The older Joshua got, the more I wanted to break the chain of what I had dealt with as a child. I didn’t want to be like that with my own kids; I didn’t want to use physical violence and I didn’t want to be emotionally aloof.
It would be easier for me to achieve the former.
With my daughters, it wasn’t complicated because they were so well behaved, but Joshua’s behavior could drive me up the wall. The thing is, you’re operating out of fear when you use rough physical discipline, and you may achieve respect but you don’t get something else that is really important—a closeness and a love and a joy that I can’t even describe. I realized if I wanted to break the chain, I had to find an alternative way to communicate with my sensitive son.
I started talking to Joshua softly. I reined in my aggressive, angry reaction to his disobedience. And it worked.
Joshua was also always glued to video games, which worried me. One night there was a 20/20 segment on TV about being addicted to video games.
“Hey, Joshua, come watch this with me, it’s pretty cool,” I said.
After a minute or two of watching, he squirmed. “I don’t need this, Dad,” he told me, but he paid attention and I think he understood what the program was saying. When it finished, he didn’t go back to playing his games right away. He sat there with me and then finally said, “All my friends are online, playing the game with me.”
“What about your other friends?” I asked. “Why don’t you invite them over more?”
He hesitated a beat and then finally said quietly, “I don’t have any other friends.”
It broke my heart and I gently said, “Well, maybe these online strangers aren’t the right friends.”
But Joshua’s school days had been much different than mine even though he was uninterested in studies like me. He had been homeschooled when he was younger and when we let him go to public school, he had a tough time. He didn’t make friends, and, in fact, he finally admitted he was bullied. After that I decided to show him how to box in order to defend himself, and the first time he put on the gloves and hit me I could feel the solid lead in that kid’s hands. By this time I had moved on to the Wild Card Gym and I’d take Joshua with me to train. We met Manny Pacquiao there, which was very cool, because I love watching him fight.
Once, when Joshua and I were sparring, he started wheezing. He always has the inhaler but it’s still scary when it happens; however, Joshua doesn’t let that stop him. He’s good at whatever he tries, and if he’s passionate about it, look out. When I started working with him, I knew he could be a pro, but Paula won’t allow it.
School continued to be a problem, though, and when Joshua was in sixth grade, Paula got a call from the principal asking her to come to his office. When she got there, she found out the bullying had gotten worse and now involved several students. Paula was upset because she had decided to let him attend public school but the experience was ruined and Joshua couldn’t even enjoy school or meet new friends because of the bullying.
That night, Joshua told me that he would fight the bullies, but Paula was not going to let that happen—that was not why Joshua was going to school. The look she gave me said it all. She did not want Joshua to repeat my formative school years, which were centered around winning altercations instead of getting an education. So we decided to continue Joshua’s homeschooling and enrolled him in a more creative online school where he soon started taking more of an interest in his studies.
While I was experiencing the father/son dynamic in my own world, once again my personal life paralleled Sonny’s, because Sonny was now a father to his first biological son, Morgan. Sonny had delivered the baby himself, and it quickly became one of my most relatable story lines.
Around this time, the General Hospital producers approached me with an idea that really could help people—they wanted to add bipolar disorder to Sonny’s traits. I had thought about it prior to that, but mostly, up to that point, I had not overtly asked to make bipolar an actual diagnosis for Sonny. I had just on my own started putting little hidden layers of depression into Sonny’s dark times. But now there was an opportunity to actually shine a light on it, give a name to it, and draw international attention to bipolar and depression on a daily stage.
At the time, Sonny had begun a relationship with Jason’s sister, Emily Quartermaine, played by the talented Natalia Livingston, who was a joy to work with. She did an incredible job making Sonny’s bipolar story resonate realistically and emotionally. Sonny’s brother, Rick, played by the great Rick Hearst, exacerbated Sonny’s situation, pushing him over the edge, and all through July 2006 Sonny’s mental health declined as he descended into a breakdown.
It was very realistic; Sonny resisted believing he had mental illness, and when Emily confronted him and told him he was probably bipolar he wouldn’t accept that. When she convinced him to see a therapist he put it off, but finally when he did face a trained doctor, in those sessions Sonny was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Then the real struggle began as he fought taking lithium, afraid he would be a medicated zombie. The writers did a fantastic job because it was honest and authentic; I related to every beat of his struggle. After all, I had lived it.
I taped a public service announcement that aired during this time talking about bipolar and directing viewers to look for signs, and numbers were given to call if they felt they or someone they knew might be afflicted. The response to the story was enormous, and again, all sorts of letters began flooding in from people who struggled themselves and identified with me, or people who were worried about a relative, or friends who wondered if their loved one needed help. I’ll never forget one letter from a woman who thought her husband was bipolar, and after she got him to watch the show during that time he finally admitted he needed help. She told me it had saved their marriage—and his life. I was so proud that the powerful force of art of any kind could mean something bigger in the grand scope of things.
Although I felt the need to continue to bring awareness to bipolar, the melding of my personal and professional lives eventually took its toll. While Sonny was going through darkness and turmoil, I was on my meds, so I thought I was okay, I thought I was handling it, but the intensity of the story and the memories I had to access as a method actor to get to those dark places were pulling me down again. I just didn’t realize how far down.
