As I continue writing Bob's 504 Plan (previously blogged here and here), I am amazed at how much of it seems to be common sense. Does a child really need "frequent restroom breaks" put into writing in order to use the restroom? (Being a substitute teacher, I've learned most kids won't go to the restroom every 20 minutes unless they're bored, need a break, or have a real physical need.) Sadly, it seems much "common sense" in education (indeed, all matters concerning children) has become anything but . Case in point: the accommodation in Bob's plan that created such a buzz--his notebook.

For days I have been tormented by blinding headaches, merciless nausea, recurrent waves of despair, and an overwhelming premonition of impending doom. At last I have discovered the source of my torment. The 2012 presidential campaign has officially begun. I am writing today from the New Hampshire hamlet I inhabit having just come back from voting in the nation’s first primary election. Returning home after exercising the franchise so many take for granted I had what people like me refer to as “an aha moment” – which is to say, I stumbled across an original thought. This is it – mentally ill people are uniquely qualified to redeem the unsightly quagmire we refer to as American politics.

Like an errant child avoiding homework, I've been putting off something important for almost a week: writing Bob's 504 Plan. Wait--isn't someone affiliated with the school district supposed to do that? One would think.

I've been studying mental illness for a long time and while I knew the answer to this question, I couldn't really have told you why. This is mostly because I haven't done a lot of work on personality disorders, but I have had occasion to learn more about them recently. No, bipolar disorder is not a personality disorder, and here's why.

Have you ever watched television, absentmindedly, and are shaken awake by the statement: "One in four people will suffer from a mental illness at some point in their lives." Great. My first instinct? Well, I feel less alone. The Mathematics of Mental Illness

Once upon a time, I didn't realize my ex was abusive. There were many reasons and excuses for deluding myself into thinking the problem was a relationship issue, and that we were equally at fault for the trouble in the marriage. By the time I came to terms with the fact that my ex was abusing me, that he was an abuser, I also realized that I had abused him, too. I had called him names, allowed my temper to overcome my sense, even slapped his face once and thrown keys at his head hoping my aim would, for once, be perfect.

In 1972, a kids program called "The Most Important Person" gave 3-minute self-esteem lessons about respecting yourself, learning from mistakes, and protecting yourself in the face of various meanies.  The theme song began with the following lyric: The most important person in the whole wide world is you and you hardly even know you. Almost 40 years after hearing that song for the first time, I often find myself repeating the lyric in my head.  Wouldn't it be great if that program was redone for adults?  What if someone made a "love yourself" cartoon for people with bipolar?

My mind is mushy and I’m exhausted. I just went through two hours of testing to determine whether or not I suffer from ADD in addition to depression and anxiety. It was miserable.

First of all: a very Happy New Year to you! May your 2012 be filled with possibility, community, love and peace. 2011 was an amazing year for our family. Inside our walls, it brought changes that were both discouraging (Ben's reduction in services, leading to a relapse that could have been avoided - down the chute in Chutes and Ladders) wonderful (eventual return to medication, and restoration of baseline; back to good grades at school and a job!!), and challenging (family role upped to that of unofficial supervisors of Ben's official caseworkers - don't get me started).  As I often remind myself, it is what it is. This is what we must do right now to keep Ben healthy and productive. It is not, nor can it be, a forever choice to drive him to work or school every day, to personally make sure he takes his meds after eight years of having that taken care of in the group home where he is no longer allowed to live ("too functional" --- yeah) But for now, it is what we must do, and the results are more than worth it.

Last night I was feeding my cats and thinking suicidal thoughts - I like to call that a Wednesday night. And I was thinking to myself that no one (save others in my position) understands what that is like - to go from some sort of normal person in the daytime to a sobbing, suicidal headcase at night. I thought about the fact that I have spent eight years talking about this very disease, this very state, this very problem, and yet still, people don't get it. No matter how many words I use, no matter how I phrase it, people simply do not understand. So what do we do with the lack of understanding by others?