Does Your Psychiatrist Respect You?

My biggest surprise since becoming a mental health blogger -- how little self-reflection psychiatrists do.

Healer, Know Thyself

Clinical education for clergy usually happens in a hospital.  For every patient contact hour, we would spend another hour writing verbatims (one third what the patient and the chaplain said, one third what the chaplain was thinking, one third what the chaplain was feeling), and then another hour discussing what we were thinking and feeling in group or individual supervision.

Continuing education for clergy includes more large doses of self-reflection.  I don't know how many times I have created my genogram, a family tree that includes the dynamics of relationships: alliances, roles, conflicts, secrets, patterns... for my first family counseling course, for a seminar on family systems in congregations, for doctoral work in congregational development, while training congregational leaders to show them how to do their own.  I once even made a genogram of a congregation and key diocesan figures when I took a situation to a consultant.


In this example, Sarah is extremely focused on her son, while Abraham and Isaac are distant; the brothers are in conflict.  The pattern repeats in the next generation.

Clergy groups do critical incident reports in support groups.  Similar reflection.  What is my part in this mess?  How do my needs and fears interact with somebody else's needs and fears?  How do I get out of the blame game?  How can I tap into my sources of strength (faith, friends, scripture, sacraments, grace, knowledge...) to get myself unstuck?

The point is to figure out how my issues interact with anybody else's.  If I can sort out my own stuff, I can be a healthier presence in my relationships with others, less bound by unhealthy patterns, more able to find creative solutions.

The two most helpful discoveries I have made from these exercises: sometimes my troubles at work have come from my repeating a script from my childhood, a conflict or alliance with a person who is no longer in the room; sometimes my troubles at work have come from inadvertently stumbling into a power struggle, when my first-born status runs into somebody else's position of power.

When I discover what is going on in me, and hence what is going on in the relationship, I can change my own behavior to defy the script.  I can do something unexpected that helps me and maybe even the other person break out of his/her script.  It works best if this unexpected behavior is funny.

Psychopharmacologists Don't Do Self-Reflection

It used to be that people training to be psychiatrists did psychoanalysis.  Then the mind was replaced by the medical model of mental illness, and this requirement went by the board.  Now it's all about the meds.

But we don't take the meds.  We don't.  The numbers differ for a variety of meds.  In one study, three months out from the original prescription for antidepressants, 72% of us have quit.

Psychiatrists call this noncompliance.   They write myriads of articles to explain the numbers, saying about us, they miss their highs or they lack insight.  These articles make no reference to what patients say about why we quit our meds, the meds make us sick and the meds don't work.  [That last link is to a rare exception.]


Systems theory would call these articles evidence of a power struggle.  Psychotherapy might recognize counter-transference, the feelings, in this case very negative feelings psychiatrists have toward patients who do not do what we are told or, even if we do comply, refuse to get better anyway.

Caveat

My therapist was surprised when I commented on how little self-reflection psychiatrists do.  Her field, psychotherapy is all over the counter-transference-type issues.  And there still are a few psychiatrists who follow the old model.  At the Gabbard Center, two of the three who interviewed me even had couches, not living room-type, but New Yorker-cartoon-psychiatrist-type couches.  I had never seen one before!

So I have to qualify my comment.  My reading has primarily been in the field of psychopharmacology, as in, the psychiatrist who told me, I don't do relationships.  I treat psychological illness with pharmacology.

It occurs to me that patients might be better off if this kind of psychiatrist skipped medical school and went to pharmacy school instead, with a specialty in psychopharmacology.  There they might learn about adverse effects and the consequences of adding one med on top of the other, to make it work better or to counteract its adverse effects, resulting in iatrogenic disease, the disease that is caused by the treatment itself.

You know, that overweight zombie you became, stuck on the sofa, unable to complete a sentence, until you die 10-25 years before your time on account of complications from liver disease, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease, on account of you actually took the meds that were prescribed..  Death by medical treatment.


The Power Struggle

The thing is, in this particular power struggle over medication, while psychiatrists think they have more education, more knowledge, more insight, more prestige, more standing, while they think they are the parent in this relationship and the patient is the child (yes, they do think this, they really do, they betray it in every printed word), all these things that make psychiatrists think they know best and should have more say matters not when it comes to whether that pill will go into the patient's mouth and down the patient's throat.  Short of physical restraints and a hypodermic needle (which every parent of a toddler in a grocery store has had occasion to covet), the patient is going to win this power struggle.

So why not recognize the power struggle for what it is, and give it up?  As long as you are bound to lose it, why not do something else instead?

I Trust My Psychiatrist

If, after all that, you still remember how I got onto this topic last week, and where I said I was going, then your cognitive functioning is not as bad as you thought.

I said when I feel respected by my psychiatrist, I am more willing to trust her with my body.  I promised I would name some behaviors that she exhibits that build the therapeutic alliance, notwithstanding the lack of respect that I find in vast numbers of articles by psychiatrists who write about why patients don't take our meds.

Collaboration

She asks me, What do you want to do?

When we have a med check, we exchange information.  She listens to my report about what I am doing with my meds, how they are helping and hurting my life, and what kind of life I hope to live.  Then I listen while she gives me information about how the things work, why I might be having certain problems, what might be possible.  I tell her my concerns, she tells me hers.

