Book of Common Prayer: all having great mood and meaning from childhood, and all still retaining the power to quicken the pulses. So I would listen and believe and, when I would hear the words "Off we go into the wild blue yonder," I would think that "wild" and "yonder" were among the most wonderful words I had ever heard; likewise, I would feel the total exhilaration of the phrase "Climbing high, into the sun" and know instinctively that I was a part of those who loved the vastness of the sky. The noise of the jet had become louder, and I saw the other children in my second-grade class suddenly dart their heads upward. The plane was coming in very low, then it streaked past us, scarcely missing the playground. As we stood there clumped together and absolutely terrified, it flew into the trees, exploding directly in front of us. The ferocity of the crash could be felt and heard in the plane's awful impact; it also could be seen in the frightening yet terrible lingering loveliness of the flames that followed. Within minutes, it seemed, mothers were pouring onto the playground to reassure children that it was not their fathers; fortunately for my brother and sister and myself, it was not ours either. Over the next few days it became clear, from the release of the young pilot's final message to the control tower before he died, that he knew he could save his own life by bailing out. He also knew, however, that by doing so he risked that his unaccompanied plane would fall onto the playground and kill those of us who were there. The dead pilot became a hero, transformed into a scorchingly vivid, completely impossible ideal for what was meant by the concept of duty. It was an impossible ideal, but all the more compelling and haunting because of its very unobtainability. The memory of the crash came back to me many times over the years, as a reminder both of how one aspires after and needs such ideals, and of how killingly difficult it is to achieve them. I never again looked at the sky and saw only vastness and beauty. From that afternoon on I saw that death was also and always there. Although, like all military families, we moved a lot-by the fifth grade my older brother, sister, and I had attended four different elementary schools, and we had lived in Florida, Puerto Rico, California, Tokyo, and Washington, twice-our parents, especially my mother, kept life as secure, warm, and constant as possible. My brother was the eldest and the steadiest of the three of us children and my staunch ally, despite the three-year difference in our ages. I idolized him growing up and often trailed along after him, trying very hard to be inconspicuous, when he and his friends would wander off to play baseball or cruise the neighborhood. He was smart, fair, and self-confident, and I always felt that there was a bit of extra protection coming my way whenever he was around. My relationship with my sister, who was only thirteen months older than me, was more complicated. She was the truly beautiful one in the family, with dark hair and wonderful eyes, who from the earliest times was almost painfully aware of everything around her. She had a charismatic way, a fierce temper, very black and passing moods, and little tolerance for the conservative military lifestyle that she felt imprisoned us all. She led her own life, defiant, and broke out with abandon whenever and wherever she could. She hated high school and, when we were living in Washington, frequently skipped classes to go to the Smithsonian or the Army Medical Museum or just to smoke and drink beer with her friends. She resented me, feeling that I was, as she mockingly put it, "the fair-haired one"-a sister, she thought, to whom friends and schoolwork came too easily-passing far too effortlessly through life, protected from reality by an absurdly optimistic view of people and life. Sandwiched between my brother, who was a natural athlete and who never seemed to see less-than-perfect marks on his college and graduate admission examinations, and me, who basically loved school and was vigorously involved in sports and friends and class activities, she stood out as the member of the family who fought back and rebelled against what she saw as a harsh and difficult world. She hated military life, hated the constant upheaval and the need to make new friends, and felt the family politeness was hypocrisy. Perhaps because my own violent struggles with black moods did not occur until I was older, I was given a longer time to inhabit a more benign, less threatening, and, indeed to me, a quite wonderful world of high adventure. This world, I think, was one my sister had never known. The long and important years of childhood and early adolescence were, for the most part, very happy ones for me, and they afforded me a solid base of warmth, friendship, and confidence. They were to be an extremely powerful amulet, a potent and positive countervailing force against future unhappiness. My sister had no such years, no such amulets. Not surprisingly, perhaps, when both she and I had to deal with our respective demons, my sister saw the darkness as being within and part of herself, the family, and the world. I, instead, saw it as a stranger; however lodged within my mind and soul the darkness became, it almost always seemed an outside force that was at war with my natural self. My sister, like my father, could be vastly charming: fresh, original, and devastatingly witty, she also was blessed with an extraordinary sense of aesthetic design. She was not an easy or untroubled person, and as she grew older her troubles grew with her, but she had an enormous artistic imagination and soul. She also could break your heart and then provoke your temper beyond any reasonable level of endurance. Still, I always felt a bit like pieces of earth to my sister's fire and flames. For his part, my father, when involved, was often magically involved: ebullient, funny, curious about almost everything, and able to describe with delight and originality the beauties and phenomena of the natural world. A snowflake was never just a snowflake, nor a cloud just a cloud. They became events and characters, and part of a lively and oddly ordered universe. When times were good and his moods were at high tide, his infectious enthusiasm would touch everything. Music would fill the house, wonderful new pieces of jewelry would appear-a moonstone ring, a delicate bracelet of cabochon rubies, a pendant fashioned from a moody sea-green stone set in a swirl of gold- and we'd all settle into our