Bell Jar Butterfly: A Family's Mental Health Journey

By Lauren Green

Her mind began to twist, plaguing her with dejection and self-doubt. As she plummeted into despondence, she noticed her wings beating gently into glass. Nudging her back. Keeping her in place. She became claustrophobic and flew around frantically, desperate to e

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ballast Books
• Release date: Jun 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9781962202671

Lauren Green

Lauren Green currently serves as Fox News Channel's (FNC) chief religion correspondent based in the New York bureau. She joined FNC in 1996. Most recently, Green reported live from Rome in 2013 on the election of Pope Francis, as well as on the retirement of Pope Benedict XVI. Additionally, she provided live coverage of the beatification of Pope John Paul II from Rome in 2011 and Pope Benedict XVI's visit to the United States in 2008. Prior to joining FNC, Green served as a weekend news anchor and correspondent at WBBM-TV (CBS-2) in Chicago, IL. From 1988 to 1993, she was a general assignment reporter at KSTP-TV (ABC-5) in St. Paul, Minnesota. Outside of her career at FNC, Green is a reputable concert pianist with a degree in piano performance from The University of Minnesota. She has interviewed some of the most prominent people in the classical music world including Placido Domingo, Pierre Boulez, Joshua Bell and has covered such events as the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition and opening night of The Metropolitan Opera. In 2004, she released her debut album, "Classic Beauty." A graduate of Northwestern University's Medill School of Journalism, Green was named Miss Minnesota in 1984 and was the third runner-up in the 1985 Miss America contest.

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Ballast Books, LLC

www.ballastbooks.com

Copyright © 2024 by Lauren Green

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-962202-67-1

Cover Design by Savannah Spidalieri

Layout by Suzanne Uchytil

Published by Ballast Books

www.ballastbooks.com

For more information, bulk orders, appearances, or speaking requests, please email: [e-mail]

For Jordan

Contents

Author's Note

Prologue

Part 1

Lauren: Fall 1999

Lauren: Summer 2000

Lauren: Winter 2001

Dad

Lauren: Spring 2001

Lauren: Fall 2001

Lauren: Spring 2002

Mom: Summer 2002

Lauren: Fall 2002

Lauren: Summer 2003

Lauren: Fall 2004

Part 2

Mom: Winter 2005

Lauren: Winter 2005

Lauren: Spring 2005

Mom: Spring 2005

Lauren: Spring 2005

Mom: Spring 2005

Dad: Spring 2005

Mom: Spring 2005

Lauren: Spring 2005

Mom: Spring 2005

Lauren: Summer 2005

Mom: Spring 2006

Lauren: Winter 2007

Mom

Dad: Spring 2008

Mom: Spring 2008

Lauren

Dad: Fall 2008

Mom

Lauren: Summer 2009

Part 3

Lauren: Fall 2009

Sarah: Fall 2009

Lauren: Fall 2009

Lauren: Fall 2009

Lauren: Fall 2009

Lauren: Fall 2009

Sarah: Fall 2009

Mom: Winter 2009

Lauren: Winter 2009

Lauren: Winter 2010

Lauren: Spring 2010

Dad

Sarah: Spring 2010

Mom: Summer 2010

Lauren: Summer 2010

Lauren: Fall 2010

Mom: Winter 2011

Lauren: Spring 2011

Part 4

Lauren: Never the Same (Poem)