I know that she won't prescribe things that she thinks will be harmful, because she remembers how sensitive my body seems to be to these things, and prescribes accordingly.  She knows that I won't take things that I think will be harmful, because, well, nobody does, not for long.  She expects that I will do my own research and make my own decision, because she remembers that I know my stuff.

When I am not in good shape, she does not confuse a current cognitive deficit with lack of intelligence.  So she makes lists, writes down the major points.  I am still in charge.  She asks, What do you want to do?  I sometimes say, I don't know.  What do you recommend?  But she always asks, What do you want to do?

As it happens, I don't take antidepressants, antipsychotics or mood stabilizers anymore, because I never found one that worked and was tolerable.  But we worked together to reach that decision and to develop an alternative plan.

With my previous psychiatrists, I just stopped.  I made the follow-up appointment, then called the machine after hours to cancel, and stopped.  In a sense, that was childish, not to confront the doctor directly.  But honestly, when I did confront the doctor directly, I got treated like a child.

My current psychiatrist continues to participate in my decisions, and I continue to rely on her for help managing symptoms with rescue meds, because we are partners.

What About Lack Of Insight, Denial, and Stupidity?

So, I am on top of this.  I am motivated and informed.  I have lots of resources that support my recovery and carry me when I flag.  I have good insurance and get more than ten minutes for a med check.  I am not the typical patient in the typical setting.  I can imagine a psychiatrist reading this and saying, Collaboration just won't work in my setting.

So, does what you are doing work?

Follow up question: does blaming your patient work?

What About Frustration, Worry, Disappointment?

What if psychopharmacologists spent more time acknowledging that their work conditions are lousy, they are anxious for their patients, and they know they can't deliver on the promises of these miracle meds?  What if they wrote articles that addressed these issues, and how their frustration, worry and disappointment get taken out on their patients?

Maybe they could discover their patients share these frustrations, worries, and disappointments. with them.  Maybe they could figure out something new to do.

Respect

Examining ones own stuff takes work, and is not pretty.  Coming up with new behaviors that display respect and build a therapeutic alliance, experimenting, trying to change habits -- all of it is hard work.  And it might not make a difference anyway, if it's just behavior.  Even if it's respectful behavior.  If we can tell that the psychiatrist is faking it, is parroting a line.

Coming soon -- I will up the ante and write about:

Attitudes!

genogram of my own creation, please give attribution
flair from facebook.com
photo of mirror by Jurii and used under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license
clip art of tug of war by Microsoft Office
illustration of A Zombie, at twilight, in a field of cane sugar of Haïti by Jean-Noël Lafargue used under the Free Art License
sketch of hands shaking by Danieldnm and in the public domain

Holiday Shopping for True Happiness

A friend of mine reports for work at Target on Thanksgiving, 11:30 PM.  They are ready with extra security.  Only thirty people can enter the store at a time.  There are even line judges, to prevent jumping.  Oh, the humanity!


Me, I will do my shopping right here in the very chair in which I am writing this post.  Save your hippocampal glial cells damage from your overactive HPA axis!  Save your toes!  Internet!

Oh, and because this year's flu shot missed, this week's blog post is a rerun, dedicated to the topic of shopping for, of all things, meaning. 

From Friday, December 17, 2010,

Holiday Shopping for Loonies and Normals Alike

 

Last year I got an earlier start with my efforts to help you purchase the perfect Chanukah/Kwanzaa/Christmas present.  Here are the links, one for your favorite loonie, the other your favorite normal.  The first is even diagnosis specific.  The most popular pick turned out to be a bluetooth phone for the one who talks back to his/her voices, but is trying to pass.

This year, regular readers know that I have been living and breathing gingerbread.  So this post, like my own shopping, comes late in the season -- Chanukah has passed us by.

Internet.  God bless the internet.

And what with last week's post on happiness fresh in my mind, this year's holiday shopping picks combine the two issues -- where to get what makes for true happiness on the internet.  No, really!

The Sources Of Happiness

Martin Seligman's Authentic Happiness identifies three major sources of happiness, pleasure, engagement and meaningfulness.  So here are suggestions to enhance all three for your favorite loonie or normal.

Let's address one issue first.  Life circumstances, beyond having the essentials, are not really that important an influence on the measure of ones happiness.  But poverty does matter.  If the one you love lives in poverty, go to Amazon.com's gift card section, where you can find gift cards for clothing stores, restaurants, general retail, entertainment and more.  Give us bread, but give us roses are lyrics of a working women's song from the early 20th century.  It's nice, when you are poor, to have the opportunity to choose which is the higher priority this week.

Pleasure

Well, yes.  Feeling good makes you feel good. 

On the other hand, have you seen that bumper sticker, The one who dies with the most toys wins?  That bumper sticker is an example of irony.  I hope it is an example of irony.  I am sure the person who came up with it meant it ironically.  It is possible that the person on whose Lexus SUV you saw the bumper sticker might have missed the point.  That would be sad.

Irony means that the bumper sticker is not true.  The one who dies with the most toys does not win.  I just wanted to make that clear.  Of the three top sources of happiness, pleasure, engagement and meaningfulness, pleasure ranks lowest on the list, happiness producing-wise.  Our mindless pursuit of it notwithstanding.

