I watched a documentary on America’s over-medicated youth and it focused on this one young boy who, so far, has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, ADD, ADHD, Asperger’s and probably something else that I just can't remember right now.

Anyway, the point is, when the mother was asked what led to the sequence of events to get him diagnosed with bipolar disorder, she said it was because of suicidal idealization, citing an incident when he told his parents he was going to stand in the road to be run over.

I’m sitting here at work, reminiscing about being a young tot and standing in front of the fan, in the middle of the summer, with my finger an inch from the swirling blades, screaming "I am going to chop my finger off and die if you don’t take me to the park right now."

I wasn’t bipolar. I was just a spoiled bitch with a flair for hyperbole. Nothing has changed.

And then, another time when my mom didn’t take me to the pool, I threw my shoes away to spite her.

Did I grow up to be a manic depressive? Absolutely. But maybe I shouldn't have been kept from my parks, though. Maybe that wasn't an unreasonable request. Maybe it's all our parents' faults.