Ex-patient's book is a signal of hope for mentally ill

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Friday, March 25, 2005

Ex-patient's book is a signal of hope for mentally ill

By SUSAN PAYNTER
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

Bruce Miller makes a respectable $57,000-a-year living in drywall construction.

He has tightly reknitted his formerly raveled ties to his kids.

And he has just self-published "Wizard on the Wall," the reportedly fascinating first chapter in a trilogy of sci-fantasy novels still in search of a commercial publisher.

But the fact that his first book-signing today isn't at Barnes & Noble but at Western State Hospital is a clue that this middle-class success story sprouts from anything but middling roots.

The former criminally committed mental patient well knows that Western is not a place that tends to garner glowing newspaper headlines.

And its achievements in healing are generally the private and unsung stuff of a patient's file. Between the covers of a folder it is simply recorded that a patient, committed for a crime or self-admitted, has been sprung and has stayed out of trouble.

Miller picked the state's largest mental hospital near Steilacoom for today's 1:30 p.m. book event in something of a twist. It's his turn, he says, to help the place and the people who helped give him his life back.

The first time Miller took a trip to Western State it was anything but by choice.

He'd grown up unremarkably enough in Springdale near Spokane. And he'd entered the Coast Guard at his dad's urging to steer clear of Vietnam and the machinery of death.

That strategy backfired, big time. Soon Miller, a third-class gunner's mate, was firing everything from .50 caliber machine guns to 81 mm mortars and boarding junks to confiscate contraband.

After Vietnam, Miller kicked around, singing in a band and working as a lumberjack and ranch cook until he found a niche in drywall.

He got married and, in '79, graduated from Bear Valley School of Bible Studies near Denver. His ministerial degree in hand, he became a pastor of a Church of Christ in California. And then it was back to drywall.

It's the mundane stuff of life unless you factor in Miller's erupting mind.

From childhood, he was the human tuning fork, the kid who loved fishing so much he was good to go at 4 a.m. "Hypermania" is the term he uses. Schizophrenia was the catchall, he says, when he first arrived at Steilacoom. To him, bipolar is a better fit.

Either way, he had his first real episode in the mid-'80s but still seized on "every excuse under heaven" to shed the label, "mentally ill." Then the most severe attack ever jerked him like a marionette and he assaulted a family member in a way so serious it's still too tough to talk about.

Charged with assault and judged "not guilty by reason of insanity," the treatment was mandatory incarceration. For at least some of the first four years Miller was locked up tight he strained against his own denial, wondering, "What am I doing here?"

Then "meds," treatment and counseling eased him into the second phase of on-campus community living. Now Miller lives free with one of his sons near Lakewood, although he is still on meds and still required to participate in counseling every two weeks.

But it was galaxies back in his early incarceration that Miller began writing his books. At first, his fantastical spacescape adventures seemed a part of therapy.

Now, even though still not embraced by a name-brand publisher, he gets e-mails every day from those who have read the book he will next attempt to market on eBay.

That's real validation for a man who wants other patients to know there can be life, stability and a whole uncharted solar system of possibilities after involuntary commitment to a place with a name like Western State Hospital.

That's why he's hoping that as many patients as possible will attend the book event.

He also wants the public to know that, despite recent headlines about the suspension of a hospital manager for sexual harassment, despite a costly civil suit settlement and the firing of a previous Western State chief executive officer, there are "good people who work really hard, people to whom Western State is far more than a job," who deserve kudos for their care.

Western State's new CEO, Andrew Phillips, has been at the helm a year and a half. And he's grateful that this "graduate" had the inspiration to stage a book-signing on-site.

"We actually have many success stories," Phillips told me. "But one of the things about recovery is that, although it occurs frequently, it's not well-publicized. We hear more about those who still struggle or fail."

No question Western State has had its problems. But events like today's, in honor of Bruce Miller, deserve attention, too.

Newspapers celebrate the recoveries of cancer patients and car-wreck victims. So, for a couple of hours, why not make a party for a man who makes a living doing drywall? A dad who, across mental illness and wrenching distance, has reconnected with his kids? An author who literally has written the book on recovery at Western State?

Susan Paynter's column appears Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Call her at 206-448-8392 or send e-mail to susanpaynter@seattlepi.com.

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