In 2018, my neighbors find me naked on the floor of my den, trying to insert a reacher-grabber tool into my vagina, and I end up in a psychiatric hospital. This hasn’t happened to me since my previous bipolar psychotic episode in 1995, although for years I have cycled somewhere between depression, baseline, and mostly mania. I begin looking back at my life to explore my relationship with the disease.

          Growing up on a farm in rural Tennessee in the 1950s, I learn to love reading the Bible from my father, who suffers from schizophrenia. At the time, little is known about the genetic predisposition for mental illness, and early warning signs for me go unnoticed. I earn a PhD in mathematics in 1979 and marry STEVE in 1982. Later that year, I have my first manic psychotic episode, then average one per year during our eight-year marriage. A psychiatrist tells me I am the second-worst case he’s ever seen, and I start seeing myself through the lens of the disease. I identify AS the disorder: bipolar entrepreneur, bipolar mother, etc. Steve and I have two children, MEGAN and ELIJAH, before divorcing in 1990. Despite struggling with my mental health and a complicated custody arrangement, I hold high-powered jobs, including supercomputing consultant, research scientist at a US national laboratory, and founder of a bioinformatics software company.

          My career is cut short in 2000 due to worsening mental illness and other medical issues resulting from medication side effects. My memory and cognitive skills deteriorate, and in 2012, I am admitted to a long-term care facility. Later that year, I “break out” and find a new doctor, who gradually reduces my 27 medications until my cognitive function returns; I can build mobile apps and do complex math again. In 2016, a church pastor prays for healing for me, and I become capable of living independently and babysitting my grandchildren.

          But beginning in August 2017, I exhibit signs of instability: I fall for a Facebook romance scam, become paranoid after a series of cyber security issues, invite a homeless man to stay at my house for a few nights before discovering he’s lied to me, and drive solo 12 times between my home in Knoxville, TN and my children’s homes in Charlotte, NC. In late 2017, I learn that I have a gift to pray for healing and register for two Power and Love (P&L) Christian events with minister TODD WHITE. In February 2018, I drive more than 2,000 miles in 14 days on a circuitous trip from Knoxville to Orlando (for a P&L event), ending up in Charlotte. Todd inspires me to start tipping 100 percent at restaurants. Meanwhile, my 28-year friendship with WINNIE is shattered by my obsession with making him a believer in Christ. This painful rejection by a close friend, which leaves me numb and emotionally detached, is the final trigger for the psychotic episode that begins in May 2018 after the second P&L in Winston-Salem, NC. Because of a stomach virus I contract at the P&L, I don’t take my medications or eat for a day, and later quit taking my meds altogether because I believe I’m healed.

          I begin my solo drive back to Knoxville in a state of moderate mania and impulsively exit the freeway in Virginia. Disoriented, I stop at a motel in Fancy Gap, where I spend several days, keeping receipts for everything I eat and buy, tipping 100 percent, praying for healing for anyone who consents, splurging on souvenirs, and feeling euphoric but otherwise emotionally numb, which is typical of a manic state. Next, I visit my friend ALAN in Pulaski and conceal that I’m manic. Over 12 hours of travel time later, during which I make multiple stops and share my healing testimony with strangers, I arrive home in a state of manic psychosis.

          Over the subsequent week, I experience delusional manifestations with distinct, themed classifications and cycle between sets of activities in no particular order. These include a toy-sorting game using heaven, hell, and purgatory as categories, a belief that my yard is in the Garden of Eden, and the creation of a virtual reality game in which I must birth my granddaughter, CALYPSO, who is breech, and launch her, along with her parents, to the new world I will build after I burn this one down. During the darkest periods, I imagine or sense people that aren’t there. My neighbors find me and call 911.

          As I recover in a psychiatric hospital, I make notes about my psychosis activities, journal about hospital staff and fellow patients in a style that reflects my ongoing emotional detachment, and arrange a revival-style sing-along on my ward. I am still manic when discharged and spend the next six weeks at home, organizing my notes into a detailed account of my psychotic episode, structuring my experiences into distinct adventures that I describe as video or virtual reality games, board games, TV game shows, soap operas, and plays.

          With the support of doctors, Elijah, Megan, and my grandchildren, I move closer to my baseline, though I still act impulsively: I invite a homeless family to stay with me in February 2019, and that summer, I decide to sell my house in Knoxville and list it three weeks later, immediately moving to Charlotte, where I rent an apartment while house-hunting. Determined to redefine my relationship with bipolar disorder, I accept my impulsivity as part of who I am and focus on maintaining a stable mental state.

           The COVID-19 pandemic hits, and I experience intense paranoia, remaining confined in my apartment, fearing for Elijah (who is an ER physician) and myself, due to my preexisting comorbidities. I live through lockdown without becoming psychotic by following the bipolar management plan I developed in 2013, as well as having frequent calls and video chats with my children and grandchildren. I also create a blog (ruthforthebroken.org) to educate, support, and inspire others living with mental illness to live full, meaningful lives—even if we currently have no cures.