Broken Hands, Cold Heart

I've been committed to a psychiatric hospital five times. Every single time, it happened right before I was supposed to sign my marriage license.

The first time, I woke up in the private room of a bar with no clothes on.

My fiancé, Eric Henson, found me, wrapped me in his coat, and took me to the hospital.

The second time, I turned up deep in a wilderness preserve, spotted by a group of hikers.

My best friend, Mabel James, climbed two hours up the trail and helped the rescue team carry me back down.