My thoughts were fast and frequent as I buzzed around campus my freshman year at college. Boring people were interesting, and there was not an audience I couldn’t captivate or be captivated by. My work fascinated me, and I threw myself into causes heedlessly. But as my thoughts raced ahead, they became frenzied, bringing confusion instead of clarity. The line between fantasy and reality became distorted. Looking in the mirror, I saw a person I didn’t know and couldn’t understand. Friends stopped returning my text messages, and when our paths crossed their faces revealed fear and contempt. And for good reason: I was mercurial, impulsive, and utterly unrecognizable. The crushing lows of depression were familiar to me, but now the pendulum swung the other way. These new reckless highs that transformed me were frightening. Substances helped me to find order in the chaos, but eventually my reliance on them bred an entirely new set of problems. I have little memory of what happened on the day everything changed. I awoke in the emergency room, doctors informing me of a necrotic infection in my right leg which caused me to lose movement and feeling from the waist down. I was admitted to a rehab facility immediately after discharge. However, I was still unable to walk and I relied on a wheelchair. My body healed slowly, and I regained sensation and control of my legs. But as the numbness receded, it was replaced by waves of intolerable pain that shot down my leg like an electric shock. The strong narcotics I was prescribed were effective, but at times I couldn’t speak in full sentences or write my own name. When auditory hallucinations began, I underwent a rapid detox at a local psychiatric hospital. During this visit I finally discovered the firestorm in my mind had a name. My doctor explained that when reality becomes fuzzy and I overflow with misguided energy, I am experiencing mania, which is a mood state confronted by people like me with bipolar disorder. Although I felt relieved to put a name to my experiences, the gravity of my diagnosis also forced me to confront its consequences. I grieved for friends and family members who never visited, the loss of the job I loved as a research assistant at Argonne National Laboratory, and my poor health which rendered me dependent on the care of family members. The medications I was prescribed as a result of my diagnosis brought reality back into focus. With renewed perspective, I worked a rigorous recovery program and underwent many months of physical therapy. I progressed from wheelchair to walker and, finally, to walking with only the help of a brace. I still remember the first day I was able to walk to my mom waiting for me in the lobby after physical therapy. Although some permanent nerve damage remains, I can dance and run and stand on my tippy toes, all of which I never dreamed of doing again. My memories of these experiences carry with them a profound feeling of responsibility. They have inspired me to use my research in a way that benefits my friends who have not yet found the freedom of sobriety. Driven by this conviction, I am pursuing a Ph.D. in Medicinal Chemistry at the University of Illinois at Chicago, where I have the privilege of researching new pharmacological treatments for substance use disorders as a member of Dr. Andrew Riley’s lab. When I began graduate school, I was asked regularly about my motivations. Why was I interested in this program? How did I decide on my area of research? Fearing the questioners’ biases, I deflected these questions with generic answers. But addiction is not a moral failure, and I’m done acting like I have something to hide. I used to view my experiences with mental illness and addiction as a tragedy. Now with nearly 9 years of sobriety under my belt, the triumph of my recovery is one of my deepest sources of pride. I still struggle, however. The ups and downs are a constant presence in my life, and it has taken me years to assemble a fortress of support around me. I have therapists, physicians, colleagues, fellow recovery-seekers, and family members on whom I routinely rely for encouragement, comfort, and correction. I’ll never know for sure, but research suggests that my neurodivergence likely contributes significantly to the empathy, creativity, and realism which I exemplify. It almost certainly contributes to my high enthusiasm and passionate interests. Once I’ve made up my mind to pursue a dream, I dare anyone to try and stop me. My cover art illustrates my tenacity as a chemist with bipolar disorder through the imagery of a mind on fire. This article has not yet been cited by other publications.

中文翻译：

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心灵着火

当我在大学一年级时在校园里嗡嗡作响时，我的想法又快又频繁。无聊的人很有趣，没有我无法吸引或吸引的观众。我的工作让我着迷，我不顾一切地投入到事业中。但随着我的思绪飞速向前，它们变得疯狂，带来的是混乱而不是清晰。幻想与现实之间的界限变得扭曲。照镜子，我看到了一个我不认识，也看不懂的人。朋友们不再回复我的短信了，当我们的道路相交时，他们的脸上流露出恐惧和蔑视。有充分的理由：我反复无常，冲动，完全认不出来。抑郁症的低谷对我来说很熟悉，但现在钟摆向另一个方向摆动。这些改变了我的鲁莽新高潮令人恐惧。物质帮助我在混乱中找到秩序，但最终我对它们的依赖带来了一系列全新的问题。我几乎不记得那天发生了什么，一切都变了。我在急诊室醒来，医生告诉我右腿坏死感染，导致我腰部以下失去活动和感觉。出院后，我立即被送进了康复中心。然而，我仍然无法行走，只能依靠轮椅。我的身体慢慢愈合，我恢复了对双腿的感觉和控制。但随着麻木的消退，取而代之的是一阵阵难以忍受的疼痛，就像电击一样从我的腿上射下来。给我开的强效麻醉剂很有效，但有时我无法说出完整的句子或写下自己的名字。当幻听开始时，我在当地一家精神病院接受了快速排毒。在这次访问中，我终于发现我脑海中的风暴有一个名字。我的医生解释说，当现实变得模糊并且我被误导的能量溢出时，我正在经历躁狂症，这是像我这样患有双相情感障碍的人所面临的情绪状态。虽然为自己的经历命名让我松了一口气，但我的诊断的严重性也迫使我面对它的后果。我为从未拜访过的朋友和家人感到悲痛，失去了我在阿贡国家实验室担任研究助理的工作，以及我的健康状况不佳，这使我不得不依赖家人的照顾。我因诊断而开出的药物使现实重新成为焦点。以全新的视角，我进行了严格的康复计划，并接受了数月的物理治疗。我从轮椅进步到助行器，最后，只用支具帮助走路。我仍然记得第一天我能够在物理治疗后步行到在大厅等我的妈妈那里。尽管仍然存在一些永久性的神经损伤，但我可以跳舞、跑步和踮着脚尖站立，所有这些都是我做梦也想不到的。我对这些经历的记忆带有一种深刻的责任感。他们激励我以一种使我的朋友受益的方式使用我的研究，这些朋友还没有找到清醒的自由。在这种信念的驱使下，我正在攻读博士学位。在伊利诺伊大学芝加哥分校获得药物化学博士学位，作为 Andrew Riley 博士实验室的成员，我有幸研究药物使用障碍的新药理学治疗方法。当我开始读研究生时，我经常被问到我的动机。为什么我对这个程序感兴趣？我是如何决定我的研究领域的？由于担心提问者的偏见，我用通用的答案转移了这些问题。但是上瘾并不是道德上的失败，我已经完成了表现得好像我有什么要隐藏的东西。我曾经将我的精神疾病和成瘾经历视为一场悲剧。现在，我已经戒酒将近 9 年了，我康复的胜利是我最深的自豪感之一。然而，我仍然在挣扎。起起落落一直存在于我的生活中，我花了很多年才在我周围建立起一座支撑堡垒。我有治疗师、医生、同事、寻求康复的同伴和家人，我经常依靠他们来鼓励、安慰和纠正。我永远无法确定，但研究表明，我的神经差异可能对我所体现的同理心、创造力和现实主义做出了重大贡献。它几乎肯定有助于我的高热情和热情的兴趣。一旦我下定决心要追寻梦想，我敢于任何人试图阻止我。我的封面艺术通过燃烧心灵的形象展示了我作为一名患有躁郁症的化学家的坚韧不拔。这篇文章尚未被其他出版物引用。