My Sister Reta: A Story of Art and Mental Illness

My Sister Reta: A Story of Art and Mental Illness

Copyright © 2022 by John Shipek

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66786-138-8

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66786-139-5

Contents

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1: Early Years

Chapter 2: College

Chapter 3: Middle Years/Lake Forest Park

Chapter 4: Later Years/Wenatchee

Epilogue

Appendix A - Timeline of Episodes

Appendix B - Reta’s Medications Summary

Appendix C - Further Reading

Preface

Mania is a sickness for one’s friends, depression for one’s self.

– Robert Lowell

My sister has lived with schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type for her entire adult life, almost as long as she has been painting. I am her younger brother. I wrote this book because I believe her story is an important and inspiring one to tell and I knew that I had the rigor, history, and heart to do a good job of it. To assemble the facts, I reviewed her vast catalog of paintings, dug into police, medical and financial records, conducted interviews, and reviewed family correspondence, as well as my own journals.

I believe this book offers a unique perspective on mental illness. The majority of books on this subject are authored either by medical professionals, individuals suffering from bipolar disorder themselves, or both. I am none of these. I am just a little brother to a sister who is a talented artist and who has a terrible, incurable disease.

While I have always had a congenial relationship with Reta, as my manuscript progressed and I learned more about her and her life, I began to appreciate and cherish my sister to a degree that surprised me.

Introduction

In the family there is a considerable history of insanity on the mother’s side. The patient has one 11-year-old brother said to be normal.

~ Clinical record, c. 1968

Self-Portrait, 1968

Oil on canvas

24 in x 18 in

Reta’s text messages were completely incoherent, and she was having difficulty talking on the phone. She said she was cold, soaked with sweat, and her arms and hands were shaking uncontrollably. Reta said she found it impossible to paint. I concluded that her body was failing her as much as her mind.

Deciding Reta’s condition had reached a tipping point I packed my bags and hit the road the next morning to see if I could do anything to help. My goal was to spend a couple of nights in Wenatchee and provide some level of comfort.

I arrived at Reta and Michael’s house mid-morning. When Reta sluggishly greeted me at the door she said she was so tired that she had to lie down. While Reta rested, Michael asked if I would do him the favor of installing a pair of grab bars in his bathroom, which I did. When Reta got up she moved to the living room couch, and we just hung out. She said she was not up for anything else. On a better day we would have gone for a drive, and I would have treated her to lunch at one of her favorite restaurants.

After a few hours, Michael got out of bed and wheeled himself into the living room and at the same time Reta retreated to her bedroom. Our conversation began innocuously, but then abruptly Michael ordered me to drive Reta right that moment to the ER and request she be sent to a mental hospital. I said, calmly, Michael, that is not how these things work. I’m not going to do that. To this he replied, You don’t seem to understand my situation. I am at the end of my rope. So, I am just giving you a heads up. If you don’t do anything it’s up to you, if you do something, you are doing it for your sister, not me.

Michael became increasingly irate. In a voice that began civilly but increased to a bellow, he said, I am trying to be rational, to do something that will help her and will stop me from doing anything that I might regret if I lose my control. Next, with harsh words Michael ordered me out of the house. I said, in an even tone, I would like to say goodbye to my sister before I leave.

Michael snapped, I am married to her, this is my house, this is our marriage, and if I say don’t go there, don’t go there! Alright, I said. Can I yell goodbye at her from here?

Michael stuttered at my question before he replied, No, uh, go ahead and yell. I’d like to hear you yell for a change. Yeah, GO AHEAD! I called out with an inflection that would befit the introductions at a professional wrestling match, HEY RETA! She does not answer. Michael continues his shouting, I’ll tell you what, I’m trying to be a good person, GO AND SAY GOODBYE TO HER AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! GOODBYE!

I got up from the couch with my pack in hand and made my way toward Reta’s bedroom. When I got to her, she was sitting in a chair in the corner, looking at the floor. I said, I’m sorry. Weeping, Reta responded, You have to go? I don’t blame you. Why does he keep threatening? I can’t do anything. I said, I’m sorry, please keep your phone with you and please call me when you can. Okay? Bye sweetie. I made my exit quickly and drove away, knowing I was leaving behind an amalgam of pain and uncertainty.

The next day in a sheepish voice, Michael left a message on my phone, If you want to see your sister, you can. Sorry about yesterday. That’s all I can say. Goodbye.

I was only eight years old when Reta began college and moved away from home. When Reta became ill, my parents did not talk with me about it. They likewise did not talk about a family history of mental illness, which, during the course of my research for this book I found did, indeed, exist. I only recently pieced together the complete story; my mother had two younger brothers (who both died young), four older sisters, and two younger sisters. Through interviews with Reta and my mother, plus some detective work, I was able to corroborate the story that one of my mother’s older sisters, Delia, was involuntarily institutionalized for six years at Northern State Hospital (NSH).

My mom and dad must have had a deep, sinking feeling when Reta experienced her first episode. It left no doubt that mental illness would persist in the family.

Bipolar Disorder and Heredity

In New Hope for people with Bipolar Disorder - Your Friendly, Authoritative Guide to the Latest in Traditional and Complementary Solutions, Jan Fawcett, M.D., Bernard Golden, Ph.D., and Nancy Rosenfield explain:

Studies indicate that when both parents have bipolar disorder, the likelihood of having a child who evidences the disorder is 50 to 75 percent. In contrast, when only one parent has been diagnosed, that possibility decreases to 15 to 30 percent. However, these statistics only imply a disposition to the illness, not a prediction of whether the child will ever experience the symptoms.

In Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament, Kay Redfield Jamison explains:

Manic-depressive illness is indisputably genetic … Manic-depressive illness is relatively common: approximately one person in a hundred will suffer from the more severe form and at least that many again will experience milder variants, such as cyclothymia. One person in twenty, or 5 percent, will experience a major depressive illness, in contrast to major depressive illness which is twice as likely to affect women.