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After five years of recovery, getting more adept at managing my anxiety and bipolar disorder, I had a nice, tidy job as a receptionist at a small graphic design company. But over the course of working there, my acting bug gnawed away. That’s when I started writing excerpts about my experience with mental illness, specifically psychosis.
I gave in. I scratched that creative itch. Writing wouldn’t derail me from my comfortable, albeit slightly boring, office job, right?
While still working as a marketing-assistant-slash-receptionist (heavy emphasis on the slash part), I read the excerpts at the KickstART Disability Arts Festival. Three invitations followed: England. New Zealand. Calgary.
They all asked, “Were the excerpts from a one-person show?”
“Do you want it to be?” I thought.
What else could I do? Of course I said yes! But I only had a handful of scenes. Nowhere near a full solo show. I had to get writing.
I was buzzing from presenting at KickstART. I was hooked. I was determined to find more time to write and be creative.
Shortly after KickstART, my boss from the graphics firm had to lay me off. A mere coincidence? Or synchronicity, perhaps? Or maybe just a poorly managed company in a tough market. I like to believe it was synchronicity.
I still needed to make money, of course, but I wasn’t about to let this layoff go to waste. I started working as a background extra on film sets. It was the perfect “hurry up and wait” job I needed to give me time to finish my stage play before performing at the other festivals.
I’d take my secondhand laptop to locations, set myself up like my own little home office, and tap away at the keys. Scene by scene, background acting gig after background acting gig, I got the thing written!
But I needed a chance to see how it landed before I went out of province and overseas. God help me if I flopped in a foreign country. If that’s not a set-up for a depressive phase, I don’t know what is.
I rehearsed, memorized, and ran the show until it was in my bones.
When I felt not quite ready—but just about—I called around to see who would have me, people who knew me, places where I knew my story would be welcomed with open arms by warm audiences. There was no way I was heading for traditional theatres and their audiences. My self-esteem was fragile as it was.
The North and West Vancouver Canadian Mental Health Association (CMHA) was one; the Mood Disorders Association of British Columbia was another. Both were encouraging and more than happy to have me perform for their members.
The Richmond CMHA was instrumental in getting my career ball rolling even more. Not only did they organize an event for me to perform Crazy for Life, but Dr. Harry Karlinsky saw me there.
He then invited me to perform at the event he was organizing: the first Frames of Mind movie screening at the Pacific Cinematheque. I was to be the opener before he presented the documentary Back from Madness: The Struggle for Sanity.
And so it went—things built upon themselves. By either someone sitting in the audience or by word of mouth, I kept getting invitations to perform. And getting paid for it. Small amounts at first, but getting paid all the same.
People ask how I got into what I do and how I’ve managed to do it for so long (25 years). I perform my theatrical keynotes and present workshops at conferences, nonprofit galas, and corporate mental health initiatives, both virtually and in person.
Well, it’s a lot like managing my bipolar disorder and anxiety. It’s a combination of slow, cautious steps, always looking out for the path of least resistance. Where are the doors of opportunity opening with the least friction? That’s the direction I turn.
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Even more importantly, I keep my mental, physical, and financial health front and centre. If my financial stability gets shaky, my mental stability isn’t far behind. And having a strong circle of support that encourages me when my knees feel weak and my heart pounds helps me move forward.
As I worked on call as an extra, I continued getting requests to perform my show. At each event I networked anytime I could, asking those who invited me to perform if they knew of colleagues who might be interested in having me come to their area.
A snowball effect took place: one engagement led to another. I was performing more than I was doing background acting. I realized that maybe I was onto something.
To be continued…
This is Part 2 of a series about sharing my story of bipolar disorder and psychosis and becoming a mental health keynote speaker.
© Victoria Maxwell
