The Storm

The StormThis is the story of my family’s struggles with Bipolar Disorder in 1950s. The opening paragraphs:
 

The room was 8 ft by 8 ft with an 8 ft ceiling. Each surface of the walls, the ceiling and
floor was covered with dingy gray canvas mats. A single lightbulb, set in the ceiling and
protected by a steel grill, spilled harsh light into the cell 24 hours a day, ensuring that attendants
could easily observe any activity of its occupant when looking through the protective glass
window of the door, the only access to the room.
 
A thin, naked woman sat huddled in the far corner, her head between her drawn-up knees,
her arms clinched tightly around her legs, swaying almost imperceptibly to a rhythm only she
could hear. Her long black hair, once full and shiny, lay in limp, dirty strings across her hunched
shoulders, her sides and thighs a pasty white with visible bones under the skin. Despair and fear
seeped into the corridor, the only emissions from the sound-proofed room. The woman was
broken, without hope, and she was my mother.

 
The story is available as an ebook, a paperback, and an Audible tape.