There is something really liberating about being “out” about my mental illnesses. I gave a lot of thought before I went public four years ago. One friend pointed to television journalist Jane Pauley: “Look what happened to her after she went public.” I was putting my career on the line, others reminded me — not to mention any hope of ever getting a date.

I mulled it over. I had been in my career for about 25 years and was successful and was well-established. My parents had both died of cancer and unfortunately, I had become estranged from my brother and sister. My father was an only child and our family had moved away from my mother’s brothers and sisters when I was a child. I hadn’t seen or talked to aunts, uncles and cousins in decades.

I have very good friends who I knew would have my back. I was not married or in a relationship. Most people who had known me for any length of time — especially those who drank with me — knew I am an alcoholic and had been sober for years.

My biggest concern was my daughter.  I talked with her about my going public. She was 14 years old at the time but wise beyond her years. She did not mind me writing about my depression and bipolar disorder but she was not comfortable with me disclosing my alcoholism. About three years later, she changed her mind, and I went public with my alcoholism.

When I weigh the advantages and disadvantages of going public — and wonder what my life would be like today had I kept my mental illnesses secret — I know I made the right decision … for me. I cannot count the number of people whose paths I would not have crossed had I not gone public. I have made so many friends and deepened so many friendships because I am open about my depression, bipolar disorder and alcoholism.

Going public is NOT something I recommend. For many, going public could be disastrous, not only for their relationships and careers but for their own mental health. I share my …

I am on vacation. This is the first time I have flown since Delta imposed a $25 fee on each piece of luggage — which is really a slap in the face after paying an arm and two legs for a ticket.

Anyway, my resentment over the baggage fee melted — a little — when I saw the choice of in-flight movies and television programs. I found an HBO program called Diagnosis Bipolar. So, at 34,000 feet I learned what it was like to have a child with bipolar disorder.

I wish all the anti-psychotropic naysayers out there could see this program. These are the kids that are allegedly being drugged by pill-popping-happy parents who don’t want to deal, don’t know how to deal or aren’t willing to deal with their child’s bad behavior.

These are the legions of kids who just need more exercise and structure, less sugar and television and good old-fashioned discipline. They need consequences and “traditional” two-parent homes.

Puh-leeeeeez.

This will come as a shock to some of you, but many journalists do have a moral compass. Occasionally, we take one out and see if anyone remembers how to use it.

These newsroom debates are passionate and I have been at the center of many. For years, I argued that omitting details of sex crimes because “some readers might be not want to read about that over their Cheerios” misrepresented the true level of brutality against women in America.

I mean, come on, the music industry turned misogyny into entertainment a long time ago. Why not throw in a little reality for balance? I am not arguing for gratuitous details. However, very often the word “rape” does not capture the true horror of many of these crimes.

The same is true for media coverage of suicide. There is an unspoken rule among editors throughout the land that covering a suicide — especially details of a suicide — is morally wrong. It unnecessarily inflicts  more pain upon the loved ones left behind. They argue that suicide is not newsworthy unless a celebrity kills himself or the suicide affects the public — for instance, when  tortured soul jumps off an overpass during rush hour and brings traffic to a halt.

I disagree.

All threee have dates.

Bryan’s date is Oct. 10, 2008. That is the day his father killed himself. Bryan talked about his father today at the annual survivor conference sponsored by the Southeast Florida Chapter of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in Fort Lauderdale.

Bryan could not find enough adjectives to describe how wonderul, amazing, fun-loving, hardworking, absolutely hilarious his father was. A mountain biker, successful businessman, skiier, race car driver, a man who seemed to love his life and his life love him back.

“In his note he wrote maybe I lived too good a life,” Bryan said.

Just before Oct. 10, 2008 his father sold his possessions, he stopped doing things that he liked to do, he was in a severe depression and he had a prior suicide attempt in 2001.

“Bryan, you don’t know how bad this depression is,” Bryan recalled his father saying. “In his note he also wrote that it was too late.”

Paul lost his partner of 16 years on March 10, 2005 but that was not the worst day of his life. March 11, 2005 was the worst day of his life. That day he called his family, his partner’s family and friends.

