For the past couple of months, I’ve been waking up with incredible anxiety attacks that last the better part of the morning. My psychiatrist thinks the anxiety is part and parcel of the depression I’ve been experiencing. In any case, nothing seemed to be able to abate the attacks, leaving me feeling more hopeless and helpless and incapable of functioning normally, leaving me in a vicious cycle of increasing depression. My doctor started me back on antidepressants, which he thinks will ease the anxiety episodes, once I’ve been on them for four weeks (it’s been 2 and a 1/2).

In the meantime, I took matters into my own hands and purchased an herbal tincture blend which has worked wonders, often stopping the anxiety cold in its tracks. It’s called “Serenity with Kava Kava Root” by Gaia Herbs, and I purchased it at Whole Foods for $14. It’s a blend of passionflower, skullcap, kava kava root, chamomile flowers, hops strobile, wild oats milky seed, mugwort herb, peppermint leaf, and hawthorn berry flower. All are wonderful herbs for soothing, calming, and healing frayed nervous systems. I’m so thankful for it: immediately I could feel the healing power of the herbs repairing and soothing my nervous system, softening and beautifying my energy.

The elixir has been so effective at curbing my anxiety, that I bought one for my sister-in-law, who told me at Christmas that she’s also been suffering from anxiety. My doctor says the anxiety is probably due to an underlying fear, which I think is something to do with my being unemployed and on disability, and feeling incapable of dealing with real-world stress, and not having a passion that keeps me productive and engaged on a day to day basis. He reminded me that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and to give myself time to figure out something fulfilling that I can do with myself.

I’ve also been taking Bach flower essences “Rescue Remedy”, which is a favorite with holistic healers. I’m so thankful to have found herbal healing to, for the time being, supplement my medications, and most importantly, augment and facilitate my continued healing and recovery and enhance my quality of life.

Last night my boyfriend and I watched The Devil and Daniel Johnston, a documentary movie about a manic depressive artist with psychotic delusions, unable to function as an independent adult, but wildly popular among a somewhat cult following of fans, who appreciate the raw, uncommercial honesty of his songs, which he taped himself with a tape recorder and guitar and electric organ in his basement over many years.

The movie was the most real and honest portrayal of someone with a mental illness I have yet seen — and also the effects of mental illness on family and loved ones – and I felt like I could identify with a lot of the bizarre thoughts and behaviors Johnston expressed throughout his life, on and off meds, having had similar bizarre delusions at the worst of my own illness. I could also be thankful that I haven’t gotten into as much trouble for bizarre and dangerous behaviors related to my illness as he did. My heart broke for his parents, who up to this day take care of him, and who are good, kind Christian folks, who it seems have come to allow and accept Daniel as he is, although they’ve always tried to “straighten him up” and, as is to be expected, didn’t start out raising Daniel with an understanding of how to cope with a child with a mental illness. It was inspiring to see people find value in the essential human emotions Daniel expressed in his very primitive art, drawing and music, and find a connection there. Daniel has spent his life, although repeatedly put in and out of mental institutions, and although living with his parents for most of his adult life, making art, playing in bands, and touring to great acclaim with music and art shows around the world.

The message I found was that there is value in the unique perspective a person with a mental illness may bring to the world — that people can relate to our essential human suffering, fears, anxieties, and emotions — and that through creative expression the difficulties of living with a mental illness can be transcended. Kudos to the makers of this film for a refreshing and inspiring take on what should always be the heart essence of art — to help us transcend, connect, and share the common sufferings of being human and having to negotiate a difficult world, to raise us out of ourselves for a moment so we can feel a connection with the common trials of all of humanity. A film worth seeing, for sufferers of mental illness and their families alike.

Well, I’ve been brooding over how to write this post for awhile, as Thanksgiving was a bit of an unanticipated setback for me. This past six months or so, I’ve been making great strides in learning to have joy and love and acceptance in my life, and I have been enjoying life and feeling great peace and healing taking place day to day. As a friend put it, I’ve really been “blossoming” as a person, coming out from a long seven years of tribulation, emerging from under the burden of the mental illness and the voices. 

