Brighter Than Bipolar: How the System Failed Chaunte And How We Can Change It

By NSSC member Mara Briere

A Bright Light

My niece, Chaunte, was an accomplished musician, artist, and cook. She ran sing-a-longs, crafted jewelry, drew zen pictures, and baked like a professional.

Despite Chaunte's lifelong battle with bipolar disorder, she graduated from Wheaton College with magna cum laude honors in psychology and business. She worked as an executive assistant and was known for her organizational abilities. She facilitated the administrative component of Pet Au Pair, a successful pet-sitting business in Bedford, MA, which she especially enjoyed since it helped pets and their families.

In sharing her many talents with others, Chaunte’s thoughtfulness exceeded her generosity. She shone a light that brightened the way for everyone she touched. She was a certified peer specialist, and she used her strengths, hope, and experience to assist others with mental illness. She was a loyal, available, and compassionate friend. As a family member, she was fierce and non-judgmental, striving to do the right things and ready to listen, help, and guide  whenever there was a need.

Inherited Illness

Serious mental illness often runs in families. Chaunte’s father, undiagnosed with bipolar disorder, was known for his intense rage. Though not directed at her, witnessing his abuse left deep scars. After his suicide when she was twelve, Chaunte began drinking alcohol at age fifteen, initiating decades of cycles through treatment facilities.

Periods of remission with stable employment were disrupted by depressive episodes, heavy drinking, and suicide attempts—the first severe one at twenty. Chaunte’s illness repeatedly led to hospitalizations, job loss, broken relationships, and homelessness. Attending Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings and refraining from alcohol triggered manic episodes. To cope, Chaunte drank, which intensified her cycle of suicide attempts, including overdoses and hanging.

Adopting Chaunte

After about fifteen years of this cycle, I became her dedicated caretaker. I worked to  integrate Chaunte back into our family and to advocate for her as needed. She would say, “Auntie mom!” and I would say, “My daughter from another mother.” 

She was living in El Paso, Texas, when I became permanently involved.  We spoke every day and discussed symptoms. I taught her that bipolar disorder is a brain disorder. During this time, she was hospitalized at the state hospital three times for suicide attempts. After the third hospitalization, my husband (her uncle) and I decided having her live near us would be in her best interest. Chaunte moved to MA to benefit from more support.

Breakdowns

It was then, that we could see Chaunte had become actively psychotic, hearing voices and having hallucinations. We took her to the hospital emergency room, where she languished for three days before she was admitted to an inpatient unit in Boston.  But soon after, she was discharged without any money or contact with me! I wasn’t allowed the opportunity to participate in aftercare planning and post-discharge treatment. 

This pattern of advocating for services for her, acquiring them, and then contributing as a team member (ambiguously accepted when Chaunte invited me) continued for the next twelve years until her death.

Missing State Services

In MA, individuals over eighteen must voluntarily participate in outpatient mental health services, but I knew Chaunte wasn't capable of seeking the treatment she needed. She had anosognosia—a lack of awareness about her illness—which became evident during our regular conversations. Because she trusted that I had her best interests at heart, she allowed me to guide her.

Recognizing the severity of her condition, I made Chaunte’s safety my top priority. Together, we completed a Durable Power of Attorney, giving me legal authority to act on her behalf. Since MA doesn't offer psychiatric advance directives, we used a Five Wishes health care proxy, naming me as her agent. These documents ensured I could advocate and manage her care effectively, always keeping her needs central. 

After being administratively discharged from a group home for being "too sick and disruptive for the other clients," Chaunte was admitted to a state-funded respite. The placement came at the behest of myself and a treatment provider from the Department of Mental Health (DMH). 

Regretful Policies

I told the respite staff that Chaunte was actively psychotic, hearing her father's voice and drinking. They refused to check her packages for alcohol as it was against their policy. Chaunte jumped out the third-floor window to the concrete below. She was med-flighted to Brigham & Women's Hospital as a no-name. The staff were so shocked they forgot to send the emergency information along with her.
 
