I had a friend who had something like that, and it had nothing to do with mental illness. It was a drug interaction-- beta blockers and. . . (memory escapes me). Bottom line, I got called in late one night. My buddy Ralph had gone berserk in a restaurant. Luckily no firearms were involved. He'd gone ape in the middle of dinner and the police had been called. His girlfriend called me out of bed, and I came and got him. I was the only one he'd go with.
Ralph gave me explicit instructions; I had to get him to a particular private hospital and get a certain cardiologist. This was in between bouts of extreme aggression and general weirdness. The details of that night are best left for a campfire, but I did as he told me. The next day, the nurse that I'd punked and his doctor both agreed I'd probably saved the dude's life.
We just buried Ralph last week. He went on to survive 35 years after that incident. Among other things, he taught a class every winter in Supply Side Economics at Moscow University.
My point in bringing this up is that we have no idea what was going on, and it's best to leave it be.
