work > painting

In her early twenties, my sister pulled off the remarkable feat of surviving childhood bipolar. Before that were years of chaos, and in her saccharine mania as a teenager she wanted to relive the happier days of our childhood. We all walked on eggshells around her moods so as not to set off another whirlwind episode. As the younger, quieter sister and her natural playmate, I had to choose between the deep shame I felt in playing with dolls we had long outgrown in order to keep the peace, and the fear of triggering an outburst that would result in a spiral plunge into a dark depression and another, inevitable hospitalization.