listening mode, for we knew that soon we would be hearing a very great deal about whatever new enthusiasm had taken him over. Sometimes it would be a discourse based on a passionate conviction that the future and salvation of the world was to be found in windmills; sometimes it was that the three of us children simply had to take Russian lessons because Russian poetry was so inexpressibly beautiful in the original. Once, my father having read that George Bernard Shaw had left money in his will to develop a phonetic alphabet and that he had specified that Androcles and the Lion should be the first of his plays to be translated, we all received multiple copies of Androcles, as did anyone else who got in my father's flight path. Indeed, family rumor had it that almost a hundred books had been bought and distributed. There was a contagious magic to his expansiveness, which I loved, and I still smile when I remember my father reading aloud about Androcles treating the lion's wounded paw, the soldiers singing "Throw them to the lions" to the tune of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and my father's interspersed editorial remarks about the vital-one could not stress enough how vital-importance of phonetic and international languages. To this day, I keep a large ceramic bumblebee in my office, and it, too, makes me laugh when I remember my father picking it up, filled to the brim with honey, and flying it through the air in various jet maneuvers including, favoritely and appropriately, a cloverleaf pattern. Naturally, when the bee was turned upside down on its flight, the honey would pour down all over the kitchen table, leaving my mother to say, "Marshall, is this really necessary? You're egging on the children. It was enchanting, really, rather like having Mary Poppins for a father. Years later, he gave me a bracelet inscribed with words from Michael Faraday that were engraved over the physics building at UCLA: "Nothing is too wonderful to be true. My mother has said, many times, that she always felt she was in the shadow of my father's wit, charm, intensity, and imagination. Her observation that he was a Pled Piper with children certainly was borne out by his charismatic effect upon my friends and the other children in whatever neighborhood we found ourselves. My mother, however, was always the one my friends wanted to sit down and talk with: we played with my father; we talked with my mother. Mother, who has an absolute belief that it is not the cards that one is dealt in life, it is how one plays them, is, by far, the highest card I was dealt. Kind, fair, and generous, she has the type of self-confidence that comes from having been brought up by parents who not only loved her deeply and well, but who were themselves kind, fair, and generous people. My grandfather, who died before I was born, was a college professor and physicist by training. By all accounts, he was a witty man, as well as inordinately kind to both his students and colleagues. My grandmother, whom I knew well, was a warm and caring woman who, like Mother, had a deep and genuine interest in people; this, in turn, translated into a tremendous capacity for friendship and a remarkable ability to put people at their ease. People always came first with her, as they did with my mother, and a lack of time or a busy schedule was never an excuse for being thoughtless or unavailable. She was by no means an intellectual; unlike my grandfather, who spent his time reading, and rereading, Shakespeare and Twain, she joined clubs instead. Being both well liked and a natural organizer, she unfailingly was elected president of whatever group in which she became involved. She was disconcertingly conservative in many ways-a Republican, a Daughter of the American Revolution, and very inclined to tea parties, all of which gave my father apoplexy-but she was a gentle yet resolute woman, who wore flowered dresses, buffed her nails, set a perfect table, and smelled always of flowered soaps. She was incapable of being unkind, and she was a wonderful grandmother. My mother-tall, thin, and pretty- was a popular student in both high school and college. Pictures in her photograph albums show an obviously happy young woman, usually surrounded by friends, playing tennis, swimming, fencing, riding horses, caught up in sorority activities, or looking slightly Gibson-girlish with a series of good-looking boyfriends. The photographs capture the extraordinary innocence of a different kind of time and world, but they were a time and a world in which my mother looked very comfortable. There were no foreboding shadows, no pensive or melancholic faces, no questions of internal darkness or instability. Her belief that a certain predictability was something that one ought to be able to count upon must have had its roots in the utter normality of the people and events captured in these pictures, as well as in the preceding generations of her ancestors who were reliable, stable, honorable, and saw things through. Centuries of such seeming steadiness in the genes could only very partially prepare my mother for all of the turmoil and difficulties that were to face her once she left her parents' home to begin a family of her own. But it has been precisely that persevering steadiness of my mother, her belief in seeing things through, and her great ability to love and learn, listen and change, that helped keep me alive through all of the years of pain and nightmare that were to come. She could not have known how difficult it would be to deal with madness; had no preparation for what to do with madness-none of us did-but consistent with her ability to love, and her native will, she handled it with empathy and intelligence. It never occurred to her to give up. Both my mother and father strongly encouraged my interests in writing poetry and school plays, as well as in science and medicine. Neither of them tried to limit my dreams, and they had the sense and sensitivity to tell the difference between a phase I was going through and more serious commitments. Even my phases, however, were for the most part tolerated with kindness and imagination. Being particularly given to strong and absolute passions, I was at one point desperately convinced that we had to have a sloth as a pet. My mother, who had been pushed about as far as possible by allowing me to keep dogs, cats, birds, fish, turtles, lizards, frogs, and mice, was less than wildly enthusiastic. My father convinced me to put together a detailed scientific and literary notebook about sloths.

