When I told my mother I had a mental illness, I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe me. She didn’t come right out and say it, but it was pretty clear she was suspicious. Once she did feel something was wrong, she was sure it could be fixed with vitamins and herbs. It couldn’t. And this is a pretty common reaction from family members. You have one of the hardest conversations of your life and the family member responds with, “you’re not sick.” Or, “you look fine to me.” Or, “you’re just being dramatic.” Or many other things that will tell you that they don’t believe anything is wrong. So how do you approach a family member and explain to them that everything is not OK.

Bipolar disorder is associated with extremely high (mania/hypomania) and low (depressed) moods. This is typically seen with emotional changes, behavioral changes, energy changes and so on. Psychosis, on the other hand is the presence of delusions and hallucinations. Delusions – false beliefs that persist in spite of the existence of contrary evidence – and hallucinations are most closely associated with schizophrenia. However, symptoms of psychosis can occur in bipolar disorder and depression as well.

There is a persistent myth that having bipolar disorder means you have a “broken identity,” or even, “split personality.” I would imagine the term “manic depression” (an older term for bipolar disorder) conjures up these images for some people. But I’m here to tell you, my identity is just fine as is my personality.

Last night I drank. Alcohol. OK. You probably don't need to alert the media. But I do need to alert you about the horrible effects alcohol can have on a person with bipolar disorder.

I don't have anything against people with a disability. Why would I? Being disabled means nothing about the individual, it simply indicates their situation. It would be like being against people with siblings. It would just be silly. Nevertheless, when considering my own bipolar disorder, I bristled against the word "disability." I know; this is hypocritical of me and a double standard. It's OK for someone else to be disabled but not me? I'm embarrassed to even think it. But bristle I have and think it I (mostly subconsciously) did. The truth is, though, I'm a person with a disability.

Happy new year to everyone. Thanks to all for joining me for a wonderful year of information, interaction and debate. I have learned a lot and I hope you have too. But in case you missed it, here are the top ten articles people were reading from Breaking Bipolar last year:

New Year's is not such a bad time. It's about looking back and learning, I think. We can look back over the year and determine why we did what we did and what it is we should do about it. It's about new beginnings, fresh beginnings, a clean slate. All of that is lovely really. But with all that comes the dreaded New Year's resolution - the thing we say, hand to heart, that we will endeavour to do in the following year. But really, these resolutions have a negative impact on the mentally ill.

Happy holidays, all. I am back from my family sojourn and feeling exhausted from it. Which is odd, actually, because nothing stressful happened. I worked, we ate, we played cards we pretended to be happy (some more than others) and the holiday passed by. And a giant "meh" was heard by all. And yet still I find myself crippled with exhaustion and stress post-holiday. Why, exactly, is that?

The holidays are no longer around the corner; the holidays are now here - on top of us. The holidays have overtaken us. They have lay siege to our everyday lives and they have won. The holidays! Ack! And while this sieging of lives has its plusses (like prezzies) it also has its downsides - like instability. So now that you're staring the fat man in the eye, here's what you need to know to have a safe holiday and an unhospitalized new year.

Recently someone who I consider a friend had some rather unfortunate things to say about me, including that I'm narcissistic. This, I do not believe to be true. Not even a little. Nevertheless, this particular insult echoed inside my brain over and over until I was sure it was stabbing the inside of my head with heated spikes. I couldn't let it go. I tried, really I did. I told myself it's not about me. It's just one person's opinion at one moment. It isn't true. And so on, and so forth. But my brain had a death-grip on the insult and refused to let it slip. So what do you do when you're obsessive, bipolar brain turns to thoughts of crazy?