Don't Call Me Crazy - Production Blog @dontcallmecrazydoc - Tumblr Blog

CalArts The Magic Tower from 3 And One Half Films on Vimeo.

DECEMBER 2013 13th 8:00pm 14th 2:00pm |8:00pm 15th 2:00pm | 8:00pm

California Institute of the Arts (CalArts) 24700 McBean Parkway, Valencia CA 91355 Steven Spielberg Studio, BB3

In Today's News

We saw an interesting article today on a possible link between childhood fears and adult anxieties, specifically focused on the correlation between chronic stomach aches and anxiety disorders. As some who suffered severe stomachaches as a young teenager that were absolutely related to stress and anxiety, it really resonated with me. (My parents' solution: "Get over it, it's not going to kill you. " :/ They tried.)

If you have an affective disorders, issues with anxiety, or other troubles with your mental health, do you think they could be traced all the way back to childhood? Are these things that people are genetically predisposed to, or are they created environmentally, or both? There's so much we don't know about the brain still, and it can so frustrating when there are solutions or methods for dealing with everything from polio to eyelash growth, and yet mental health is moving at a snail's pace.

What do you all think? Sound off here or on Facebook and Twitter!

xo,

Sarah

#3andonehalf mentalhealth mentalillness affectivedisorder anxiety dontcallmecrazy

We want to hear from you!

Okay, dolls, we're officially out of stories! Help us spread the word by sharing your words. We want to read (or see, or hear) how affective disorders have worked in your life. Are you a caregiver, friend, or family member? We want to hear from you. All expressions are welcome, whether it's writing, art, or music.

We can't wait to hear your stories!

#3andonehalf mentalillness mentaldisease #dontcallmecrazy bipolar anxiety art writing song

From Excused: "Things aren't perfect, but they're moving in the right direction."

I guess I can start with the here and now. Here I am, still at my parents. Too paranoid about money to get out until I have basically a lifelong career lined up. That’s probably not helping things.

I’m about to write a lot in hopes of catching some good stuff in here.

The first time I remember feeling different was 6th grade. I remember noticing that I never laughed. I never wanted to laugh. This lasted through middle school and even still I find myself quite un-amused.

After a few years of trying to decide if this was something I’d get over, or outgrow, or if it was just normal, I decided it wasn’t. And I told my mom. I couldn’t wait in the lunch line at school, which led to either no lunch, or a diet mostly made of brown sugar poptarts from the vending machine. Which I didn’t mind, because I didn’t have much of an appetite anyway. I forced myself to eat most meals to fight the weight loss.

Despite how hard it was to tell my mom about my depression and anxiety issues, she brushed me off. Probably more uncomfortable about it than I was. I pushed it with her again and eventually she took me to see my doctor about it. Unfortunately he recommended I see a child therapist, and he was useless.

More years have gone by, and I just did my best to deal with everything as it came on, since no one else seemed concerned. Only this past year (actually almost exactly a year ago), after over a month with no breaks in my depression, did I call my dr to schedule an evaluation. I also had a cold, so they diagnosed that too :P Unfortunately I saw a “specialist” in the office who after criticizing me, and giving me the standard questionnaire, told me I’m not depressed. Honestly, I cried out of frustration. It had taken 10 years to get there, and *still* no one believed me. I came home and told my mom why I was at the dr, and what happened there. She called the office and scheduled my regular dr for me. He looked at my score from the previous visit and said I fell in the moderate-extreme depression range and referred me to another dr.

Life has been much different since starting medication late last year. (except for the weird one I tried that made me twitchy) Things aren’t perfect, but they’re moving in the right direction. No one really understands when I tell them I can’t go out because of how I feel. Or when I dodge greetings so I can sit quietly. And they especially don’t understand why I limit my drinks. But hopefully someday they will.

If you’re thinking about posting on here, just do it. It’s encouraging to read them.

We’re publishing submissions about the ways affective disorders have affected the lives of those with the disorders, their friends, family, and caregivers. Submit here on tumblr or to [email protected].

#3andonehalf #mental illness #depression #submission

From Cindy: "I am not bipolar, I am still me."