She survived after many surgeries and went to physical rehabilitation. The medical staff were wonderful and included me in her care plan as an equal team member. Once she was discharged from rehabilitation, she was admitted to a locked psychiatric unit at a state hospital. After a year, plans for her discharge were being made. The agency that was going to place her in a group home was excellent. Although I felt the timing for Chaunte's discharge was too soon, she was discharged anyway. 

Moving Toward the Light

As I feared, she relapsed soon after, intentionally hurt herself, and ended up being admitted to inpatient again. Fortunately, the head of DMH intervened. Chaunte returned to the state hospital for another eight months before being discharged with a plan that I participated in. The most extended period of remission that Chaunte enjoyed in her adult life followed.

Chaunte developed insight into her illness, and her pattern of drinking, self-harm, and hospitalizations. She attended a day treatment program, AA meetings, and rebuilt her life with the help of an aide we hired to assist her. She was adhering to mood-stabilizing and antipsychotic medications.

After two years at the group home, she moved into an apartment in the same complex where the aide lived. She acquired a job at Anton's and became an administrative assistant for a pet-sitting business. At this point, she was managing her own money and medication. She took Lithium, Seroquel, Abilify, and Topamax.

When she was stable, she refrained from drinking, gave up smoking nicotine, and kept a rigid daily routine, including exercise, healthy meals, a regular bedtime, and work. She regularly attended meetings and psychotherapy, studied and became a peer specialist, and worked with a prescriber she liked. However, she convinced DMH that she no longer needed their services, and they eased her into monthly check-ins.

Looking for Rest

And then she relapsed. This time, she began using cocaine. Readmission to inpatient units resumed and the revolving door was in full swing.

Finding appropriate care for her dual diagnosis was challenging because of insurance. Moreover, the few facilities that would accept her were costly, and she had no resources to pay for them. I found out about some outpatient programs she could attend, but she  relapsed and abruptly left our home. At this point, she was at the end of her patience with being sick, hearing voices, seeing things, and using substances. She told me that she was weary “at the stress of trying to be normal.”

During one attempt to get Chaunte help, her friend took her to the hospital emergency room, but Chaunte convinced the triage nurse that her friend was overreacting. The next day, Chaunte shaved her head because of the bugs she was convinced were living there. Then, her boyfriend and I called the police to do a well-person check on her, and she was admitted for two weeks to an inpatient psychiatric unit. They discharged Chaunte without notifying us, with a plan for her to attend a day treatment program. She did not attend, and told me she was increasing her use of cocaine even though she knew it would kill her. A week later on July 15, 2024, at age forty-six, Chaunte died from a drug overdose at home.

Senseless Loss

My heart aches for the woman who was so much more than the illness she was cursed with. I am angry that she was expected to advocate for herself when she could not. And I am angry that professionals summarily dismissed her family’s perspective and input,  despite overwhelming evidence that outcomes are better when the family is involved.

At her Celebration of Life, many friends, colleagues, and family members shared how vital Chaunte was to them. And yet, according to the state, she wasn’t essential enough to have a system of treatment that would keep her alive and thriving.

Solutions
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If MA had implemented an Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT) plan like the one proposed at the statehouse currently, my beautiful niece's chance of recovery would have dramatically increased. AOT is court-ordered mental health treatment. Chaunte’s story reminds us that mental health treatment systems must evolve to truly protect and empower those struggling with dual diagnoses. The lack of AOT in MA leaves vulnerable individuals like Chaunte trapped in cycles of crisis, hospitalization, and tragedy.

Now is the time to advocate for systemic change that emphasizes coordinated care, supports family involvement, and provides accessible resources for those unable to advocate for themselves. Together, we can honor Chaunte’s memory by urging policymakers to implement life-saving measures such as AOT, ensuring that no more bright lights are extinguished too soon. There are currently two AOT bills in the MA legislature. If you live in MA, please ask your Senator and Representative to co-sponsor these bills. For details and instructions, please visit AOT Now.