Lauren: Fall 2012

Lauren: Fall 2012

Mom

Mom: Fall 2012

Dad: Fall 2012

Lauren: Fall 2012

Sarah: Fall 2012

Dad: Fall 2012

Lauren: Winter 2013

Mom: Winter 2013

Lauren: Winter 2013

Mom: Spring 2013

Mom: Spring 2013

Dad: Spring 2013

Lauren: Spring 2013

Mom: Spring 2014

Lauren: Fall 2014

Sarah

Mom

Sarah: Summer 2015

Mom: Spring 2016

Lauren: Spring 2016

Mom: Spring 2016

Part 5

Sarah: Summer 2016

Lauren: Fall 2016

Mom: Fall 2016

Lauren: Spring 2017

Mom: Spring 2017

Mom: Spring 2017

Lauren: Spring 2017

Sarah: Spring 2017

Mom: Summer 2017

Sarah: Fall 2017

Lauren: Fall 2017

Mom: Fall 2017

Sarah: Fall 2017

Mom: Fall 2017

Lauren: Fall 2017

Lauren: Winter 2017

Sarah: Winter 2017

Lauren: Winter 2017

Mom: Winter 2017

Sarah

Lauren: Winter 2017

Dad: Winter 2017

Lauren: Winter 2018

Lauren: Winter 2018

Mom: Winter 2018

Lauren: Winter 2018

Mom: Winter 2018

Lauren: Winter 2018

Katie: Fall 2019

Lauren: Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Landmarks

Cover

Note

To protect the privacy of those mentioned in this book, many names have been changed. Reflections are as accurate as memory permits. A small amount of creative license was taken in crafting this book for the sake of readability, but this is largely considered a nonfiction work.

Author’s Note

I was twelve years old when I realized I had a story to tell. Not a mystery or a drama like I normally wrote. A real story. One that might matter to someone. One that could change me—and with a bit of luck, maybe even the rest of the world. (Corny, I know—but hey, I’m an optimist.)

A year or so before, my little sister had been diagnosed with a mental illness. At the time, I had no idea what a mental illness was, but I figured it out pretty quickly as I watched Katie repeatedly harm herself and attempt to take her own life. Something unrecognizable emerged inside of her and swallowed her whole.

It was terrifying. I felt hopeless, helpless, useless. I was no match against the shadow that stirred behind my sister’s eyes and changed her into a different person. I didn’t have control over anything . . . at least I felt like I didn’t.

It was my mom who inspired me. Understandably daunted by the prospect of raising a kid with mental health challenges, my mom went straight to the bookstore when Katie was diagnosed. She had no idea what she was doing or what she was up against, so she sought as much information as she could find to arm herself with background knowledge. Unfortunately, she discovered only a few books regarding childhood mental illness. And the books she did find offered only a clinical form of help, simply stating definitions, symptoms, and treatment options. There was no human advice, no encouragement. She felt like she and my dad were the only parents in the world who were trying to raise a child living with mental illness. It was a very lonely feeling.

It made my young heart ache to see my parents so lost, scared, and alone. I knew there wasn’t much that I could do to help them, but I figured I could help future families dealing with the same thing. So, I decided to gain control over my family’s circumstances in my own way by providing some piece of the information my parents so desperately searched for.

I was inexperienced as a writer, so I didn’t make much meaningful progress at first. But that turned out to be a good thing for a couple of reasons.

First of all, the purpose behind my writing broadened as I grew older and became aware of the stigma associated with mental illness. I realized that I not only wanted to help families struggling with mental illness feel connected, but I also wanted to show that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to judge someone for.

I thought if people could see my sister as a person first, it would help chip away at the stigma. See, Katie lives with a mental illness that she never asked for and never wanted. But her mental health is only one aspect of her personhood. She’s also a daughter, sister, friend, and loved one. She has a good heart and a bright mind. She can make a great difference in this world, just like anyone else—with or without a mental illness. Ultimately, mental illness doesn‘t define her or define anybody. It’s a sickness, just like diabetes or cancer—not a choice. Stigma shouldn’t even come into the picture.

Second of all, my family’s story was still unfolding, making it difficult for me to plan the content of my book. I wrote down what I could over time, but it was difficult to conquer such an enormous and emotionally draining task without a clear plan in mind.

Eventually though, I realized my family’s story would always be developing, no matter how much time passed. Katie has a mental illness. It’s a permanent part of who she is (at least until we discover some sort of cure). And if her story does stop, that means she‘s not here anymore to continue it, and that’s the last thing I want. So, with ample help and support from my parents and sisters, I was finally able to get our journey on paper.

This story is mine and my family’s and everyone’s. It’s yours too. It’s meant to offer advice, bring solace, crush the stigma, and start a conversation. It‘s meant to give hope. Whether you’re dealing with mental illness yourself, living with someone who has a mental illness, or simply interested in the subject, I hope you get everything you need out of our story. And remember: whatever you’re going through, you’re not alone.

Prologue

She fluttered and flapped, brilliant with color and life. She wanted to see, to learn, to experience, to thrive. Fear and pain and suffering simply didn’t exist. Her world was her own.