“In addition to the stigma of suicide, I was shunned by coworkers because we were a gay couple,” Paul told the audience here in Fort Lauderdale today. “I am not going to deny that he died by suicide or that I loved this man.”

“The more we discuss suicide, the more we say the word “suicide”, the less stigma there will be,” Paul said. “Please say the word “suicide.” It’s a form of death.”

Renae’s son was 25-years-old when he shot himself. That was one year and seven months ago.

“From the day the sheriff came to my door until today, I have not cried,” she said. “It is amazing how the word has moved on and dragged me along. There are some of the longest days and nights but the longest years that have ever been.”

She is mad at the authorities, who treat suicide like a crime: “We are subjected to their accusations and questions. People feel like they have the right to …

Today is National Suicide Survivors Day. Survivors are the loved ones who live with anguished – and sometimes angry – hearts. Their lives are consumed with unimaginable sorrow and unanswered questions: What could I have done? How could I have missed this? Why? Why? Why? How do I live with this?

“You don’t,” said a mother whose son killed himself with a gunshot to the head. “You learn to live around it.”

My thoughts today turn to two coworkers – one drank himself to death, the other swallowed a bottle of pills and left behind two young sons. “He’s really cold,” one of the boys told me as we stood beside his father’s casket.

My thoughts today are with another friend who left left behind twin boys – just toddlers – when he closed the garage door and turned the ignition key on his truck. My prayers today are for the widow of German soccer star Robert Enke – whose husband stepped in front of a train two weeks ago. He had depression and was overwhelmed with fear that if his illness became public the baby girl the couple adopted earlier this year would be taken from them – just as their natural daughter was taken from them several years ago when her heart failed.

I will spent today at a local conference of suicide survivors. I doubt I will be able to listen to all of the speakers’ stories. But I will try. Suicide scares me. I have seen a glimpse of the unfathomable grief it leaves behind. Suicide scares me because I know I am capable of it. Twice before I have tried. I know the thoughts. I know the singleness of purpose. I know the pain. I know, I know, I know.

Today I will pray that God gives the survivors serenity, acceptance and absolution from their unnecessary guilt. Even if just for a moment, God, just let them have some peace.

It is naive to believe that people will respond to stressful events in exactly the same way. Actually, it is stupid. Which is why I am slightly ticked off this morning by an opinion piece written by the Washington Post’s Pulitzer Prize winning columnist Charles Krauthammer.

In it, Krauthammer, a psychiatrist who has not practiced for decades, slams those of us who believe what he skeptically calls “Secondary Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” “Vicarious Traumatization” or “Compassion Fatigue”. The Army calls it “Provider Fatigue.”

Krauthammer scoffs at recent reports that Dr. Nidal Hasan’s job of listening to the terrible stories of combat-wounded soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan may have contributed to his rampage at Fort Hood: “They suffered. He listened. He snapped.”

“Really? What about the doctors and nurses, the counselors and physical therapists at Walter Reed Army Medical Center who every day hear and live with the pain and the suffering of returning soldiers? How many of them then picked up a gun and shot 51 innocents?”

None, which is my point. We each have our own set of personal circumstances. Dr. Hasan is Muslim. He is against the war. He was afraid of being sent to the battlefields he had heard so much about. He was concerned about going into a combat zone where our soldiers were killing enemies who practiced the same religion – Islam. We do not know if Dr. Hasan is mentally ill. News reports do portray him as a zealot and we know that religiosity is a symptom of some mental illnesses.

To say that Dr. Hasan should have the same emotional strength and fortitude as other doctors, nurses, counselors and therapists at Walter Reed Amy Medical Center is to say that if you swim the same workouts as Michael Phelps you should be as fast as Michael Phelps.

Some of us are physically and mentally stronger than others – ergo – we react differently to the same stressor. I am NOT making excuses for Dr. Hasan. But I will defend Secondary PTSD – which Krauthammer snears at: “After all, secondary PTSD, for those who believe in it (you won’t find it in the …