This may be a dark post-- an angry post. Like that ugly picture which makes perfect sense to me. But I cannot paint this topic in pretty colors; I can paint it in black. I hate addiction. I despise it. In all of its forms. Addiction is insidious. It sneaks up on you slowly and with intent. Before you can pull away it's already walking beside you: walking beside you even though you want to run the hell away. Yes, I am describing addiction abstractly because its tremendously hard for me to put words to that which nearly killed me. And that which does the same to many people struggling with it. It's not for the faint of heart--not when it can stop your heart.

This July, I published a book, The Third Sunrise: A Memoir of Madness. It was a long three-year process sprinkled with bouts of depression and anxiety, but happiness as well. I had always wanted to write a book about my experience with mental illness and addiction. The reality of it--exposing my life on paper--was much harder than I had originally thought. I suppose I was a little naïve?

Last week, I wrote a blog focusing on the connection between mental illness and addiction. I defined "dual diagnosis," a term focusing on a person living with a mental illness and an alcohol or drug problem. In this post, let's talk about mental illness and disordered eating.

Mental illness is a difficult thing to live with. Sometimes, it feels impossible. To make things even more complicated, the diagnosis of mental illness often comes with "dual diagnosis", a fancy term for  living with more than one illness. Part I of this blog will focus on addiction and Part II, later this week, will focus on eating disorders and anxiety disorders.

I hate to admit it, but when you live with a mental illness there are probably triggers to avoid--triggers that upset the stability we have fought so hard to find (Don't Wait: Prepare for Mental Health Triggers Beforehand). First, let's break it down a little bit.

I am twenty-seven years old as I write these words. I own my own home and I have a dog I adore. I cook and I clean and I talk to my family on a regular basis.

When I read the heading of this post, the words mental illness and addiction sort of mold together, like a candle, dripping wax into the same spot. Mental illness and addiction go hand in hand--those diagnosed with a mental illness have a much higher incidence of addiction, this is known in the psychiatric community as co-morbid illness. Fancy words to apply to the content of this post.

I have an ulterior motive when writing this blog, rather, I need to vent a bit. I write about the importance of a healthy lifestyle within these blogs: food, diet, exercise, medication compliance, staying away from excess alcohol and even further away from drugs that are not prescribed to us. Far, far, far away, next country far! I mean these things. I practice what I preach. But I have not, as I recall, mentioned cigarettes. Nicotine addiction. The chemicals that live in them. I have not spoken about this because I pretended  that nearly a decade of smoking, now at the age of twenty-six, I had yet to quit. Well, four long days ago I quit. Cold turkey.

"I'm not sick anymore!" Sound familiar? It does for many people who struggle with mental illness, particularly chronic mental illness, but also addiction and alcoholism. It's important to mention that this feeling is not exclusive to these diseases but for the purpose of this blog let's focus on them.

Let me stress this: Do Not Self-Medicate Mental Illness. This is obvious, right? It should be simple. Why make things more complicated? Being diagnosed with mental illness is crazy enough, so why do a large portion of people, statistically, abuse drugs and alcohol? I'm human and sometimes I hurt. Just like you do. A few years ago: I have not slept in three days, maybe four. Sheets hang on my windows. The light stings my dilated eyes. I wince, even among the relative darkness I have created. I have not eaten in days; I drink water tainted with vitamins hoping that's enough.It's been days of drugs and of alcohol. I am surprised I have not died yet. For many years, that was my life. That was my way of dealing with the diagnosis. I hid behind drugs and alcohol because, in my mind, I would rather be an addict and alcoholic than to be bipolar.