Although I experienced some signs that led up to my diagnosis of Bipolar before 1991, I will start with this year as this excerpt would be very long. So in 1999 I was diagnosed as having anxiety and depression. I could understand this diagnosis as I was an elementary school teacher at the time, and put in 120% effort into my job and taught and thought about my teaching, activities, behavior management, motivating the students, creating exciting hands on lessons and more 24 hours a day. Yes, I had been teaching for four years now, and the stress I put on myself I could see my anxiety and perhaps depression being related to my job. I was OK at the time of trying medications as I loved my job and did not want to give that up. After trying six different types of anti depression meds or anti anxiety medications the one that worked the best for me, Effexor, also ended up being one of the hardest medications to wean off later when I thought I was better. I experienced horrible side effects trying to wean off as well as feeling worse than I was before I had started the meds.

After four attempts to wean off Effexor, I convinced myself it would be OK if I was on this medication for the rest of my life. However, if a natural disaster were to ever happen I feared that I would not be near my Effexor, and if I was trapped somewhere for days it would be the worst way to go having to experience the awful withdrawal effects, such as extreme nausea, headache, bloated stomach, dry heaving, and cramps. So I carry with me now at all times a little container with extra medicine in case of an emergency of some sort.

Eight years later after quitting teaching, two divorces (no kids), three boyfriends and breakups, ten moves in and around Seattle, and three jobs, I was diagnosed as Bipolar. I was devastated. This is not me, my moods are not up and down like my dad's were daily growing up which was called manic depressive back then. I do not yell and scream at people for ridiculous petty things such as spilling milk on the counter or leaving coins out on my dresser. Then the next day everything is great and dandy, and my dad is on top of the world and talking about going gambling and how he is going to win big and then we can move into a big house in a nice area. And then on a weekend he would be sleeping a lot. I am not like this at all, the psychiatrist is totally wrong and does not know me. He prescribed some medications which I did try to see if it would help me feel better, but the side effects were so awful I stopped taking the pills and never went back to see him again. I did not put all of the events together, but now when I look back I do see the signs and how they gradually got worse for me. No one would be able to detect it as I concealed the signs well or made good excuses for my actions.

The signs that I experienced got worse each year. I started to become extremely emotional and sensitive over things that never used to bother me. I cried a lot and got mad a lot at my brother, mom and dad for not being respectful to each other and me. I was paranoid that all my friends were talking negatively about me and disliked me. I had delusions that my friends were talking behind my back and making up mean stories about me. My job at this time was my dog walking business, and as I walked dogs in neighborhoods that had huge houses I had panic attacks and had to sit down as I could not breathe. I did not understand how people could spend so much money on such enormous homes that they did not need. Why could they not help out others in need instead and live in smaller houses? Everything became extremely overwhelming to me and the only way out that I could see was that I needed to pack up what I could fit in my car and drive to Arizona and find a place to live and apply for a job. Luckily a good friend who has not abandoned me through all of my ordeals picked up on my strange behavior of researching places on line, crying, having trouble breathing and not being patient with anything. He suggested I talk to someone or see my doctor. I agreed to do this as I did feel like something was not right with me. Again the doctor referred me to a psychiatrist - not the same one I had first seen. This second psychiatrist also diagnosed me as Bipolar. Really? But I still am not like my dad. Eventually I learned that there is a spectrum and no one is exactly the same on the Bipolar spectrum. And there are other disorders that have very similar symptoms that it can be difficult to know which mental disorder I have at first. It is like trial and error to figure out what mental illness I have and which medications will help me and not make me worse off. The psychiatrist prescribed Lithium which I tried and this made me more manic. Then I tried Depakote and I experienced all the awful side effects and could not handle the medicine at the lowest dose. Then I tried Lamictal and I felt no difference. Then I tried a combination of meds and that did not work. In the end i was kept on Effexor and added lorazepam another stronger anti anxiety medicine. I take each medicine twice a day. The next summer I went into another manic episode and started drinking alcohol during the day and my usual alcohol intake was once drink a week. Now I was drinking three to four drinks a day during the middle of the day to around 7pm. I was going to cut my own hair short, which I did, I was going to get a tattoo and more ear piercings and was extremely guy crazy! The worst part was one day I decided to walk down to the Aurora Bridge in Fremont, WA and was going to jump off. Luckily on my walk down someone was willing to shoot a basketball with me and distract me for an hour. Afterwards I felt better, went home and called my trusting and loyal friend and just started to bawl. He knew he needed to come over to help me and talk to me which he did. After calling my doctor and some of his doctor friends, the advice was for me to go to the emergency room at the UW. We went and they were very helpful and got me in to see another psychiatrist that day. Since my friend was with me and said he would watch me and be with me for the week, I did not have to be admitted to the pysch ward. We went to see the psychiatrist and I had my friend go with me as I was in a horrible state of mind and my friend was great at calming me down so I could talk. This psychiatrist too diagnosed me as bipolar and I was prescribed rispirdal an antipsychotic drug. This drug really sedated me to the point that it was difficult to walk the next day or talk. Everything was in slow motion and my legs felt heavy. Amazingly, I did not miss a day of my work for my dog business through all of this. My friend drove my car and I got the dogs. Then we went to the dog park and played and walked the dogs. My friend drove around so that I could drop the dogs back off to their homes and then took me home and I fell right asleep and he kept an eye on me and made food for me, made sure I was hydrated and called my doctor to make sure this was a normal reaction I was having while taking this medication. After a week I visited the psychiatrist again on my own. As I was calmer now and safer - not having thoughts of hurting myself - we could talk about the plan for my mental illness long term. I was now ready to listen.

