After reading the last chapter of the book, Demystifying Psychiatry, I felt so much better about where psychiatry might be when my kids …

Well, we’re about to say goodbye to another year (and some would say, another decade). But I see the end of the year not so …

I feel sorry for Daniel Gilbert, Harvard psychologist and bestselling author of “Stumbling on Happiness.”

He is …

Last year, we delved into the psychology of New Year’s …

I think some people grow up believing in their heart and soul that …

Today I have the honor of interviewing Eugene (Gene) and Charles (Church) Zorumski, authors of “Demystifying Psychiatry: …

As we do every year, I’d like to take this moment to wish you …

DISCLAIMER: I am no Barbara Streisand. I’ve never taken a singing lesson in my life. Not one. (Ed. – Really??)

The inspiration for this song came two weeks before Thanksgiving when I received a call from my doctor: we had better get together a plan for lowering my cholesterol.

Yeah. Sure. Getting to it… right after I fix my pituitary tumor, abnormal aortic valve, bipolar brain, and facial fungus.

My high cholesterol is not a new issue. Somewhere around the time David was conceived I found out that my cholesterol scores were higher than my verbal SATs. But for the last six years I didn’t do anything about it because (honest confession coming up here) many of those days I was so depressed that I really wanted to be with God in his mansion upstairs. Dropping dead of a heart attack sounded like a great alternative to suicide. It’s easier, cheaper, much more socially acceptable, and involved stuffing myself with brie cheese and Eggs Florentine. Sign me up.

Then something inconvenient happened. As I gradually began to fix all my broken parts (pituitary tumor, bipolar brain, facial fungus, abnormal heart) I started to wake up excited. About life. I wanted to try and stick around for David’s high school graduation and Katherine’s Little Mermaid wedding and maybe, just maybe, for the birth of grandchildren.

As a jogged around the Naval Academy the morning I got my SAT scores, I mean cholesterol count, I reflected on all the parts of my mental-health program–prayer, therapy, fish oil, medication, family support, sobriety, vitamins, yoga (even though I hate it), guardian angels–and it sounded like the lyrics to a song, “The 12 Days of Christmas” or something.

Yes, “The 12 Days of Christmas”! With sweat dripping down my face, I pulled out a sheet of paper from my pocket and a pen (I run with those in case something like this happens) and madly scribbled down the words as if I were Moses taking down the Ten Commandments.

So, pretend that I have just invited you into my home, poured you a glass of Merlot (if you’re not a recovering alcoholic), and made you endure a live version of “American Idiot.” With a holiday twist.

Click through to watch the video.

Disease and trauma do not take …