They say there is a fine line between brilliance and insanity, and I have seen that first hand. I helped one of my best friends commit himself to a mental institution several years ago.
Out of complete respect for this person, I want to be careful with how many details I share. But I will share the highlights with this story.
He is legitimately one of the most gifted thinkers I’ve ever met. Not just book smart, but musically gifted as well. And a huge heart to complete the package. He and I were great friends. We lived near each other in the city. He was the kind of guy that when I was stuck at home with a newborn and a dog in a snowstorm and my husband was traveling, he’d come over to walk my dog and rock the baby so I could have a few minutes to crash. He was that guy.
And then, out of nowhere, he disappeared. Both physically and metaphorically. He stopped responding to messages, and stopped showing up to work. I was nervous. And then his dad called me. He too was nervous. More than nervous. He asked me to find a way to break into his apartment and find out if he was alive. I will never forget that phone call. And I will never forget how sick to my stomach I felt that entire few block walk I felt.
I got into the apartment. I won’t share what I found, but it wasn’t good. My friend was not in good shape, but at least he was willing to talk a bit. He agreed to get help.
The next day he checked in to a facility frequented by some of the world’s most famous mentally ill people. He thought that was great. We waited a few days, and then another friend and I went to visit him together. I felt like I was visiting a prisoner, given the amount of security checkpoints we had to go through before we could see him.
It was depressing. More than depressing. They had taken away his shoelaces, computer cords, razor; anything that would allow him to potentially hurt himself. It was hard to stay upbeat when the whole thing terrified me.
And then he was out. He was treated for his disorder, and given appropriate medication to help him. And miraculously, he was ok. He’s married now, and has a great job. He’s survived.
He’s taught me to never, ever give up on people. We all have “stuff." Maybe our stuff isn’t this dramatic or heavy, but we still all have something. And certainly mental illness is a toughie. It can reek havoc on the individual, and everyone around him who cares. But with the right treatment, meds, and dedication, sometimes, things really do have a happy ending.
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