Today I am on two medications that work for me although I am becoming more aware of when I need to either increase the dose of one or decrease the dose throughout the year as circumstances can effect me and the weather as well. After eight years of doing my dog business, I am now taking a break to work on my health again as I recognized myself getting extremely anxious and looking for a job that is calmer but perhaps still involves dogs in a calmer setting or perhaps a completely new field. I am also learning to choose healthier foods to eat, exercise and taking time for myself first before committing to things that will eventually overwhelm me.

I am forever thankful for my loyal friend and other friends who have always been there for me although it was sometimes difficult to ask for help, I now am always ready to ask for help. I have a great team consisting of my doctor, therapist, psychiatrist and friends and my mom. I am not bipolar, I am still me. I have episodes still but they are not as extreme as before and I am able to see them and ask for help when needed or take a break and sleep or be at my house to get calm and have learned breathing techniques for me when I am about to have a panic attack. Having the support is the most important part for me. Having my team believe me when I say I am sad or I am anxious or that this medicine is intolerable for me because of these side effects. A team that sticks up for me and roots for me is the greatest asset I have and I am so grateful. I am reaching out to others to help them through my experiences or to just be there to listen.

Although I am lucky and am able to work, save money, and drive, others on the Bipolar spectrum are not as fortunate, but the support, love and rooting for them is the most valuable thing you can do for anyone, not just someone that has been labeled with a mental illness. Everyone has something they go through and if you happen to get a label it does not mean you are crazy.

#3andonehalf #documentary #mental illness #bipolar #suicide #submission

From B.R.: "I want to get better, but because of my fear, I want to do it on my own terms"

I believe anxiety disorders fall under the category of affective diseases, right? Because I thought I may as well share a bit about my experience. It's nothing really dire, but it is something.

I've had general anxiety and panic attacks as far back as I can remember. There are stories my mom can tell about me when I was two, exhibiting signs of baseless anxiety. Feeling sick or antsy on road trips, for instance, but then being perfectly fine the second we stopped at a hotel. I still have problems with that, actually.

I can't go into stores by myself, especially if they're unfamiliar. I don't want to not know where things are, to be in someone's way, to pay with the wrong amount of money, to say the wrong thing at the register, or somehow embarrass myself. And it's so trivial. It doesn't make any sense at all. It is, in fact, completely irrational. But I honestly can't help it.

I was at the airport with my mom once, and we were flying on Southwest. Our tickets were for different boarding groups. I said she should board first so she could grab some seats--because the thought of getting on the plane first and by myself and then getting the wrong seats was terrifying, as was the prospect of possibly having to defend my choice to a stranger who wanted the seats I'd chosen, or for my choice to somehow be a stupid one. So my mom got on first and left me with one boarding pass. When it was my turn to get on, I handed them my boarding pass and it turned out to be the wrong one. We had a connecting flight and I'd been given that boarding pass, instead. I immediately flushed, started panicking, and felt sick. I was dizzy and started having heart palpitations. I began babbling a bit when I was asked if I had an ID to allow me onto the flight. I had to swing my backpack onto the ground, and dig for some kind of ID. I managed it, but it felt like it took so long. I was shaking and hyperventilating while waiting to get on the plane. It was so incredibly stupid. I told the woman who had checked my boarding pass that my mom was on the plane, and in those few seconds, I considered the possibility of them having to pull her off of the plane so they could get my real boarding pass, which would hold things up another few minutes, lose us our seats, and be all around incredibly humiliating. I thought maybe they wouldn't believe me or let me on or check for my mom on the plane. I thought I'd have to get another ticket on another flight. And I had worked myself up enough that, even when everything was taken care of and I was on the plane sitting next to my mom, I started sobbing. My mom initially thought the mix up with the boarding pass was funny, but then I started crying and she saw how hard I was shaking and--well, it wasn't funny anymore.