As she soared through the air, dizzy with hope and happiness, she knew nothing but comfort and familiarity. If shadows skulked in her head—teasing, taunting, waiting—she ignored them. Nothing could touch her.

It was as if she didn’t even realize how delicate she was. How fragile.

At some point, her mind began to twist, plaguing her with dejection and self-doubt. Her head, once filled with extravagant ideas and blind joy, was suddenly brimming over with blood and death and hatred. The lurking shadows chortled, charmed by her inescapable anguish.

As she plummeted into despondence, she noticed her wings beating gently into glass. Nudging her back. Keeping her in place. It seemed she was trapped inside an invisible prison.

She became claustrophobic and flew around frantically, desperate to escape, but the glass was a seamless cage. She was hopelessly confined, stuck in her own head, fixated on her ubiquitous thoughts of anxiety and despair.

What butterfly could survive in a bell jar?

Part 1

Don’t be afraid of your story. It will inspire others.

—Unknown

Lauren

Fall 1999

My sister and I argued furiously as we strode toward Mommy’s car, both of us shivering in the chilly breeze of an in-between season. We were probably disagreeing over what game we’d play when we got home or what music we’d listen to in the car. We always found a reason to fight.

Night had just fallen, and the sky was a dusky purple-blue, draping Nana and Papa’s backyard in darkness. It must have rained that day; we could hear the water rushing past in the creek behind the swing set. Fireflies glowed in and out of existence around us, and crickets we could never find sang shrilly, just out of sight.

Our sweet, angry, little girl voices interrupted the peaceful scene of evening as we marched toward the car, but we were careful not to argue too loudly lest Mommy and Daddy hear—then we’d both be in trouble.

Since I was older by two and a half years, I walked half a step ahead of Katie, leading the way. She was being awfully mean to me, making fun of me or something, but I still let her sit behind the driver’s seat so she would be closer to Mommy, who always drove unless she’d had too many glasses of wine.

As usual, I was calm and reserved, patiently waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come out, while Katie was wild and giddy, bouncing around in her seat. Pretty soon, I was irritated with her never-ending energy, and she was thinking it was real funny to poke me repeatedly.

I did not think it was real funny at all. In fact, I thought it was real obnoxious.

After about the fifth time asking her to please cut it out, I lost my temper. Lips pursed together in anger, I grabbed both of her hands and smashed them together, pushing them far away from me. When she squiggled and squirmed, I squeezed her wrists angrily, commanding her to quit it.

Eventually, Katie fell silent and still. Believing she’d finally relented, I released her wrists and breathed a soundless sigh of relief. Who ever thought a three-year-old could be so aggravating?

It happened quickly. Katie, enraged, grabbed my hand and sank her sharp teeth deep into my wrist. She usually looked like an angel with her white-blond ringlets and deep blue eyes, but in that moment, her hard face and hellhound teeth told a different story.

With slitted eyes, Katie released my wrist, leaving an outline of each of her little teeth in my flesh. Stunned, I cradled my arm gently in my lap and gulped back sobs.

Moments later, Katie and I both looked up as yellow light split the darkness and revealed Nana and Papa’s cars in the garage. Mommy and Daddy were walking through the back door and hugging and kissing Nana and Papa goodbye.

I glanced at Katie, whose eyes had filled with terror. She shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, the whole point of us waiting in the car was to encourage Mommy and Daddy to hurry up because we were ready to go home. However, she seemed to have forgotten about that and was now dreading the trouble she’d be in if Mommy and Daddy saw the angry red marks on my wrist.

Whereas I was sweet to the point of having no personality, Katie was an unremitting troublemaker. She often sidestepped serious discipline by cracking jokes and making Mommy and Daddy laugh, but she still got in trouble more than anyone else I knew.

Katie didn’t seem like she was ready to resign herself to yet another punishment without trying some kind of defense. She stared unseeingly at me, clearly thinking rapidly. I watched her, tears still coursing quietly down my sodden cheeks, ready to tell on her as soon as our parents got in the car.

Suddenly, a quick, sly smile flashed across her face. I didn’t know what her plan was, but her smug look told me it was a good one.