I wasn’t prepared for how being with family would reawaken old hurts, old self-perceptions, and old thought patterns, many familiar from when I was first diagnosed, and very ill. I felt like all the progress I have made as a person learning to live with a mental illness was rolled back to the seven years ago when the voices first started, and my world changed rather suddenly and quite entirely. I couldn’t help but feel at the Thanksgiving table that I was a failure in my family’s eyes. No one asked me how life was or what I was doing with myself currently, which I can understand, as that is an uncertain topic, but I still felt awkward and left out. I couldn’t help seeing the vast difference between my family’s perception of me now, as compared to Thanksgivings not so long ago when I was a successful student at Harvard College, involved in many extracurriculars and entirely enjoying my academic studies — active, vivacious, on top of the world. I kept thinking how they must feel pity for me. I’m on disability, not working, and most painfully, I could think of almost nothing all day to contribute to the light-hearted table conversations. It was difficult. I had to leave the table, and went to the guest bedroom to staunch the floodwaters of tears that threatened to be unloosed at any moment.

Both my therapist and my psychiatrist have really come through for me on this issue of feeling inadequate or incapable. Both have stated very strongly that I don’t need to be comparing myself to how I was in the past, before my illness, or to what others may expect of me, or to harbor unrealistic standards for myself. Both pointed out that I need to accept myself as I am, where I am at, as someone perfectly adequate and capable although someone living with the limitations of a genetic illness.

The good news is that I was so very ready to hear these sentiments from my care providers. I’m ready to be at peace with myself, to accept myself as I am, to feel accepted and loved by others such as my family for who I am, although that may be drastically different the past. I’m not upset with my family — many of them don’t understand my situation, my mental illness, what I’ve been through — they just haven’t had the exposure to those issues, and haven’t been so much a part of my life that they have learned by being around me. I don’t know what they think of me. It’s hard because some family members seem afraid to have a conversation with me about it. They’re afraid of me, they don’t know what to say or how to approach me, and I can understand that as a normal human response, but it still just makes me want to cry, for myself, and for all of us.

I wanted to share with everyone the wonderful, positive healing experiences I am having with meditating daily. I’ve been gradually, off and on, building up to a daily meditation practice, and now I find I can’t do without the protective space and peace that I am able to generate from my practice. 

At first it can be difficult to sit still and do nothing — there are many obstacles to getting into a space of well-being while meditating, such as pain and discomfort, restlessness, and sleepiness. Like anything, it takes practice, and at least for me it was a gradual process of training my mind and body to learn to return to a peaceful space when I do sit “on the cushion”.

Meditating is the most powerful way I’ve yet experienced for learning to train the mind. I find that as I calm and settle my thoughts, focusing on my breathing, the voices also calm and quiet down. This is a very empowering tool that I now can use basically anytime my voices become overwhelming. I am actively cultivating the quiet and peaceful space for them to dissipate and become muted. In this sense, perhaps the Buddhist monk at the meditation retreat was right: maybe the voices are generated by my own mind. Regardless of whether they are externally generated or internally generated, if I can learn to manage the voices through focusing on my breath and calming the mind, that is a truly wonderful ability for me to possess.

I think the hardest part about getting into a daily meditation practice is just getting in the habit of sitting on the cushion each day. Once it becomes a part of your daily routine, you’ll find that the feelings of peace and well-being generated in meditation will become indespensible, and a powerful coping mechanism for you to have at your disposal.

As I grow deeper in my practice, I look forward to investigating the root of my voices and my other mental maladies, blockages, and hindrances more closely, I hope using the power of awareness and mindfulness to better understand my mind, and be better equipped to train my mind to be calm, centered, balanced, and well.