An Unquiet Mind Quotes by Kay Redfield Jamison

See all books by Kay Redfield Jamison. Product Details. Inspired by Your Browsing History. Girl, Interrupted. Susanna Kaysen. Hidden Valley Road. Robert Kolker. Mountains Beyond Mountains. Tracy Kidder. The Other Wes Moore. Writing My Wrongs. Shaka Senghor. The Pact. A Piece of Cake. Cupcake Brown. A Rip in Heaven. Jeanine Cummins. Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. All Souls. Michael Patrick MacDonald. Reading with Patrick. Michelle Kuo. The Year of Magical Thinking. Darkness Visible. William Styron. Action Park. Andy Mulvihill and Jake Rossen. Hill Women. Cassie Chambers. For Laci. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality. Not only that, I tend to compare my current self with the best I have been, which is when I have been midly manic. When I am my present "normal" self, I am far removed from when I have been my liveliest, most productive, most intense, most outgoing and effervescent. In short, for myself, I am a hard act to follow. In whatever way we do this--through love, work, family, faith, friends, denial, alcohol, drugs, or medication, we build these walls, stone by stone, over a lifetime. Which of the me's is me? The wild, impulsive, chaotic, energetic, and crazy one? Or the shy, withdrawn, desperate, suicidal, doomed, and tired one? Probably a bit of both, hopefully much that is neither. It is an illness that is biological in its origins, yet one that feels psychological in the experience of it, an illness that is unique in conferring advantage and pleasure, yet one that brings in its wake almost unendurable suffering and, not infrequently, suicide. So after mania, when most depressed, you're given excellent reason to be even more so. I need both. It quickly came down to a choice between seeing a psychiatrist or buying a horse. Since almost everyone I knew was seeing a psychiatrist, and since I had an absolute belief that I should be able to handle my own problems, I naturally bought a horse. There is nothing good to be said for it except that it gives you the experience of how it must be to be old, to be old and sick, to be dying; to be slow of mind; to be lacking in grace, polish and coordination; to be ugly; to have no belief in the possibilities of life, the pleasures of sex, the exquisiteness of music or the ability to make yourself and others laugh. In whatever way we do this—through love, work, family, faith, friends, denial, alcohol, drugs, or medication—we build these walls, stone by stone, over a lifetime. One of the most difficult problems is to construct these barriers of such a height and strength that one has a true harbor, a sanctuary away from crippling turmoil and pain, but yet low enough, and permeable enough, to let in fresh seawater that will fend off the inevitable inclination toward brackishness. Life is too complicated, too constantly changing, to be anything but what it is. And I am, by nature, too mercurial to be anything but deeply wary of the grave unnaturalness involved in any attempt to exert too much control over essentially uncontrollable forces. There will always be propelling, disturbing elements, and they will be there until, as Lowell put it, the watch is taken from the wrist. The money will come from somewhere; I am entitled; God will provide. Credit cards are disastrous, personal checks worse. Unfortunately, for manics anyway, mania is a natural extension of the economy. What with credit cards and bank accounts there is little beyond reach. So I bought twelve snakebite kits, with a sense of urgency and importance. She hopes that with the publication of this memoir, manic-depressives and mental health professionals both might learn what it means to be on the other side of the relationship. She also hopes to show the devastating effects of medication non-compliance, in the hope that she may save a life. Love Watching Madness. There is not just one thesis statement to this book. Check out the GradeSaver link below and you will see a few themes:. Why did she refuse to acknowledge the obvious? Why didn't she question the "rigid, irrelevant notions of self-reliance"[p. An Unquiet Mind study guide contains a biography of Kay Redfield Jamison, literature essays, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis. 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