Mommy and Daddy were halfway to the car when she did it. I looked on in incredulous horror as Katie brought her own arm to her mouth and bit down as hard as she could. Tears immediately filled her eyes. Then, with a devilish smile in my direction, she started wailing.

I instantly knew what she was trying to do. I had only a moment to ponder just how far Katie would go to evade reprimand and get back at me. It seemed unthinkable that a little girl would do something like that. Was this typical sibling rivalry? Or was this a sign that something dark lurked somewhere inside Katie?

Little did I know that a few years later, around the time she was diagnosed, the image of Katie biting herself would become common. However, at that moment, all I could focus on was the world of hurt I was sure to be in if her wild plan worked.

Mommy and Daddy instantly ran over and yanked open Katie’s door—the one that was facing the garage. For a moment, they simply took in the vision of both of us crying and cradling our arms. Mommy, who looked like a grown-up version of Katie, seemed very concerned as she asked what was wrong. Daddy, who looked more similar to me with dark hair and eyes, glared suspiciously at us, sure that we’d been up to no good (because, of course, we had been up to no good).

What the hell happened? he barked.

L-Lauren b-b-bit me, and then she bit herself so she wouldn’t get in trouble! sobbed Katie in her sweetest, most innocent voice. I had to give her credit—she was exceptionally convincing. I hated her for it.

I opened my mouth indignantly to tell the true story, but nobody would listen. I could only imagine how the scene looked to our parents: one child bawling loudly and commandingly and the other crying earnestly but quietly, unwilling to show weakness. One look at my parents’ faces, and I knew that they believed Katie and would never believe me.

Daddy drew himself up to his full height, and the anger on his face was awful to behold. We both shrank back automatically, terrified of him.

And then he exploded, shouting in The Voice, our name for the gruff, threatening tone he used when he was furious beyond imagining, and close—if not committed—to smacking our bottoms. He yelled about how often we fought, how we never listened, how we made it impossible to go out anywhere, how we embarrassed my parents every time. Then, he turned on me specifically and shouted himself hoarse.

I was so distraught, I barely listened. I supposed I could kind of understand why they misunderstood the situation, but I was hurt and outraged and disbelieving all the same. How could they take her seriously without even asking for my side of the story?

Finally, Daddy seemed to have exhausted his anger. He and Mommy settled themselves into the car, and we backed out of the driveway, the car’s headlights illuminating the front hedges, then the mailbox, then the paved road as Mommy turned the steering wheel and shifted gears.

For a moment, I thought dully about the sheer unfairness of the situation, dreading arriving at home when I‘d surely have to deal with the consequences of my actions. Then, exhausted by reality, I closed my eyes on the scenery flashing past in the window.

I pretended to be asleep the whole way home.

Lauren

Summer 2000

It was Katie’s birthday. I hated Katie’s birthday. She always acted like an even bigger brat than usual, thinking she could get away with anything on her special day. She was wrong. My parents cut her a lot of slack, but she always pushed too hard and ended up getting into trouble.

I stared stonily at her stupid blonde pigtails as we sat in the grass around my Aunt Molly and Uncle Jim’s patio. (The children weren’t allowed to sit in seats; those were for adults only.)

Katie was wearing her brand-new birthday outfit—a white flowered dress with pink sleeves. She looked cute as a button. Ugh.

I can’t believe I’m four. Katie grinned. She looked so smug.

I’m six. You’ll never be older than me.

But it’s my birthday, not yours.

I wanted to smack her.

Who’s ready for presents? sang Mommy as she walked outside with a bunch of colorfully wrapped gifts in her arms.

Me! Me me me! shouted Katie, who’d been asking Mommy when she could open her presents every twenty minutes since we’d arrived.

You can sit in my seat while I take pictures. Mommy smiled indulgently.

I moped around the yard while Katie was opening her gifts. I always became a little jealous when she got a bunch of new things and I didn’t, especially when she gloated about it.

The next present to open was Aunt Molly and Uncle Jim’s. As a joke, they had gotten her some fake poop since every time they’d asked her what she wanted for her birthday, she‘d answered poop before laughing uproariously. They waited with bated breath as she ripped open the wrapping paper and removed the lid from the newly revealed box.

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, quite abruptly, Katie’s whole face turned bright red, and she hurled the poop across the patio. I don’t want the poop! she screamed, absolutely furious.

