I have been so excited about writing for HealthyPlace that I have had trouble focusing on exactly where to begin. Ha! Can you imagine a person with ADHD not being focused? Of course you can! It's a hallmark of the disorder. What may be harder to imagine is a person with ADHD who is so focused that it is, as Dr. Larry Silver notes in an ADDitude article, "...difficult for anyone to 'reach' and interact with a person."

It is 11:22 p.m. and I'm still staring at the blank computer screen. My head hurts. My stomach feels queasy. I'm tired. The worst part? I struggled to eat today. Not because the eating disorder voice hammered at me. Not because I felt compelled to lose weight. But because I simply did not feel hungry. Stress kills my appetite. Now I have to make sure it doesn't kill my recovery from anorexia.

There is an interesting, if perhaps disturbing, phenomenon in psychopharmacological drug treatment. It is the instance where a person initially has a satisfactory response to a medication, getting well, and perhaps staying well for years, only to have the illness come back at a random time in the future. The medication just “stopped” working. We have known about this for a long time with many drugs including antidepressants and anticonvulsants (mood stabilizers) and it’s sometimes referred to as antidepressant “poop-out” (I kid you not). But this phenomenon goes against even the most basic understanding of medication, so why is it happening?

I try not to ask myself "Will I stay well?" too often. But it sort of lurks in the back of my psyche until, finally, I am confronted with it. That's part of living with a mental illness--whether it is chronic or in passing--and it's tough. Really tough. But what about before you were properly diagnosed?

You know someone who has a mental illness. You actually probably know tens of people with mental illnesses. There’s a twenty percent chance that you have a mental illness yourself.

Happy Mother's Day to mamas, moms, memes, and mommys everywhere! I hope your day is full of appreciation, love, and peace. You deserve to be treated as a queen, not just today, but every day. But we all know that's not how it happens, don't we? Kids don't understand our sacrifices, husbands tend to forget and sometimes take advantage of our willingness to wait. Mother's tend to be instant gratification machines, and all it takes to activate us is the call, "Mo-o-om! Come see!"

It's dark when I pull into the parking lot. I'm nervous--will he have what I need? Will the price have gone up? What if I can't get it? How will I get through tomorrow--the next day, the day after that--if I don't? My fears are unrecognized, but I can't help noticing the smug, disapproving look on his face as he hands me what I came for. This isn't a back-alley drug deal; it's a simple transaction between me and my pharmacist. So why do I still feel like a common junkie?

Bipolar is a disease that takes over your brain – well, parts of your brain anyway – and these affected parts of your brain change your psychology right along with them. So once when you felt “normal” or let’s say, average, you now feel utterly destroyed. Your emotions are altered thanks to the attack on your brain. And what’s worse about this is that bipolar or depression fundamentally changes who you think you are at that moment. If you used to be a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky sort, in a depression, nothing could be farther from the truth. When manic, all your thoughtful, careful ways become things of the past. You can barely identify with the person you were pre-mood. And perhaps even worse than all that is that some part of you sees this dissonance. You know that who you are at that moment isn’t who you really are. It’s like someone else, a crazy person, moved right into your head and body and coopted your life. Bipolar snatched your body and brain.

Please, honey, give me this day, free of pain. Please take back your hateful words, hold my tearful face in your hand, and apologize for hurting me so deeply. I beg of you to hold back your brutish glances under knitted brows and instead, look into my soul shining beneath my tears and see, just one time, that who I am will not hurt you.

I  have an appointment with My Psychiatrist today. In exactly six hours and forty minutes. Well, six hours and forty-two minutes to be exact. I know things like this. I have not seen her in a month. She was on vacation. She told me she would be riding camel's--I'm  serious--on her vacation.