It's always something stupid like that that sets me off. I have to ask repeatedly if a certain kind of food is okay to eat, if leftovers are still good, if the expiration date on something means it'll get me sick, and if there's no one to ask, I Google extensively until typically, my anxiety tells me that I shouldn't bother risking it and I eat something else. It's also why I don't like eating at restaurants. I don't trust people I don't see to make my food, and I only develop that trust after eating good food there on several occasions in the past. It has to be familiar--or very small and very local, as I've discovered. I don't trust chain restaurants or fast food joints. I don't even like going to arcades because I'm afraid someone there will get sick or be sick, and I'll catch it. It's why I don't like being around children or at doctor's offices. I carry around a bottle of hand sanitizer with me at all times, and often refuse to touch anything with my hands directly. And this fear usually manifests in upset stomachs that for years had us thinking I had IBS, and several other symptoms I've already listed above.

Most of all this stupid disorder keeps me from driving or going out with my friends. I've been a recluse for all of my teenage years. Drugs, drinking, partying, and sex were never concerns my mom had about me because I never had opportunity to do them, and even if I did, my anxiety kept me too afraid to experiment. I only got my driving permit last week, and I've been 18 for several months. I considered the whole thing about going to the DMV and taking the written version of the test an ordeal. It only took just over an hour and the test was only five minutes, and I passed easily enough, but the entire rest of the day I was angry and on edge. I was considering choices of what to eat for dinner when I suddenly became overwhelmed by the decision and headed back to my room in tears.

Enough with the stories, though. The point is, my anxiety has always been a problem, but hilariously enough, it's kept me too afraid to seek out real help. I've had to develop methods of coping with it on my own. The most difficult part has been getting others to understand and to help me deal with it. My mom, as supportive as she tries to be, often gets frustrated and gives up. She's told me on multiple occasions, when she's felt utterly exasperated, that I'm being irrational and there's nothing she or I can do. It's more of a problem in public when I need her to do things with or for me, because doing them on my own scares me. The angry silences from her make me feel horrible for not being better, independent, or strong enough to overcome these stupid, irrational fears on my own. In desperation, she borrowed some CDs about 'curing' anxiety from a friend of hers in the hopes that listening to them will make me feel better. I know that this is also a stupid and irrational thought, but it feels like she's passing me and my problems off onto a disembodied voice that will teach me "self-hypnosis" so I can get over my anxiety.

All in all, I've managed to force myself to go through the really difficult things on my own, because I figure that the panic attacks will pass and all of it is in my head. I've become adept at avoiding outings or public places or events that scare me, and coming up with excuses so it's not too conspicuous. But really, I just feel overly dramatic. I often think that I'm making up this anxiety, because clearly no one else is this incapable of doing things, and if they are, they have actual clinical diagnoses to point at in explanation. What do I have? A bunch of immature fears and anxieties that I most likely conflate with an actual problem. Who knows why I do it, but I always try and make myself stop, or at least suck it up enough to not be a nuisance, or to be the reason someone cancels or changes plans or topics of conversation. It doesn't always work. And often I'm just left feeling really conflicted: I'm legitimately terrified and feel sick and really just need comfort, but I'm probably just working myself up to get sympathy I don't deserve--and so I keep quiet, or don't tell the full story, or lock myself in my bedroom for hours and ignore the problem until it "goes away."

I guess the main problem with anxiety is that...I know that I'm being irrational. I know that any question I ask is stupid and childish. I know that any reason I have for not doing something will sound silly. But knowing that doesn't mean that I can just get over it. It's infuriating, to be sitting somewhere and trying to decide something trivial, knowing that it's trivial, but still feeling like this decision means everything. It's suffocating. Like having my logical self gagged and bound in a dungeon somewhere so that it has no power over my thoughts or actions.

