Before I knew I was bipolar, I'd been depressed many times, but never anything like manic. Following the violent death of a close friend right in front of me, I started sleeping less and less. Pretty soon, I was going outside and building a fire at night instead of sleeping at all. I couldn't bear the idea of tuning out my own thoughts in exchange for sleep which I was becoming increasingly suspicious of as a human need. I was married at the time, and my new behavior raised all the alarms you would expect, but I was deaf to them all.

I was soon living on the beach in a tent in Oregon, stealing food by day and building fires by night. After about 8 months of not sleeping except for a nap here and there, I found myself alone and destitute on the beach in Puerto Rico. I broke down so completely I could only cry and pass out, cry and pass out. I cried for two weeks straight, and wasted to a skeletal emaciation.

I try to be real careful about sleeping now.