Nevertheless, perhaps the heart's desire of the person for whom you are shopping is toys.  There are all kinds of toys out there.  Almost all of them, you can find, again, at Amazon.com.  I thought they were a book store.  No, from Automotive to Watches, with books, electronics, movies and even musical instruments between.  If you know what that heart's desire is, you can probably find it there.  If you don't know what that heart's desire is -- are you noticing a theme developing here? -- gift card.

Yes, I know.  This reads like an infomercial for one particular corporate giant that is destroying local businesses across America.  But give me a break.  And give yourself a break.  Your Chanukah presents are already late.  Christmas and Kwanzaa are bearing down like a runaway train.  I don't have time to look up a bunch of choices for you.  I have my own shopping to do.  Internet.

Who am I kidding?  I can't go into stores anyway unless medicated.  Maybe you can relate.  At least I have the Rx!

Engagement

Engagement means being absorbed in the here and now, whether in family, romance, work or hobbies.  That being absorbed is the key, because the wandering mind is an unhappy mind.  Gifts that bring the family together, or send your recipient out on a date or relate to his/her interests can enhance that person's happiness.  And you can find just the gift or gift card at... what has evidently become the Shameless Commerce Division of Prozac Monologues.

Meaningfulness

Okay, all the above is filler.  Here is what I really want to sell this season.  Making a difference.  What makes for meaning is using one's personal strengths to serve some larger end (Seligman's definition.)

One kind of strength is passion.  So let's start with a question.  What is the passion of your gift recipient?

I knew an old lady once who absolutely would not deal with that word passion.  It's a wonder she reproduced.  Like Queen Victoria, she probably closed her eyes and thought about England.  Or, being American (and Episcopalian), she probably thought about The Book Of Common Prayer.

So here is an alternative for Thelma, God rest her soul, and for you if you can't relate to the word passion.  Determination.  What is the determination of your gift recipient.  What is he/she determined to support/challenge/change/make possible in the world?

Now let's go shopping for meaning.

Clean Water For Africa

Here is my passion/determination story.  The Episcopal Diocese of Iowa has a companion relationship with the Diocese of Swaziland.  Swaziland has had a drought for a decade or so.  There are things that could be done.  But the king has about a hundred wives, and he can't play favorites, can he?  If one has a Mercedes Benz, then each have to have her own Mercedes Benz...  So who can afford to dig wells?

But then this guy in Southeast Iowa developed this technology that turns table salt into chlorine.  For $150, we could get this thing called a chlorinator that produces enough chlorine to give clean water to an entire village[Here is an update from the original article about how the system works.]

Well, heck.  I'll buy two!


We took a lot of them over.  Now the Swazis are making them in country.  One year a mission team came back from Swaziland with the story.  An elder from one village had told them, 

Since we got the chlorinator, not one child died last year.

Not one child died last year.

I have never spent any amount of money that has ever given me and will forever give me as much happiness as those six words.

Not one child died last year.

Give your mother or your father this story and clean water for a whole village in Africa right here.  Now we are doing Haiti, too.

NEWS FLASH November 26, 2011 -- This just in from Earl Ratcliff, the inventor:

As you noted the cost of our CPU WAS $150.  The Lord has been good to us.  We've been able to reduce the cost to $50.  Assembly time went from 1 1/2 hours to 10 minutes and from 20 pieces to 6.  Plus overall quality has improved.

So that is how this year's holiday gift-giving guide is going to work, using one's personal strengths/passions/determinations to serve some larger end.

Shopping To Serve A Larger End

UNICEF

So look again, more deeply this time at those pleasures.  Do you have a friend who loves camping?  Insecticide treated mosquito nets are a bargain for $18.57, delivery included to places in Africa where one person dies of malaria every 30 seconds.

How about a friend who bakes?  High energy biscuits will feed young children in disaster sites, 600 for a mere $24.98, again, delivery included.

You can find these and a whole assortment of Inspired Gifts for the health, water, nutrition, education and emergency needs of children around the world at unicef.org.

Heifer International

How about a gift that keeps on giving?  Heifer International provides livestock and training to improve nutrition and generate income, lifting families out of poverty.  Recipients share the offspring with others in the community, multiplying the impact of each gift.

So do you have a friend who wants a pet but is allergic?  Three rabbits, $60.  Aaahh, aren't they sweet?!  We bought bunnies for China one year.  Hunger has been wiped out in China.  Heifer International has moved on to another country.

Do you know a cowboy wannabe?  One heifer, $500.


How about a whole ark with two cows delivered to a Russian village, two sheep to Arizona, two camels to Tanzania, two oxen to Uganda, two water buffalo to Cambodia...  There are fifteen pairs in all for $5000.  For your friend who is delusional?  (Noah/end of the world/delusional -- get it?)

We are just getting started.  Knitters, a knitting basket (llama, alpaca, sheep, angora rabbit) -- $480.  Gourmet, cheeses of the world (how cool is that! heifer, goat, sheep and water buffalo) -- $990.  Homesick Iowan, pig -- $120.  Let's not neglect our vegan friends, trees -- $60.


If you are shopping for me, I have long had my eye on that water buffalo, a mere $250.

All of these are available in shares, by the way, if that fits your budget better.

Seriously.  Water buffalo. 

