by Vicki Sauseda

I suffer from bipolar disorder. No, jackass, that doesn’t mean I find both girls and guys sexually attractive. Every once in awhile my brain engages in a great suicide debate, and when it does, I go to the hospital.

At the first Group Time – mind out of the gutter children –  during my last stay in the hospital, I was shocked and disgusted. Why? A HUGE poster was hanging on the wall: Dr. Phil’s Rules of Living. What? I’m trusting my fragile mental state with people who are following Dr. Phil McQuack’s advice? Does Jerry Springer do their relationship counseling class?

I could go on and on about how much the poster bothered me, but I’m sure you can come up with your own reasons why bipolars, schizophrenics, the depressed, and so on, need better care/advice than Dr. Phil. His number one rule: Either you get it, or you don’t. Apparently, I fall into the latter category. I found humor and a snippet of comfort in that.

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