Many people commented on the article I wrote about what a loved one can say to someone who has attempted suicide. One thing is clear from all the outreach - many people have attempted suicide and many people have survived. No one in this situation is alone. But after a suicide attempt people invariably feel alone. They feel like a freak. They feel hurt and afraid. And when other people deny their suicide attempt, deny their pain, deny their mental illness, this makes things worse, not better. Denial is keeping your loved one from getting better.

Recently, a man I have come to respect and care about attempted suicide. I am grateful he is still here to tell the tale. His suicide note was online and his pain was so evident it tore at my soul. I was tremendously relieved to hear his friends had rescued him in time to save him. But I was then left with the problem as to what to say to this man. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was make the situation any more difficult for him. What do you do when someone you care about just attempted suicide?

I like my job. I get to write for a living which is something many writers don't get to do. And moreover, I get to write about things that matter to me. Also a great luxury for many writers. These are pleasures as are the vast majority of people I get to meet. I do have the great displeasure, though, of seeing vehement hatred for those with a mental illness. People who hate show up here, on my blog and elsewhere. People with a hatred for bipolar disorder seem to seek places to express their hatred. But hatred of the mentally ill is simply another prejudice. Hatred of people with bipolar is the same as racism and just as unacceptable.

The journey of a thousand miles doesn't begin with a spin class, but everyone knows they should exercise. People should be doing it right now. Me too. We should slowly and calmly step away from the Internet. And most of us even know exercise acts as an antidepressant. Which means if we actually got up and walked around once in a while, we might feel better. But we don't do it. Not the average North American and especially not the average mentally ill North American. How does a person with a mental illness fight that?

Last night I participated in the first tweetup for the Society of Participatory Medicine. In their words, Participatory Medicine is a cooperative model of health care that encourages and expects active involvement by all connected parties (patients, caregivers, healthcare professionals, etc.) as integral to the full continuum of care. Not surprisingly, this is something with which I firmly agree. I believe in patients as active participants in their own healthcare. I say it all the time - the doctors aren't the ones taking the pills, you are. The issue with pushing for patient "participation" is not everyone is capable of wholly participating in their own healthcare. Sick people are busy being sick. They don't have time to read research papers. While some in the tweetup agreed, two notable exceptions occurred: ""too sick"? -why Patient support groups are key took 4 building the 'plumbing'." "One can't be busy getting well & busy being sick at the same time. The patient has to choose." Sounds like blaming the patient to me.

I've discussed how I like to use the word "crazy" and don't find it derogatory. Us crazies, we have to stick together, I might say. I've also said that people can use any word to hurt you. Don't tell me you're a secretary. But some people use a mental illness diagnosis as a weapon. Some people insult and abuse with the facts of illness and treatment.

So, interesting thing. Mental illness has a tendency to run roughshod through a person's life. Everything in life goes by the wayside to make room for the unbearable being of crazy. You know you're alive because you're in pain. And then, against all odds, or at the very least against some odds, you start to feel better. It's a miracle. Breath and life and oxygen and delight fill the lungs. Suddenly life is easy. Cupboards get organized, relationships get mended and Work Gets Done. Life is Good. Why, then, is it so freakin' scary?

I recently wrote about the myth that you can be "too smart" to have bipolar disorder. I wrote about the prejudicial and false thought that if we were "smart enough" we wouldn't have bipolar. This, of course, isn't remotely true. A couple of people requested more about bipolar disorder and intelligence. But I'm sorry to say, the truth is, people with bipolar disorder are actually cognitively impaired compared to the average individual.

I've been wrong about a lot of things in my lifetime. Life is funny like that, always moving the ball when you're not looking. And one of them was this: I thought I was too smart to have a mental illness.

Today I read another article on a reasonable person's assertion psychiatric medication doesn't work. The evidence is thin, they say, and the studies don't always show a meaning difference between the drug and the placebo. According to them, everyone with a mental illness doing better on psych meds is experiencing the placebo effect. OK, so let's look at this for a minute.