“When I’m manic, I feel like I put on Superman’s vest.” 

That’s how one patient explained why he didn’t want to stay on lithium. He wasn’t denying the crashes. He just wasn’t ready to give up the highs.
Another described it differently:
“If you take too much of it you're slightly underwater, but if you take too little you're floating three feet above the water.”

You’re sitting with a patient.

They’ve had terrible luck with sexual side effects.
And you’re silently trying to recall which SSRI is "less bad" on GI issues.
It’s not that you don’t know the data—it’s that it’s never all in one place.

How many times have you prescribed Abilify for depression and then stumbled over what to call it?

Do you say “antidepressant”?
“Mood stabilizer”?
Or do you tell the truth—“It’s an antipsychotic”—and watch your patient flinch?
We’ve all had this moment. The treatment fits. The label doesn’t.

Has gained weight. Feels stiff. No motivation. And still psychotic. You’re thinking it’s time to try Cobenfy.

A guard leans in and asks while you’re reviewing med orders on the correctional unit.
You glance at the chart. Bupropion 150 mg. That’s it.
But in here, that’s not “bupropion.”
It’s contraband. Currency. A known favorite on the prison barter circuit.

We’ve all rolled our eyes at a pharma-funded study.
But if we tossed out every researcher who’s ever worked with industry—what evidence would we have left?

You get a call from the ER about a patient in restraints.
Bipolar disorder. Disrobing. Yelling at staff. They need his medication history.
But his outpatient clinic won't talk to you.
"HIPAA," they say. "He needs to sign a release first.