When I was younger, I had a friend who would claim having “a nervous breakdown.” She affected the Scarlett O’Hara case of the vapors stance with her hand to her forehead and sank into the couch. That was amusing. “Nervous breakdowns are funny,” I thought. Then there was a time in my life when I had too much going on. I would get up early, go to bed late, work hours without leaving my desk or seeing the light of day, order in lunch, rarely see friends, deal with a difficult boss when I thought “I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown.” And it was not funny.