Anxiety's not logical. That's sort of the point. Sometimes I'm angry that, even after 18 years of dealing with me, my mom still doesn't know what will set me off and often overcompensates for areas that don't scare me while forgetting something that leaves me nauseated with terror; that I'm too afraid to ask her to do or say certain things to help me when she's done the opposite, because she's always taken it as an insult, or me refusing to get better. I want to get better, but because of my fear, I want to do it on my own terms, but I don't feel permitted to articulate them.

I've already gone on far too long, so I guess that's it. I fully support this project in helping to remove stigma from mental illnesses, and encouraging people to genuinely help and support those who suffer from them, especially the serious and more difficult cases. I don't feel I necessarily fit in that category, nor can I say I know what it's like, but this project and this movie are just a small part of the greater movement happening in the world today, of telling the truth about mental illness, making it accessible, and helping everyone understand that it's common, and that it's not something to be ashamed of. Easier said than done, I suppose.

#3andonehalf #mental illness #affective spectrum #submission

There are days when my brother is flying high. We are able to bullshit, joke, banter and have deep philosophical and theoretical conversations.

There are days when my brother is truly depressed.

And there are days like this - that odd in between. Where we will be having a positive conversation, but no matter what we do it always turns in to an argument.

I get stressed out about money, paying rent and the details of day to day living - and I try to encourage him to apply for “day jobs". I don’t even know why I say anything because it always ends the same way; a switch is flipped and he is yelling at me about how he HAS to only be creative, about how he CANNOT do anything else to improve our situation aside from making his art. While I am always on board with him creatively, I still get incredibly frustrated when this conversation happens. I believe in him so much, but when faced with the darkness of reality I can’t help but be bothered by his lack of practicality.

This is the bipolar curse.

He is so amazing when its all about film, music, art, photography, etc. But if its LIFE… well… I am left to take care of everything. And like rubber cement, I can hold things together, but I can also get stretched out.

I do everything I can to keep our life livable. I’ve applied for day jobs of my own, public assistance, etc. And all the while I must keep my positive, cheerful disposition as to not create a negative energy that my brother so easily feeds off of. Dear Companions, I commiserate with you and share my strife, so you know you are not alone. Anyone that cares for a Bipolar (or otherwise mentally ill) individual, has been through this difficulty. We stretch and try to fill every hole in our lives while trying, with every ounce of our being, not to allow ourselves to break. Life is no hayride. I don’t know when struggle will end. But I can tell you that although I am frustrated, down and at my rope’s end - I can’t stop now.

And so, although this blog post started a little down, I will end it on an upturn. Companions, find something that you love. That song you love to sing out loud, that movie you love to watch, a bubble bath, a walk in the park - hell, maybe even a glass of wine, and go do something for YOURSELF. We can only fight and argue and work so much until we are worn out. Lets make sure a slice of our inner-selves still survives. Breath deeply, and erase our worries even if only for an hour. We can all make it through.

-Caitie

#3andonehalf #documentary #art #mental illness #affective spectrum #depression #bipolar #substance abuse #seasonal #suicide #healing #submission

Keep sending your stories!

The whole 3 and One Half team is so grateful for all your stories! There's more coming and I'm going to post one or two a day as long they roll in!

#3andonehalf dontcallmecrazy submissions affectivedisorder

eyebrowsofsteel's Story: "It isn't until later, you look back and think, "Jesus, this has been with me for a while."

I was diagnosed with bipolar disoder (type I) when I was 18, though looking back I'd say I knew something was off about me back in the third grade. I can remember getting in trouble for talking out of turn, and having to move a little clothespin with my name on it from this big green circle to this big yellow circle (which meant you'd gotten in trouble -all disipline shit worked like that at my school). Anyway, as I was walking back to my seat, I remember feeling, not suicidal exactly, but just this feeling of genuinely wanting to be dead - for the shame of getting in trouble to cause my death or something. And I guess at age 8, 9, I just assumed that that's how everbody felt. It isn't until later, you look back and think, "Jesus, this has been with me for a while." I turned 21 back in January, and though I've been in and out of hospitals ever since my diagnosis, I still go to school and live in my own apartment. So I'm pretty lucky. Of course, most of the time you don't feel lucky. I had these dreams of going to film school at Chapman University. By senior year at high school my grades were in the shitter, I'd gotten kicked out of the National Honor Society, and burned myself with a cigar after getting waitlisted (I guess I was more akin to the grand gestures in those days). Nobody suspected that the president of the drama club and senior class speaker had lost her shit until I stayed up for four straight days working on a non-coherant creative writing final, convinced my dead brittany spaniel was assisting me with the process. That's how I ended up at Arizona State University. No prestige. No pride in wearing school caps or shirts. Just a dumb state school that was close enough to Tucson for my parents to pick me up if things get rough, and far enough away for me to have a semblance of independence. I know that I haven't given you guys heart-stopping tales of me driving to Blythe because I thought I was jesus or telling you about all of the Ws I have on my transcript, but in my experience with depression and mania...in a way, this is the sad part, the just existing part. The just state school worthy part. You're not quite paralyzed in bed; you're not quite on a 12 day shopping spree. It's confusing, and I'm only 21. What are the next 21 years going to be like?

