I've often said that Indiana's mental health laws are about 50 years behind where they need to be. Even in Indianapolis, where mental health treatment is relatively cutting-edge, there are still problems, especially when it comes to involuntary hospitalization.

I've been hospitalized against my will three times. Those interventions were in my best interest. But not everyone's experiences with forced treatment are helpful. Psychiatric survivors have experienced human rights violations in the mental health system and are speaking out about injustices that can occur when people are denied their right to choose.

Women are classic “I’m sorry” – ers. We’re taught to say “I’m sorry” from the time we can utter the words. We are the peacekeepers, claiming fault so no one else has to. We have to apologize for emotions because we’re “overemotional.” We have to apologize for our needs because we’re “clingy.” We’re sorry for our behavior, our significant other’s behavior and our children’s behavior. We are simply, sorry. And most women in 2011 realize this habit is one borne of the past and is no longer relevant in our everyday world. We realize we are not “sorry” at the drop of a hat or a glass of wine spilled by a drunken significant other. We realize there is a time to be sorry and there are times not to be. Unfortunately for me, I feel like I have to be sorry all the time, for every tear, for every thought, because if I’m not, people will leave.

I define self-sabotaging behaviors within Dissociative Identity Disorder as any thought, feeling, or action by any member of the system that actively impedes the intentions and goals of any other member of the system. Self-sabotage, by my definition, is a regular part of life with DID. And what most of us do when an alter disrupts our lives in some way is attempt to change the disruptive behavior. It makes sense, but it's counter-productive. Before you know it, you're entrenched in a power struggle that ultimately solves nothing. Without even realizing it, I engaged in a power struggle for years with an alter who effectively blocked all internal communication. Once I became aware of the situation, I stopped trying to change it. I now believe acceptance is the first step in managing self-sabotaging behaviors. And communication, I think, is the second.

Self-Care. Mental health depends on it, but self-care can be something of a confronting word. As if implying I developed a mental illness because I didn't take responsibility for my mental health issues. That may sound like a stretch, but when my therapist says self-care in a tone that says "I can't believe you don't know how take care of yourself!", I feel a little guilty anyway.

The verbal abuse excuses I used as glue to hold my marriage together were lies that kept everyone happy. But one day the verbal abuse excuses revealed themselves as lies (see Verbal Abuse Examples), and I realized that the excuses had twisted my perspective on communication, love and integrity. Soon after that, I left my abusive marriage.

Developing anorexia nervosa in my early forties still feels a bit surreal. As I begin to recover and regain health, I am looking for answers that might not ever be found. Why would a woman with no previous history of any eating disorder suddenly fall into the hole of anorexia starting at the age of 41? Like Alice in Wonderland, I have been moving through the strange world of anorexia perplexed by my very presence here. The questions continue to hammer at my brain.

Anxiety can stop me from trying new things. Lately I've been okay except when I go to try something different. Then it's all systems panic, followed up with a few days of fatigue and uncertainty. Some of this anxiety is about keeping me in my safety zone. A part of my brain figures that if I stay right there, nothing too terrible can happen. Then that annoyingly rational part chimes in to tell me that A. it pretty much already has, and B. staying in my safety zone won't treat anxiety, or PTSD.

I've had a horrible, terrible, awful, no-good, very bad week. Suffice to say it's winter, I hate snow, I feel like I could drink a lake and still be dehydrated, and situations beyond my control at work and at home are driving me to childish behavior. And Bob? Well, after Tuesday's camera debacle, he's done rather well. I received an email from his teacher yesterday, telling me what a fantastic day he'd had. Even though he wasn't at all thrilled with carrying his stuff to school in a $1 Joann's reusable shopping bag, he didn't protest too much when I advised him he would be using it for the remainder of the week, regardless.

Due to my frequent flirtations with treatment-resistance over the years, I have discussed ECT with a variety of doctors. To the first doctor, and the one after, I said simply, “I would rather die than do that”. Well, as it turns out when faced with death, you’ll do a lot of things you didn’t think you would.