Habitat For Humanity

Now let's return to where this series started and my life for that last two months, Habitat for Humanity, building affordable housing by using volunteers, including those who will own - and pay for - the houses.  Whether your designated gift recipient is Martha Stewart or Frank Lloyd Wright, Habitat has its own gift catalog with everything from light switches to flooring.  One year my sister-in-law gave me a kitchen sink. 

One.org

If I haven't hit a bulls eye yet, one.org is the meaningfulness equivalent of amazon.com.  This one may appeal to the rockers in the crowd.  Cofounded by Bono, Bob Geldof, et al, one.org created a partnership of all sorts of groups working to eliminate world poverty by 2015 -- the Millenium Development Goals.

Here you will find more about one.org.  Here you will find the partners (Bread for the World, Oxfam, Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, various churches, etc.)  Each one has its own focus, allowing you to find your perfect match.

And since this is my blog, after all, I will put a word in for Episcopal Relief and Development, ER-D.  When earthquake or hurricane strikes, ER-D listens to local people to determine how best to help.  Then they stay with it after the cameras move on.  For example, ER-D is still working on economic redevelopment in New Orleans.  And this is one church organization you can support that will NOT ask potential recipients where they go to church.

Joy That Lasts

So there you have it.  Without leaving the comfort of home, without even having to change out of your jammies, you can find the perfect gift, one that will give joy beyond the end of the year.

Not one child died last year.

photo of Hindenburg in the public domain
clipart from Microsoft
cotton candy photo by Maggie D'Urbano,
used under the Creative Commons License (cropped)
child with unsafe water by Pierre Holtz - UNICEF, licensed under Creative Commons
child drinking well water by Scott Harrison licensed under Creative Commons
mosquito netting by Tjeerd wiersma, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license
photo of rabbits by Kessa Ligerro and made available under the GNU Free Documentation License 
Entrada dos animais na arca de Noé by Giovanni Benedetto Castiglioni, public domain
photo of water buffalo by Da and made available under the GNU Free Documentation License
GNU -- somehow seems appropriate, doncha think?  

Narrative and the DSM

My therapist once picked up the DSM and said, This could be called The Book of Behaviors That Make Therapists Nervous.

An apt description.  It is filled with descriptors: adjectives, behaviors, impulses, thoughts, feelings that are all human adjectives, behaviors, impulses, thoughts and feelings.  Almost none of them are strange in and of themselves.  Almost all of them are familiar to all of us.

It's just that at some point, when these descriptors add up, somebody starts to get nervous.

Diagnosis -- Recognizing Deviation From The Norm

I Told Them I Was Sick - DSM Revisited

Have you heard about the man whose tombstone read, "I told them I was sick"?

A New Diagnosis Or Two

So, the docs earned their big fee and the Pension Fund got its money's worth out of this three-day psychiatric evaluation.  I have a couple new diagnoses.

That is really not so remarkable.  If you attend a Peer to Peer course, NAMI's signature ten-week self-help program for loonies, you know this.  One week, the participants go round the circle and tell their diagnoses, or rather, their history of diagnoses.  Most trace a whole tour through the DSM, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual.

Where Diagnoses Come From

Support the Troops - Stop Shopping

So I am back from getting my head examined, that three day intensive evaluation.  I had my doubts about this enterprise.  At my most anxious, my therapist reminded me I would get air miles.  That would be something, at least.  To my surprise, I also received some surprises.  And the experience was worth a couple of blogposts.  This one will be about PTSD, or make reference to it.  Next week we will play with the DSM.

I start at the Hilton.  Well, before that, my pension plan, which is how I ended up at the Hilton, not to mention how I ended up getting a three day psychiatric evaluation at the Gabbard Center, which does not usually happen for loonies in my tax bracket. 

Decent Benefits For People With Mental Illness? 

The Episcopal Church Pension Fund was established by one of the biggest robber barons of the 19th century, J.P. Morgan, doing penance for his sins.  Like how Charles and David Koch aren't.  Since then, clergy have put the equivalent of a whopping 15% of our salaries into the fund.

Unlike United Airlines or General Motors, this retirement fund is not run by people who have the option of stealing it by threatening to close up shop unless the pensioners just hand over their hard-earned savings to increase the compensation of the CEOs.  The shop being the Episcopal Church.  Plus for some reason, in defiance of the way managed mutual funds work in the real world, the Pension Fund beats its performance indexes year after year after decade after decade.  Maybe this has something to do with karma.  Maybe the angels.  Choose your metaphysical system.  Whichever, for me, this is good.

As a consequence, my disability pension comes from one of the last defined benefit plans in America.  And it regularly has to come up with ways to spend its excess revenues, like by providing good benefits for its disabled beneficiaries, even those whose disability is of the loony variety.

And since the people who manage that much money are used to staying in places like the Houston Hilton, then that is where they put up their loony beneficiaries when we are getting our heads examined.

Which is how I came to spend four days there, two blocks north of the Galleria. 

Galleria As A Tourist Attraction 

Malls called Galleria don't have stores with names like Old Navy.  They have stores with names like Giorgio Armani, Christian Dior, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Saks, Baccarat, Tiffany's, Cartier, De Beers.  A whole store called De Beers, for God's sake.

Galleria is where the restaurants are, where we went when we were tired of sitting next to tables at the Hilton where we had to overhear earnest mentors training earnest mentees for their presentations to their big clients.  The oil companies were meeting at the Hilton.  Down the street, Bechtel was meeting at the Westin.  Bechtel is the construction company to the Saudi monarchy.  So it may be the timing was not a coincidence.

