BOOT EDGE EDGE!

Pete Buttigieg had another town-hall rally in Cedar Rapids tonight, where he continued to inspire and enthrall and impress the hell out of a packed room of supporters and still-undecided caucusers. His messages of big-tent inclusivity and his standards of decency and his unfailingly measured and principled and educated policy proposals shaped more than his well-rehearsed stump speech; they drove thoughtful, meaningful answers to audience questions drawn randomly from a literal fishbowl in front of everyone. Pete doesn’t just talk for the sake of talking—he has things to say that he’s clearly thought about and taken the time to research and understand and make informed opinions about.

Issues related to mental illness—and caring for people with mental illnesses—came up more than once over the course of the evening, and amid discussions of stigma and a lack of available care and his loan-forgiveness proposals to draw more people into the field, he specifically mentioned bipolar disorder. I was sitting with my dad in the ADA section, wedged between him with his cane and a stranger with hers. My tardive dyskinesia—a permanent tremor disorder brought on by my bipolar meds—happened to be firing on all cylinders tonight, and as I was struggling mightily to sit still and not bounce like an earthquake and jostle everyone wedged around me, my chosen candidate—the measured, educated, thoughtful, egalitarian, inspiring, openly gay, perpetual adult in the room—specifically mentioned ME and my struggles and my family’s struggles ... and he had solid, workable ideas for addressing them for everyone living with our struggles.

And though my meds have also pretty much neutered my emotions and left me virtually unable to cry, I found myself repeatedly choking back tears.

If you’re undecided or overwhelmed or even underwhelmed by the field of Democratic candidates, reach out to me. I’m more than happy to share with you why I find Pete Buttigieg so inspiring and important and eminently capable of leading us all as a citizenry and as a country.

Thank you

As anyone who spends more than a few seconds on social media every month probably knows, I'm bipolar. As probably nobody knows, my bipolar depression got so acute and so scary that I spent the week of Christmas in a psych ward. It was there that I decided I needed to move home to Iowa to help take care of my dad—who has lost his sight to macular degeneration—and where my family could take care of me. It was also where I told myself if I really did move to Iowa I'd get involved in the theater again. Now fast-forward four months. I've already done one show, and tonight marks the point where I am for the first time in my life doing two shows simultaneously. I start rehearsals for A Chorus Line tonight and I open Barefoot in the Park this Friday. Plus I have a kick-ass job. Plus my meds are working so well I forget what it's like to be manic until my increasingly rare manic waves hit me. And I honestly can't remember the last depressive episode I had. (Then again, huge chunks of my manic episodes are a blur too. Which is both a blessing and a curse of being bipolar.) I owe A LOT to so many friends and family members and social-media acquaintances who have believed in me and given me encouraging words and friendly hellos—and parts in theatrical productions—and I don't even know how to begin showing my gratitude. Which is a lot to say for a professional writer who usually can't shut up. So I'm showing my gratitude by living my life and enjoying what it brings to me and believing in myself even when I don't really believe in myself. I love my family, I love my friends and I love my life. And I send an epic thank you to everyone who's helped get me here.