I asked the Buddhist monk who led the five day meditation retreat I recently attended about my voices during one of the fifteen minute interviews he held for one-on-one questions from retreat participants. Of course, I wanted to know what Buddhism has to say about the origin or cause of my voices. He said the voices are products of my own mind – which is exactly the “party line” of what Western medical professionals such as doctors and psychiatrists say. This morning I’m feeling really frustrated by that response. Does the monk mean the voices are a product of my own mind, in the same way that Buddhist philosophy says the world itself is a product of the mind’s own sense perceptions? That’s not a useful thing to say in the least. I thought perhaps thinking of my voice’s as my own mental phenomenon might free me from feeling victimized by them, that it might help me feel some sense of control over them, some sense that there’s something within my power I can do to quiet them. It has done none of the above, and has left me feeling bitter and resentful towards rational thought systems, such as Western medicine and Buddhism, neither of which have any useful explanations and neither of which understand my voices, what they are or why they’re there or how to stop them, and yet can get away with throwing the whole problem back in my face, and making it, essentially, all my fault. That seems like a cheap, underhanded trick of logic to me: we don’t know, so therefore you must know. It would be fine to say the voices are products of my own mind if I could learn to control or lessen their effect, but to say such a thing when they’re actually beyond my control, which day in and day out for seven years now is what appears to be the case from my experience and singular vantage point on the issue, seems rather cruel.

Schering-Plough’s new schizophrenia and bipolar drug Saphris is now available in US pharmacies. Yesterday, I had my doctor’s appointment, and he agreed that we could give the new drug a try. I’ve been asking him about it for months, and I found out from the drug’s web site, www.saphris.com, that it is now available in pharmacies. My doctor had seen a presentation on the new drug, and so was familiar enough with the prescribing information to give it a go. I started on it yesterday, so it’s too soon to tell anything yet, although the fact that I’m writing a blog right now is a great sign. Really, not a lot is known about the drug as of yet, especially how effective it will be in treating symptoms, although its metabolic side effects (i.e. weight gain) is minimal to none, and its performance in the preliminary efficacy studies seems promising. I can’t help being hopeful and excited that my quality of life will improve with the help of this drug. I’ve been through this drill before a number of times, but that does nothing to dampen my hopes that this will be the drug that allows me to lead a somewhat normal life. Hope springs eternal, especially when one has persistent auditory hallucinations, et al., and there’s a new treatment option on offer. I’ll keep my fingers crossed, and keep you updated as to how the drug works for me.

In the spirit of holistic healing – which includes many endeavors, previously described in this blog, that I have been immersing myself in these past few months — today is a blog about one of my pet projects, brewing kombucha tea.

Today's batch: 5 gallons of kombucha tea

Last night, my boyfriend and I went to the fair. He wanted to watch the hypnosis show, which I had heard of but never seen before (always been too occupied riding the daredevil rides). If you’ve never seen a stage hypnotist, it really is incredible. His audience volunteers were alternately sleeping, dancing, and acting out various emotions and reactions at his suggestion, all without realizing it consciously, and without even the insight that they were hypnotized.

We came back for the later show, because Troy wanted to be chosen to be an audience participant. He wasn’t selected, but the show still held our captive attention even the second time around. Hypnosis is a strange and seemingly improbable phenomenon, but there the evidence was, busy making fools of themselves on stage.

I’d never really looked into hypnotism as an option for healing oneself, and held an attitude of suspended disbelief about its use and efficacy in therapy. I visited a therapist once who offered hypnotherapy, but at our first meeting he said he didn’t think I was a good candidate for hypnosis, or perhaps that hypnosis wasn’t effective with my particular problem, hearing voices. I didn’t continue with him, so that was the end of that, and I hadn’t really thought about hypnosis as an option for my own healing until Troy pointed out all the CD’s the stage hypnotist was selling, including hypnosis sessions for quitting smoking, deep relaxation, pain relief, improved memory, weight loss, relationship improvement, and others. We ended up leaving the fair with the CD for deep relaxation, and tried it immediately when we got home.

This morning, I downloaded some more hypnosis audio programs, and listened to one for stress relief. All day I’ve felt incredibly calm, well-balanced, and free of the constant strain and worry that often hampers the flow of my days (i.e. anxiety about an upcoming responsibility or task that keeps me from being able to enjoy and relax during pleasant and routine daily activities). It feels like I got realigned or ”tuned up”, and all the noise in my head that comes from stress, anxiety, worry, and apprehension has been cleared. I had a really deep meditation this afternoon after listening to the tape – I was finally able to stop, relax, and just be in the present moment, with no striving, craving/desire, or pushing to “get things done” — all the usual hindrances that keep me from fully enjoying and living life in the present moment. I really do feel a difference – I’ve even had some minor anxiety about the lack of stressed thinking going on in my head — I’m having to adjust to this new absence of the constant internal pushing and worried thinking that usually motivates me and drives my day. 