We walked to the Galleria.  The neighborhood isn't really designed for walking.  Houston is more of an internal combustion engine kind of place.  So as we picked our way through parking lots, we overheard a father and young son comparing their Beemer to the Beemer they parked next to.  We dodged  Maseratis and Mercedes while crossing streets.  Well, you get the idea.  There was a closer restaurant.  But the doorman appeared to be wearing Kevlar under his vest.  Well, you get the idea.

One of my docs, making small talk as we entered her office, asked if I was getting to look around Houston in the off hours when I wasn't getting my head examined.  I said, No I am too tired.  Except, we went to the Galleria.  She responded, Well, THAT's something! 

It was something alright. 

Galleria As A Mental Health Hazard 

One evening on our way toward sushi, a young man held out soap samples.  I said, No thanks, I don't do scents.  Then he grabbed my hand.  Okay, he asked permission.  I see your nails are clean.  You don't paint your nails?  No I don't.  Let me show you something.  So he explained about ridges and natural oils while he did his flirty little small talk and buffed one of my nails.  Now don't scream when you see the results.  Indeed, the nail was beautifully shined, and made the notion of painting nails seem cheap.  I agreed it was beautiful and said I was not going to buy the buffer anyway.  Why not?

Because I don't buy things. 

That took some explaining, both to him and to myself, since I had never said those words before.  He decided I had made a life style choice.  Well, okay.  That would be one way to look at it.

But it was more like a commitment than a choice, made then and there.  I would no longer buy things.

Don't get me wrong.  I am as fem as they come -- short of destroying my feet in those instruments of torture that women willingly put on their feet nowadays.  Evidently, all that work we did in the 1970s to get women to love ourselves was a waste.  In other cultures, women are forced to deform their feet.  Having stopped in the 70s, now we do it again.  In the US, we call that freedom.

Where was I?  Oh yes -- I found those beaded dresses in the Gucci windows quite lovely.  And I have some beaded things in the back of my closet from pre-loony days.  Maybe not pre-loony, maybe just not-yet-identified hypomanic days, who knows.

But tripping past them, dodging the Lexus SUVs, all of that, I felt this growing sense of doom about the American way of life.

What The American Way Of Life Costs 

I couldn't shake the images of three young men.  One is a friend of my son's, who came home from Iraq with a TBI and PTSD.  Another is a relative with a couple tours of duty in Afghanistan and a troubled marriage.  The third is a young man I counseled, who signed up, hoping to come home a hero in a box. 

Support the troops, people say.  Support the ones who are protecting our freedom.  Freedom to shop at Galleria.

There I was, surrounded by the way of life they were protecting at the cost of their brains and their families and their lives.

It is too high a cost.

It is too high a cost.

These thoughts, coming in the midst of getting my head examined, make me think we need to get America's head examined.

Money, Military and Mental Health

This isn't a political blog.  I do advocacy about mental health issues.  I am not here to plug political opinion.



This is not an opinion.  This is a photograph.


 




This is another photograph.




And here is another.





 
And now we return to the shoes.

As I look at one picture, then another, as I listen to those young men, and then to the people in that restaurant next to me, I do have an opinion.  Here it is.

These shoes cost too much.

They cost too much.

Actually, I don't think this is about mental health, after all.  It is a sickness of the soul. 

What Is The American Way Of Life? 

I did meet some very nice people at the Houston Hilton.  One man was from Ethiopia.  He drove the shuttle, and we got to know each other in twenty-minute conversations each day on the way to the Gabbard Center.  He came to this country because he wanted opportunity.  And he found it.  He drives a shuttle bus.  His eldest is a policeman.  His daughter is about to graduate from college, and his youngest about to enter.  He doesn't need a Maserati to have the American way of life.

The other shuttle driver came to the US during the war in El Salvador.  We talked about Archbishop Romero, and the strength we still get from his witness.  If I remember right, somebody gave Archbishop Romero a pair of shoes for his consecration.  People gave him lots of things, but his friend asked him what he wanted, and he said shoes.  This former refugee, now shuttle driver, also found the American way of life.  Emphasis on life.  He doesn't need a Lexus. 

Freedom And Addiction 

People say our young men and women are sacrificing their minds and their bodies to protect our freedom.

We need to protect our freedom ourselves.  We are not free.  We are addicted.  Addiction is a disease of the soul.  And it is progressive.  The more you feed it, the worse it gets.

Our freedom begins when we acknowledge our addiction for what it is. 

Step One -- We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable.

I don't want those shoes.  But I do want that beaded dress.  And having resisted it, having told that young man I don't buy things, the very next day I still almost bought an Eileen Fisher sweater at Nordstrom's across the street.  Because it was on sale.

Just in time I remembered those three young men.  That sweater cost too much. 

My Bit For The War Effort 

PTSD, Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder is bankrupting the defense budget.  Researchers are trying to figure out how to prevent it.  Does it take a neuro-scientist to figure out that you prevent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder by preventing the trauma?

I have decided to support the troops the way the troops do, by caring about what happens to their buddies and acting to prevent harm from coming to them.  I will not wrap a flag around my shoulders nor post one on my facebook page for Veterans' Day.  I will hold before me the faces of those three young men, and wrap myself in my love for them.