I had to fly to Pittsburgh for an appearance along with Ron Hale, and as we were boarding, some guys looked me up and down with a sneer.
“Fuck you guys,” they yelled, taunting me.
I started getting stressed and I could feel the anger rising like my old high school brawling days with my buddies.
“You guys are fucking special,” they continued to harass me.
Suddenly I couldn’t control my rage. “Why don’t we go outside and I’ll tell you the whole story?” I said menacingly, preparing to grab one of the guys. It was as if I were on the playground, fists tight, unwilling to back down. Ron pulled me away before I could hurt the guy and made me take my seat. I managed to doze off; however, soon I began fighting an unseen demon in my sleep, talking out loud while tossing and turning and flailing my arms. Ron woke me and I had a full-blown anxiety attack, hyperventilating and unable to calm down. Mercifully, we finally got to Pittsburgh, but my panic attack on the plane had spooked me, because I had absolutely no control over it.
I got through the appearance okay and I took a Xanax before boarding the flight home, thinking that would take care of it, but the minute I boarded I could feel the anxiety rising and I couldn’t sit in my seat. I felt like my entire insides were on fire, like I was burning from within and I needed to take my clothes off. Ron tried to talk me out of it, but I kept insisting I had to get off the plane and got more and more belligerent.
My behavior elevated the situation to high alert, and I’m sure my brown skin didn’t help matters, nor did the post-9/11 panic about airline security. The flight attendants told the pilot, who called security, and they had t
o delay the takeoff and open the door to deboard me. The cops were waiting and escorted me off the plane and into the terminal, and once I was on solid ground I started to calm down. The cops were deadly serious and it took a lot of talking to get out of that situation, but God bless Ron, somehow he convinced them I was on a TV show and also bipolar and was no threat. A few months later when I received my fifth Emmy nomination, I didn’t attend the ceremony because I was nervous about getting on a plane again. Once again, I knew I needed to do the work in therapy, but I would struggle with the aversion to planes for a while.
Meanwhile, in 2007, four parents in San Diego, California with children affected by bipolar disorder and the trauma that it causes for them and their families started a group called the California Bipolar Foundation in order to do something constructive to help. As the foundation rapidly grew, it became the International Bipolar Foundation (IBPF), with a scientific advisory board to improve understanding and treatment of bipolar disorder through research. It also promotes care and support resources for individuals and caregivers and works to erase stigmas through education. Their vision is to achieve wellness, dignity, and respect for people living with bipolar disorder. It is a wonderful organization and cofounder Muffy Walker worked with us coordinating many events, advocating tirelessly.
I was also honored that year by the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance for raising awareness and fighting the stigma of mental health issues. But in 2007, I had the opportunity to go all the way to Washington, D.C., to raise awareness on the largest national scale of all when I was asked to testify before Congress. Even though the first bill attempting to address mental health parity coverage introduced by Republican Senator Pete Domenici and Democratic Senator Paul Wellstone (previously authored by Domenici and Republican Senator John Danforth in 1992) had passed in 1996, it was extremely limited and did not require insurance companies to offer mental health insurance. So, for the most part, insurance companies had been getting around paying for mental health costs ever since. Congress had also been bickering over different bills by different members of Congress trying to change that—and powerful special interest groups opposed made that change languish—for a decade. Even when George W. Bush created the New Freedom Commission on Mental Health and called for parity in 2001, it faced an uphill battle.
Since 2001, the wonderful mental health nonprofits I was involved in, NAMI and MHA, had been fighting the insurance companies and special interests who had succeeded in stalling numerous attempts to pass legislation in favor of coverage for mental illness.
I was happy to use my face and name to advocate for why people need this coverage. Everyone was pulling out all the stops to get the bill passed, and I wanted to do my part and speak at the hearings. I’m blessed in my life, but without insurance companies acknowledging mental illness medical bills, anyone can lose it all, and lose it fast.
The timing, however, turned out to be terrible. I was deep into another story line on the show involving Sonny having a manic episode, stopping his meds, and spiraling down. Of course, since I’m a method actor, I had been living Sonny’s downward dive into darkness for weeks, and even though I thought I was successfully separating the two, sometimes Sonny’s struggle took me further into my own. Donna noticed I was having trouble and was there for me, as always, trying to calm me and focus me and let me know things would be all right, but I was already going down that dark rabbit hole I had gone down before.
Once again I started hearing voices, just like I had years before during my first month on the show. I was also seeing things, including visions of my parents on set and in rooms when they were clearly not in town. Once, in the middle of the night, the voices in the room were so loud they woke me and I lay there in the darkness, my breath coming in short spurts, trying to tell myself no one was in the room but me and Paula, who was sound asleep beside me. But the voices kept whispering to me, saying dark things, and although I tried to shake them, they got louder and louder in my head, drowning out reality. I finally got up and went out on the balcony, trying to get air because I couldn’t breathe, and I only started to calm down a little when I heard Paula call to me from inside.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
“I’m hearing the voices again.”
