Family works through mental health challenges

In a cozy white house in Madison, a family of five sits in a circle. As the sun sets this Wednesday evening, someone flips on the lights and another conversation begins.

A strong alliance built over the course of many years and joint struggles binds them. Whoever speaks captures the attention of the other four. Brenda and Marty McMiller and their three children play off each other as the topic roams from college to politics before landing on “the three-headed beast.”

It’s a conversation led by Brenda, who dives into the subject with the frankness of an expert and the tenderness of a parent whose child is struggling. She is both, and her family follows her lead.

Alexander, 18, has been diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder, anxiety and major depressive disorder. The three together can turn a small issue into a huge problem and send him spiraling. Within the family, the trio is commonly known as the “three-headed beast.”

“It became a ‘three-headed beast’ because it does completely take over our lives,” she said.

Through diagnoses and hospitalizations, they have relied on each other to overcome challenges as individuals and as a family. And for the McMillers, taming the beast also depends on a dogged resolve to make open, honest dialogue a pillar of their family.

Alexander has spent time in a psychiatric hospital on five separate occasions. Before the latest hospitalization, Brenda called Marty at work and asked him to tell his boss he would be back at some undetermined point. She needed help watching Alexander.

“If [Alexander] had any unsupervised time or anything, I knew he would end up dead,” she said.

None of this is a secret. And that openness is just who Brenda is, said her sister, Stacey Palermo.

“It’s a fact that everybody is involved in everything,” Palermo said. “Nobody feels left out of the process.”

When Brenda speaks, it is with authority, purpose and compassion. She has a no-nonsense appearance. Short brown hair. Little or no makeup. A simple sweatshirt. A smile that spreads across her face at the constant stream of jokes. Take it or leave it, she is who she is. And her family follows her lead.

As the conversation begins, Alexander is quiet, intently studying his macroeconomics homework from his station on the couch. It is with a gentle patience and zest for learning that he plows through the Advanced Placement challenges he has taken on in high school.

Kevin Attaway, who has taught three of Alexander’s classes, including AP Macroeconomics this past semester, described his student as innately gifted in the subject, but also “one of the kindest souls” he has worked with.

Still, maintaining relationships has been tricky for Alexander. His sister Ariana, 16, says she thinks some people see her brother as a ticking time bomb.

Some friendships have evaporated because he’s “high-maintenance,” Alexander says.

Brenda sits forward in her wooden chair as she discusses her son, his struggles and his accomplishments. But she doesn’t forget her two daughters, Ariana and Marissa, 13, who also feel the weight with their brother’s illness.

Without hesitation, she acknowledges that her daughters’ needs sometimes fall by the wayside when Alexander spirals out of control. Despite her age, in early April Ariana had yet to get her driver’s license because there just hadn’t been time.

Later in the evening, around bowls of steaming beef stew, Ariana reveals that she is good at keeping her angst private. Only recently did she disclose her frustration and fear of losing her brother.

“It broke my heart when I heard [Ariana] say, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to end up finding my brother dead someday,’” Brenda says. “And I didn’t realize how much she thought about that." 

But they keep moving forward, working as a team to keep the beast at bay.

On Oct. 4, 2012, Alexander and his family rang in the beginning of a new era with an accomplishment that stood out among others. As he turned 18 that day, a young man whose anxiety sometimes held him back stood in the middle of a protective family circle with 30,000 others on Bascom Hill eagerly awaiting the arrival of the president of the United States.

Just a year before, his mother says, this would not have been possible because large crowds are not his strength. But, like much in their lives, finding a solution together helped them through that moment.

“We sort of need each other to get through everything,” she says.