Picture this: A moment ago I was staring at the blank text field going "Ummm...Uhhh...Dammit!" And then I was coughing a rather nasty cough that lives deep inside my chest and scratches my throat. I slowly move my hand toward cough drops which have proved to be generally useless. I have a headache and realize the Tylenol is downstairs. I wonder if I can make it downstairs. A box of tissues sit beside me where my notebooks usually are. I look up "how long does a cold last?" Apparently, seven to ten days. I am on day three. The website recommends chicken soup. I hate soup. I then type in, fingers moving rather slowly: "depression related to the common cold" although this does not feel common --I think I might be dying. But I am sort of dramatic with these things... I'm done telling about how crappy I feel (insert sneeze here) but I have always felt I suffer from depression when I am sick. Am I alone in this?

We have heard this before: Mental Illness is an invisible disability. But I beg to differ. When my world crashes and burns, when the winter steals away my stability and I am hiding within the walls of my home and cannot figure out how to eat or sleep, I'm pretty sure my mental illness is not invisible. In fact, I feel like I am wearing a large sign: "I have bipolar disorder and am currently depressed. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE." Mental illness disabilities aren't always invisible.

Do. Not. Apologize. For. Living. With. A. Mental Illness. Remember that brand Nike and their slogan "Just Do It!" ? Well, "Don't Do It!" Instead, explain it. "I've Met Someone New and Important, Shouldn't I explain?"

I sort of wanted to title this post, "Hormonal Changes Women Experience Throughout the Month Impact our Mental Illness"--AKA PMS. Now, I could not do this for a couple of reasons: That's a bit wordy and first and foremost I want men to read it too.

It's Not Fair That I Have a Mental Illness! Right. Not Fair. I get it! It sort of sucks. I get that you're feeling self-pity over having a mental illness. We have a couple of options here: get over the fact we have a mental illness and carry on with life or keep on feeling bad for ourselves. Should we continue to wallow in self-pity over having a mental illness? No.

Okay. Take a minute and think about it. What comes to mind? Immediately, I think of when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder. And then I recall the years that followed: a feeling of loneliness that never seemed to leave me. A feeling I still struggle with. Even as I write these words and with the understanding that those who read them probably do understand. But it's not that easy--it never is.

If you read enough of these blogs, you might know that I write what I feel. But this often involves a healthy mix of education and sarcasm. In line with my personality, I suppose. But this topic is different. Suicide lives in the darkest parts of my mind; places I cannot avoid but also want to remember. I want to remember losing my very best friend and my cousin to suicide. My favorite cousin. Maybe I should preface this by telling you it will be a bit raw. But suicide is raw. It hurts. And it hurts to write this.

OK. First, I should probably take a deep breath and think about this topic before I start throwing out adjectives. I hate the word Antipsychotic (oops!). I hate it as much as I would hate being deprived of chocolate and coffee - A heck of a lot. I have not used my 10,000 page thesaurus to define a word in a while now so, I cannot lie, I am looking forward to what defines this word.

Mental illness is commonly connected to stress and anxiety. Before a person receives treatment for a mental illness, he often experiences stress due to the uncommon behavior caused by the mental illness symptoms. Symptoms can cause behavior changes that initiate feelings of guilt, shame, and depression. Understanding the connection between stress and mental illness is important but it isn't always easy to separate the symptoms.

When we are first given the diagnosis of mental illness, our lives feel as if they are suddenly taken from us. Ripped from our hands. We are used to leaving our home when we please, eating when we are hungry or picking up the phone and calling someone. Once we have been diagnosed, we quickly find out: Our life is no longer entirely ours! And that, that, is scary.