When I was ill, it was simply overwhelming: for days and weeks at a time, I would put up the DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door, stare mindlessly out the window, sleep, contemplate suicide, or watch my guinea pig—a memento of one of my manic buying sprees—furiously scurrying around in his cage. During those times I could not imagine writing another paper, and I was incapable of comprehending any of the journal articles that I would try to read. Supervising and teaching were ordeals. But it was a tidal existence: When I was depressed, nothing came to me,