Thanks, eyebrowsofsteel, for letting us share your story. It's hard to know where to go next when you're already off-script for we're told life should be like.

We're publishing submissions about the ways affective disorders have affected the lives of those with the disorders, their friends, family, and caregivers. Submit here on tumblr or to [email protected].

#3andonehalf #documentary #mental illness #bipolar #submission

Zach Singer Director's Reel from 3 And One Half Films on Vimeo.

IndieGoGo - Don't Call Me Crazy from 3 And One Half Films on Vimeo.

igg.me/at/dontcallmecrazy

IndieGoGo - Don't Call Me Crazy from 3 And One Half Films on Vimeo.

My brother just went through a major depressive episode in this past week. One that may not even be completely over. He stayed in bed for days, started arguments with me, and at times would barricade himself in his room in the middle of the day. In my opinion, he was seeing our reality for what it is and he couldn’t escape back in to his own.

Now… this whole scenario is a very delicate situation, as you Companions may be aware. You want to show your support/understanding, while making him understand reality, and also keep him safe from himself. For us, its a difficult thing to balance our reality with theirs. We must be there in our loved one’s time of need, but ALSO be able to live our own lives. It takes a strong person to be able to handle these things, so pat yourself on the back!

I am forever grateful to my good friend (we will call him Nate) for handling this as wonderfully as he did. My brother was at Nate’s apartment for a day of writing, when everything became so overwhelming that he had a devastating panic attack. Nate recognized this and allowed my brother to stay on his couch for 6 hours so he could calm down and be able to drive himself home. Nate’s understanding and sympathy was welcome news after I found out how bad it actually was - I cancelled my plans for the night after my brother got home because he mentioned that he didn’t “trust himself.”

It's a matter of compassion. I know that my brother’s life is more valuable than any trivial thing I may have gone to do, and Nate knew that his friend was in no state to drive or be on his own. As Companions of Crazy, it seems at least half of the things we do and mental/emotional energy we put out is for our loved one. It's tiring and taxing and difficult. It can take time out from your day and make you cancel plans. But if you love someone and your mere presence can help them (or prevent them from doing something harmful), you know it's what you have to do.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, never give up on the people you love. As much as it hurts us, breaks our hearts and tears us apart, we absolutely shouldn’t step away. People with Bipolar Disorder have their ups and downs - so do their friends/family/caregivers. When we can go with the flow and understand with compassion the rough patch they may be going through, then we are providing them with the love and support that they NEED to make it through.

You are Amazing, Companions. Never forget that. And never give up.

-Caitie

Caitie and her brother, Zach, founded 3 And One Half Films to increase advocacy for and erase the stigma of bipolar and other affective disorders. The company's first project is "Don't Call Me Crazy," a documentary about Zach's pursuit of the life he wants in the face of a disease he can't control. You can read more here and at 3andonehalf.com, or support our project on Indiegogo.

We are ALWAYS looking to expand our community.

Because of that, we’ve created a Tumblr for you to Share your Story with us. We are still looking for more experiences that help us show what life with mental disease is like, so please contribute yours!

Who Are We and Why Are We Crazy?

Our website has more information about us!

Please Consider Contributing!

If you'd like to support Don't Call Me Crazy by making a contribution to the production and receiving awesome perks in exchange, check out our Indiegogo!

Even if you can't contribute funding, you can still help us make our documentary to help people with mental disease and their families by sharing the campaign with your friends, online and off. Follow us on Facebook and Twitter to stay updated about events and follow this Tumblr for production updates and announcements!

Don’t Call Me Crazy - Teaser from 3 And One Half Films on Vimeo

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Don't Call Me Crazy - Production Blog