Among the Tombs

Throughout my life, I’ve known a number of people who have struggled with bipolar disorder or psychotic mental illness — a colleague, an employee, friends, even a son-in-law. These have not been people on the fringes of life. They were — and are — intelligent, perceptive, creative, and deeply thoughtful. They were actors, teachers, musicians, and caregivers. But at times, they’ve also found themselves caught in states of confusion, paranoia, or overwhelming emotion that led to hospitalisation — sometimes voluntary, sometimes not. Many of them, over time, found themselves increasingly isolated — misunderstood by friends, feared by neighbours, excluded from workplaces or churches. Whether by fear, fatigue, or systems not built to support them, they became, in various ways, outcasts. Some have spoken openly about the strange clarity they feel in moments of mania, and the deep loss they experience when medicated into stability. They miss the energy, the imagination — even as they know it can become unsustainable. So when I read the story of the Gerasene man — the one who lived among the tombs, tormented by many voices — I no longer picture a stranger. I see someone familiar. I wonder: what if we read this story not as a fable of the strange and distant, but as a window into real human experience? What if the demoniac saw himself in Elijah, who fled into the wilderness and asked God to let him die? What if he wept with the Psalmist, crying, “Why are you cast down, O my soul?” This is a story not just about healing — but about fear, rejection, dignity, and restoration. It’s not just his story. It may be ours, too.