Her fury was so hot, so explosive, so irrational. In moments like this, she became so much angrier than anyone else would be in the same situation. Looking back on it now, it seems possible that such an extreme response to such a silly scenario might have been a sign that something was different about Katie. However, at the time, the sight of a cherub-cheeked four-year-old getting mad over some fake poop was simply comical. Everyone roared with laughter, hardly able to breathe in response to the hilarity of the scene. Mom, Aunt Molly, and Aunt Maggie all had tears dripping down their cheeks from laughing so hard.

Katie, it was a joke. We thought you would like it, choked Aunt Molly, holding her stomach, tears still in her eyes. Here’s our real present. She pointed to another wrapped box, but Katie resolutely turned away.

No. I want Grandma and Grandpa’s present next. Cries of laughter followed this pronouncement as well. Katie simmered with anger through the rest of her presents.

I didn‘t really understand what was so funny at the time, especially since I was so busy feeling bad for myself over the fact that Katie was having a special day and I wasn’t. But I didn’t really gain any satisfaction from Katie’s distress. Mostly, I was just confused. Katie was the kind of person who would love to receive poop as a present. In fact, in the following months, Katie would frequently play with her birthday poop. (Usually, she tried to prank me with it. Funny, funny girl.) But at the time, for whatever reason, Katie had absolutely no positive feelings about her bathroom-themed gift.

About an hour later, Katie seemed to have calmed down. She was playing with her new toys, rudely flaunting them to make me feel excluded.

Come on, girls! It’s time for dinner, announced Mommy, leading us to the dining room.

Here, Katie. The birthday girl sits here, said Aunt Maggie, unable to suppress a mischievous grin.

Katie looked down at her plate. Someone had placed the fake poop on it.

"I said I don’t want the poop!" she shrieked, flaring up once again as she flung the poop to the floor.

Everyone erupted in laughter, and Katie’s cheeks and ears burned red.

Lauren

Winter 2001

Sleep. Sleep sleep sleep.

I chanted the words over and over again in my head, futilely attempting to block out all other sound. Groaning, I flipped over on my back and pushed the ends of my pillow against my ears, turning my face from side to side restlessly.

I’d tried counting sheep. I’d tried emptying my mind. I’d tried thinking happy thoughts. I’d tried counting to a thousand. (Okay, maybe I’d skipped a few hundred digits, but it hadn’t been working anyway.) Nothing would drown out the noises that had been drifting up from the bunk below for the past twenty minutes.

Lauren. Lauren. Hey, Laaaauren. Are you listening to me? Huh?

Shutupshutupshutup, I groaned under my breath.

Whaaaat? Katie asked in a sing-song voice. Even though I couldn’t see her, I knew the corners of her mouth were twisting up into her devilish smile.

Shut up! I snapped. Go. To. Sleep.

No.

"Katie, please."

She simply cackled gleefully in response.

"Be quiet."

I don’t want to. I don’t wanna go to sleep.

"But I do!" I was almost crying with frustration. Huffing irritably, I secured the pillow more tightly around my ears and squeezed my eyes shut.

For a few seconds, there was a beautiful, blessed silence, interrupted only by Katie tossing and turning under her sheets. I sighed silently in relief, welcoming the quiet gratefully.

I should have known it wouldn’t last long.

I sobbed audibly at the sound of her. Of all the things she could do to drive me crazy . . . The child was singing. Singing.

God help me.

I like big butts, and I cannot lie—

Shut up! I hissed.

She laughed.

Furious, I threw the pillow against the wall, pushed back my sheets, and clambered down the ladder of the bunk bed. Then, with my nose in the air and my hands on my hips, I marched angrily into the family room, where my dad and my very pregnant mom were watching TV.

Mommy, Katie won’t leave me alone.

Mom glanced exhaustedly at Dad, silently asking him not to yell. She’d grown tired of our nightly bedtime bickering and my dad’s explosive reaction. It was clear that she wanted to avoid a showdown if possible. Ignore her, Lauren.

But—

Just try it, Lauren!

Scowling, I shuffled back to my room and got back into bed.

Did you like my singing? Katie asked innocently.

I gritted my teeth and remained silent.

Lauren?

I bit