“There was a time when I thought you wouldn’t come back,” my mom told me one day, years after a series of major psychotic episodes that I had in my twenties. “I started to believe that you would probably just never be the same again,” she said. I think I cringed when I heard this. I can’t tell you exactly why I hate these conversations, but I do, and I have ever since I (mostly) regained my sanity. My college years were bumpy, but according to my personal timeline, I went completely mad for the first time toward the end of my second year of teaching, when I was 24 years old. I am 38, now.