Paula, as she always does, took control, canceling my flight to Washington, D.C., and apologizing to the congressional liaison, explaining that I was ill and wouldn’t be able to speak before Congress the following day. She also called Jill, our executive producer, and bluntly told her I would not be shooting any more scenes about a breakdown and the current story line had to end immediately.
I was not off my meds this time, and that’s what made it even scarier. This new nemesis that had reared its head was worse than the depression I had dealt with up to this point in my life. This new demon was even more crippling. It was extreme anxiety and it would come for me again.
I wouldn’t fly anywhere for almost a decade.
I attempted once shortly after that because Paula had planned a family vacation to Puerto Rico. I was the last in line to board, but as I started up the ramp, the panic of anxiety gripped me with a chokehold, so I told Paula I had to get off the plane and she rallied the children and gathered our things, returning to the terminal. Never one to disappoint the kids, Paula rented a motor home and we drove across the country for an alternate vacation the kids enjoyed, but I still felt bad that I had ruined our original plan.
I related to Sonny more than ever, because Sonny’s transgressions had started to put his family in danger and, similarly, I knew that every time I had a manic episode, my children and my wife were at risk. I had not had a breakdown or threatened any violence during one since I’d had kids, because I had been on my meds, but the possibility of a depression was always lurking.
So were the anxiety and panic attacks. My dad always asks me, “Which is worse? Depression or anxiety?” Although they’re both poison, for me, I think it’s anxiety. When you’re depressed, it’s terrible; you’re down, you don’t feel like doing anything, you feel heavy, but anxiety is worse, it’s like an explosion waiting to happen. When you’re having a good day or a good week or month, it feels like an angel is inside you, and then, suddenly, the demon comes back. The depression demon sits inside you and makes you feel heavier than you can imagine. The anxiety demon makes your thoughts go a hundred miles an hour and you can’t sleep, which makes you freak out, which makes it worse.
Whenever I have a dark period, I just want to stay in bed. If I have to go to work, it’s tough, because I have to show up in front of a camera. I’m lucky I have a supportive show and supportive castmates but if either the depression or anxiety hits over a weekend, or on a family vacation, I have often curled up and drawn the shades and stayed in the dark. It’s not good to do that; it’s better to keep moving, keep going through the motions, but there are times I gave in to just trying to disappear.
Whenever that happens, Paula always tells the kids, “Dad is sick,” and they learned at a young age to leave me alone when I’m in that state. If they wanted to play or be loud, Paula just let them know I wasn’t feeling great, and somehow they knew it wasn’t the normal kind of sick like when they had a tummy ache. They understood, and I love them for accepting me even though it may not always have been fun for them.
In 2007, Oprah also wanted to do a follow-up interview, to check in and see how my mental health journey was going, but we had to tape the show at our home in Los Angeles because I still couldn’t get on a plane. Oprah talked to me via satellite from Chicago and I told her it had been a rough patch. I apologized for not being there in person and explained that the last time I had tried to fly I had disappointed my family.
To this day, I still regret not being able to make that trip to Puerto Rico, for my family’s sake, but especially for Joshua, who had never been on a plane and was so excited he had been anticipating it for weeks before I took that experience away from him.
How do you explain to a
child something that makes no sense?
When anxiety grips me, I can’t breathe. It’s like being in a cage with a wild animal and I have no idea when I’m going to die because that beast is looking at me and I know it’s going to devour me alive. It’s just a matter of time.
Although my anxiety kept me from testifying before Congress, others did, and the continued efforts of mental health organizations pressuring for insurance companies to cover mental health finally paid off. Despite the many years the House and Senate had clashed over it, when Lehman Brothers declared bankruptcy and a financial meltdown ensued, the crisis created a new path forward. Democratic Representative Patrick Kennedy and Republican Representative Jim Ramstad used their previously stalled mental health parity bill H.R. 1424 and garnered votes to tie it to the bailout in the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008. An ill Senator Edward Kennedy helped gather support for the bill, and hours after it passed both houses of Congress, George W. Bush signed the bill into law to stabilize the banking industry—and legally constitute mental illness as a condition requiring coverage by insurance companies on par with medical illness.
It couldn’t have been done without Senator Paul Wellstone, a Democrat, who had watched his family pay off overwhelming medical debt for twenty years after his older brother, Stephen, spent two years in a mental hospital in a catatonic state. Or Republican Senator Pete Domenici, who had a schizophrenic daughter and found it difficult to secure insurance coverage for her needs. Republican Senator John Danforth, Democratic Senator Edward Kennedy, and his son, Democratic Representative Patrick Kennedy, himself diagnosed as bipolar, all advocated for laws to change, as did Republican Senator Michael Enzi, Democratic House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, and Democratic Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, whose personal connection to the issue was losing his father to suicide as a young boy. The point is, mental illness touches everyone, no matter your station in life and no matter your political preference. People on both sides of the aisle pushed for this law that can make the difference between a family losing their house to cover mental health care treatment bills or not. I wonder where that spirit in Washington has gone.
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