I will work the Steps, always remembering that I am just as addicted to things as any of you.

With God as my higher power, the next time I buy something, it will be a bicycle.  So I can leave my Civic in the garage.


photo of J.P. Morgan by Edward N. Jackson and in the public domain
photo of Bacarrat Chrystal Sculpture used under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License 
photo of Maserati, Gran Turismo by Rudolf Stricker and usedunder the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License
photo of Louis Vuitton shoes used under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license
photos of medical evacuation and coffins in public domain 

Getting Shrunk

I'm off this week to get my head examined, so am taking a break from using it.  This would be your opportunity to examine the many features of Prozac Monologues.  Here is a brief tour of the site and some tips for cyber-dinosaurs.

The basic breakdown: on the left are mental health and medication resources.  To your right are helps to navigate around the site, plus some fun stuff.

Text that appears in tan is a link to somewhere else.  The links on the left are to sites outside Prozac Monologues.  Most on the right go somewhere on the blog itself.  Notice in particular the feature called Labels.  If you click on a word in that list, several past posts on the same subject will appear.  The bigger the word, the more often I have written on it.  The right side also includes videos that change occasionally and sometimes coordinate with the current post, and sometimes not.  Ditto the Word of the Week.

The text in the middle is the new stuff I try to write once a week, weather and brain waves permitting.  Again, the tan text links to something else.  It could be a research article, an Amazon.com review, another blog, or an earlier Prozac Monologues post.

Below each post are some icons.  Click on comments to read other peoples' comments or add one of your own.  Click on the envelope to email the post to somebody else.  Click on one of the letters to share the post with whatever social media you use.  Click on the number to bring the post to the attention of the cyber world.  I don't actually know how that feature works.  Can somebody tell me?  Then there are more labels, links to other posts that deal with similar matters.  At least, I think they are similar matters.

That's enough to keep you busy while I spend the week filling out bubbles on instruments of torture devised by psychologists, and telling my tale of woe to psychiatrists who have heard worse, even if I can't imagine it, and who think they can come up with a new idea that my own doctor hasn't come up with, though I can't imagine that either.

Catch you later...

flair from facebook.com

Mental Health Day -- The Funner Version of Advocacy


I blog for World Mental Health DayLast week it was Mental Illness Awareness Week, according to NAMI.  So today it's World Mental Health Day, according to WHO.  The World Health Organization, that's WHO.

That's a week for mental illness, a day for mental health.  Whoever organizes these things must be reading my mood chart.

I cycle within cycles.  In the larger circle, I have been able to maintain a stable state for a while now -- the state of jaded, that is.  So I take up this week where I left off last week, continuing the repost of a series on the sorry state of mental health advocacy.  This second post takes a glass-half-full approach.

Not exactly mental health, but at least the upside of mentally interesting.  I mean, we got these diseases for life.  We might as well learn to make them work for us.

Mental Illness Awareness Week - Because We Are Really Good at Delusional


Imagine this -- Somebody from NAMI attends one of those campaign events and gets to the microphone.  Intending to ask about the candidate's views on funding for community mental health, this poor parent begins with a statement: 

People with severe mental illness die on average twenty-five years before everybody else.  They have the expected lifespan of Somalia. 

Nowadays the crowd will cheer.  But that particular youtube wouldn't go viral.


I am jaded about this Mental Illness Awareness thing.  It will not be subjected to any Best Practices evaluation.  NAMI and the pharmaceutical industry have been making us more aware of mental illness for decades now.  The numbers on prejudice have not budged.  They have not budged.

That negativity -- does it mean I am currently displaying symptoms or that I have done my research?  Both, actually.

I'll cop to the irony here.  I myself was a speaker at one of those Mental Illness Awareness Week events once, held on a Sunday night in a not-much-traveled portion of a university campus.

It was very moving, the candles and all that.  And it did raise awareness, in the sense that it made those of us who were there, people with mental illness and those who love us aware that we are not alone.  But did it increase funding for research and treatment?  Did it reduce prejudice?  I don't think so.

Let me answer that another way.  Did it increase funding for research and treatment?  Did it reduce prejudice?

Nope.

So symptoms, research, irony and all, my contribution to Mental Illness Awareness Week is a repost of what I think we ought to be doing this week.  And next.  And next. 

From Friday, March 11, 2011:

Ignore/Laugh/Fight/ -- Mental Health Advocacy That Wins


If they don't want to employ you, if they are afraid of you, if there are four times as many of you in jail as in the hospital, then it's not just stigma.  It is prejudice and it is oppression.
The twentieth century offered a whole degree program in prejudice and oppression.  Others have made progress against what beat them down.  Though we are now stalled and falling behind, we can move forward when we adopt their methods.

The Map to Liberation

Mahatma Gandhi was not the first freedom fighter.  But he is the great theoretician.  He gave us the map.


First they ignore you.
Then they laugh at you.
Then they fight you. 
Then you win. 

Four simple steps.  The good news -- we have already taken the first.  Got that one down pat.

Liberation 101: 

We are in charge of the map.  The oppressor doesn't decide that oppression will end.  It endures until the oppressed decide that it will end.

What we have to do is provoke the next step.

Then they laugh at you.

Well, that's where we are stuck, because we are unwilling to be laughed at.  Last month's NAMI meeting was about Iowa's upcoming budget cuts.  Somebody said, When we complain, they say we are crazy.  I think she is a therapist.  She has that therapist look, if you know what I mean.

Therapists say the funniest things.  When we complain about how we are treated, they say we are crazy.

But we are crazy!  We start off ahead of all the other liberation movements that had to get crazy to take it to Gandhi's next step.

Think Martin Luther King.  Think Nelson Mandela.  Freedom?  People called them communists.  Either that or just plain nuts. 

Like these other movements, we have to find a spiritual taproot deep enough that we can endure being laughed at.  Just like the tree, standing by the water... 

The spiritual work will be impossible if we expect our care providers to lead.  They get twitchy if we talk spirituality.  I will address that work another time.  Right now I will sketch out how we break beyond First they ignore you, and move to Then they laugh at you.

What that means more precisely is, we have to do things to make people think we are nuts.  Like, DEMAND that we receive funding for research and treatment, DEMAND that we have the same access to health care as anybody else, DEMAND that we receive our health care in health care facilities, not in jails.

It's all about budget cuts right now.  Corporate tax cuts -- that's a given.  Corporations spent good money for our current crop of legislators, and they expect a return on investment.

So who will pay for these tax cuts, the people with mental retardation or the people with mental illness?  The Iowa State legislature has a committee that has asked us to decide.  Well, isn't that special.

We have to DEMAND that they change the rules of this game.  We have to REFUSE to play Survivor.  We have to refuse LOUDLY.


How?  African Americans sat down.  That is when they moved off Step One, when they REFUSED to be ignored any more.

So how about we lie down?


Lie In/Die In

Picture this.  The next Loonie Lobby Day at the state legislature, we don't get all showered and neatly normaled up and go have sincere conversations with our legislators who are really sympathetic (their brother has depression, so they know what we are up against, but their hands are tied by that pesky deficit...)

Instead, we stand in the rotunda and read off the names of their constituents who have committed suicide.  Each time a name is read, somebody falls down.  They have to step over our bodies to get out of the building.

Mental Health "Parity"
 
The Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act would be better called the Swiss Cheese Mental Health Act.

1) Only large employers are affected.

2) If they can demonstrate it causes them financial hardship, they can get an exemption.

3) Parity is a laugh anyhow, if reimbursement rates are so low you can't find a provider who accepts your insurance.

4) The provisions of even this piss poor legislation that address reimbursement rates are now the top of the list on Congress's chopping block.

So off we head to Washington.  There are 13,000,000 million of us with serious mental illnesses in the US, including 5.7 million with bipolar, 2.4 million with schizophrenia and 7.7 million with PTSD.  The numbers add up to more than 13,000,000, because some of us get to double dip.  Piece of cake to pull together 34,000 to do a die-in around the steps of Congress, representing one year's worth of the deaths by suicide in the US.  We will drape American flags over the bodies of the vets.

Yes, we are dying out here.  Let them step over us.

How nuts are we to think we can turn around this systemic discrimination?  In this political climate?

Progress Report

Remember, When we complain about how we are treated, they say we are crazyBy now some of my readers seriously want me to reconsider Seroquel.  Others -- if you are still reading, your doc wants you to up your dose.  This means we are making progress.

At some point, laughter becomes a cover for scared.  Then it's time for the next step.

Then they fight you.

Remember, this is our map.  We are the ones who push it forward.  Nobody else will.  And if I am scaring you, look at it this way.  If we aren't scared already, we'd have to be crazy.

Until we change our advocacy, we will continue to lose psychiatrists.  We currently have less than half the psychiatrists we need to provide a even a shoddy level of token med checks.  In Iowa, we have one fourth.  While demand is going up (think Iraq, think Afghanistan), supply is going down, as retiring psychiatrists are not replaced by new doctors.  Why go that far in debt to get through med school and then choose a specialty with the lowest pay scale on the block?

Until we change our advocacy, we will continue to lose community mental health centers.  Remember community mental health centers?  The places we were supposed to go when they kicked us out of the hospital?  They are disappearing already.  Here are the Kansas numbers.  You can find the same story for any state you google.

Until we change our advocacy, we will lose what parity was promised.  Again, all employers have to do to avoid it is demonstrate that it costs them money to provide it.

Until we change our advocacy, we will lose even the programs that jails now provide.  Why should criminals be coddled?

Desperate Times Call For Futile Gestures

What were we thinking?  That public demonstrations would make a difference to cold hard facts?  Were we nuts?  (By the way, what have we been thinking, that talking would make a difference?)




After the strategies designed for Then they laugh at you prove futile, we up the ante.  In place of our bodies, we substitute urns full of ashes and dump them on the floor of the assembly halls.

In 1987 AIDS activists entered the New York Stock Exchange.  Seven people unobtrusively chained themselves and a banner to the rail overlooking the trading floor.  At the opening bell they unfurled their banner and blew fog horns.  They drowned out the opening bell, and prevented traders from trading, while they brought national attention to their demand that pharmaceutical companies stop profiteering at the cost of their lives.

Wall Street is our audience, too -- all the businesses that insure some of their employees but not us, all the health care companies that pay reasonable reimbursement to some doctors but not ours.  How about we bring ambulance sirens? 

A Day Without Mental Health Care 

Next we head to Main Street.

The 2004 film A Day Without A Mexican imagined what would happen if one day everybody in the US from Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, et al disappeared.  Economic havoc, that's what.  A few years later, the movie inspired a political demonstration.  Workers stayed home for a day.  In some places, restaurants simply closed for the day, unable to serve their customers.

So last week the Wall Street Journal reported a survey by Workplace Options.  The survey discovered that 41% of workers polled had taken 4-9 days off work in the previous year to care for their own, their friends', their coworkers' or family members' mental health issue.  Half work in offices with no benefits, support or services to deal with mental health issues.

They think they can't afford to provide services?  They haven't a clue how much it already costs them not to. 

There you have it, a National Day Without Mental Health Care.  Everybody who has a mental illness or loves somebody who does -- stay home.  I'm thinking Monday -- to make that moon connection, and maybe even disrupt Monday Night Football?

Going To Jail

At this point, we are littering, destroying property and generally disturbing the peace.  We are going to jail.

Everybody on a three-month wait list for an intake interview,

Everybody on a two-year wait list for the judicial review of an SSDI application,

Everybody on a four-year wait list for sheltered housing,

Everybody who had been doing okay, but stopped taking meds when the day program closed,

Everybody who can't afford the copay for that third tier prescription anyway,

Everybody who doesn't have health insurance at all,

Everybody who is homeless,

Go downtown and set a trash can on fire.

We Need Some Coordination Here

No, not everybody.  Jail is not a good place for people with OCD, PTSD, nor Borderline.  You all, your part is to run right down to the courthouse, legal brief in hand, to make sure the police department fulfills its obligation to get the rest of us our meds.

Prejudice And Oppression -- Some Observations

This post has been about fighting oppression, the institutional arrangements that support an unjust system.  Oppression is weighty.  It is fierce.  It does not respond to reason.  Power yields only to power.  The strategies and actions I have described are the power of anger that has been organized.

Our families and our care providers are just as scared as everybody else of our anger.  So they will not help us here.  They want to address prejudice, not oppression. 

Prejudice is the irrational thoughts and feelings of individuals.  Well, prejudice also needs to be addressed.  There is work enough for everybody.  Think of differential diagnoses as differential skill sets for the differential tasks of freedom-fighting.

That's coming next week...

banner from nami.org
image of prison bars from microsoft
photo of Mahatma Gandhi in public domain 
flair from facebook
forest photo by Maylene Thyssen used under the GNU Free Documentation license
sit in at Walgreen's in Nashville, Tennesee, March 25, 1960, in public domain
photo of die in casualties by Brendan Themes and used under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license
fist graphic in public domain

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer, Consumer, Blogger, Whatever

As in the days of Amos, John of Patmos, John of the Cross, it's the poets who will save us, those of us who have ears to hear.  For the rest, it's the poets who will preserve the evidence, in hope that there will yet be ears to hear.

So today, Wendell Berry's Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.

First, one liner note: Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a drawer.  In the early days of computers, data was recorded by punching holes into cards, literally, card stock, roughly 3"x7".  This was before web crawlers could find the word bread in a Facebook comment and then put up ads for kitchenware on your page.  The line in the poem, first published in 1970, is truer than ever.  The technology has simply got more efficient.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay.  Want more
of everything ready-made.  Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more.  Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you.  When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.









 

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute.  Love the Lord.
Love the world.  Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love somebody who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag.  Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand.  Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium.  Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit.  Prophesy such returns.


Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world.  Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable.  Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth?


Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade.  Rest your head
in her lap.  Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it.  Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.  Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry



And your homework for this week, gentle reader --

What does it mean to Practice resurrection?  What tuition will you pay?


Johannes der Evangelist in Patmos from a triptych by Hans Memling, 1479
photo of punched computer card by Litrefs used under the Creative CommonsAttribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license
photo of Immortal Tree, Humboldt Redwood State Park by Jan Kronsell, public domain
photo of fox from US Department of Interior, public domain
book cover from amazon.com

Differently Abled - More, Please

It's like he is in a world of his own. The first grade teacher, old school, same worksheets for the last thirty years, did not mean it as a complement.

The mom was confused. She asked her son's Montessori preschool teachers for their take on it. They, too were confused. Then the light dawned. The way they put it was, He has immense powers of concentration. They thought he was marvelous.

The problem was, he was still absorbed by the story he was writing, when the first grade teacher had moved on from writing to math. The world he was in was not her world.

His second grade teacher recommended him for the Talented and Gifted program.

His fifth grade teacher thought he had ADHD.

People who are different get diagnosed. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) is all about describing the various ways we don't fit. But if you can pass for normal, you don't have a disability. If they can pick you out in that One of These Things is Not Like the Others game, then you do.

Survival - Three Things Learned From Danny MacAskill

1.  To keep your audience, edit out most of the falls.

2.  To help your audience, keep some of the falls.

3.  Find the Iron Rule and do not break it.  In MacAskill's case -- the front wheel is for steering; you want to land on the back wheel.  In my case -- the frontal cortex is for steering; I will inevitably land on the amygdala.

A repeat from:

Thursday August 26, 2010

Tribute To Survival

This is dedicated to those who are surviving the Chemistry Experiment, and to those who hang in there with us.

Bring your courage and your hope, whatever you can manage.

And your helmet.




Thanks to Danny MacAskill and Band of Horses.

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