I’m curious to know if there are hypnotherapists out there who treat voices with hypnosis — whether that would or could be effective. I wasn’t able to find anything on the subject using a quick google search.

My psychiatrist made a really skilled, deft maneuver today at my appointment, that helped me to release a lot of baggage and self-pressure, and left me feeling acceptance and peace. It’s counterintuitive, but he told me how serious, lifelong, and progressive my illness, schizophrenia, is. He’s told me this before: it’s very shocking and unsettling to hear such a dismal prognosis from your doctor. The first time he told me this, I very much resisted, but also broke down into tears. But, he is encouraging me to view my situation realistically. And strangely, although hearing this worst-case view of my illness makes me feel a great sadness for myself, there is also a release and acceptance that is able to happen in that space, where I can let go of the constant imperative of striving for healing, and release the pressure on myself to defeat this illness that comes along with that endeavor.

He compared me to the Tortoise and the Hare — in my case, I was the hare in the first part of my life, winning accolades, praise, achieving success in all areas of school and extracurriculars, and then getting into and graduating from Harvard. Unfortunately, at the same time that I finished school, my voices began, and ever since, I am the tortoise. I have to take it one day at a time, one task at a time nowadays. My cognitive abilities are impaired most of the time (I only write blogs when I have mental clarity and inner peace — not as often as I would wish), so I have restructured my life around meditative, sensory activities such as cooking, walking, knitting, and meditating. These are all practices that calm the thinking process (which is often for me these days confused, and which also elicits powerful stress responses), while allowing a more holistic and integrated experience of time and space and my body within them. For the blessing of these holistic practices to apply my energy and fill my time, I am thankful.

The other remaining major dissonance in my life comes in social situations, where the initiatory question is almost always a “So what do you do?”, a question I have developed as many unique responses to as times I have been called to account for myself in this way. My doctor helped me to accept the fact of my illness-derived limited capabilities, and so resolving the stigma of my reduced capabilities as a member of society (i.e. being on disability) must be possible, if I can just get hooked into a good response. He suggested that I share my spiritual path and practices — present myself as a spiritual seeker — and if I can find a way to present this, then perhaps I will have found an answer. namely, I feel, by finding a spiritual community to invest myself and my practice in, then perhaps I will have a deeper peace and tranquility than current social norms and individual judgments and stigma currently allows, and I will be safe, sheltered in the protective space and embrace of the sangha.

Thich Nhat Hanh, whose audiotapes and teachings have been my nectar-sustenance this summer and presently, exhorts the spiritual practitioner to find a sangha (spiritual community), or warns that otherwise her mindfulness practice will wither within three months. I’m not sure how to find, or start (a daunting prospect) a spiritual community, but the yearning is very much alive in me right now, and I hope I can find just this communion of spiritual family to nourish and sustain my practice.

At the end of my vacation, I was feeling so good that I tried to come off my meds again. It’s the fourth time this year I’ve tried — and failed. I’m sure this is because I’ve tried to taper off of them too quickly — usually my decision to stop taking my meds comes suddenly, with absolute conviction, (i.e. “I just don’t want to be controlled by these substances anymore! I want to feel like myself, feel the full range of my soul’s true expression”) meaning that I don’t want to mess around with slow, deliberate tapering. I’m on the lowest possible dose of Invega (my doctor would prefer that I was on double the dose I take, but 3 mg seems to work just fine for me), so tapering in this case would mean going immediately to every other day, which is almost like coming off the Invega every other day. No Invega, however, does terrible things (so much so that it causes me to abandon my dream of being med-free — i.e. “forget it, if this is the way I feel without meds, then I don’t want to be without meds”, thus the reason why I fail each time I have tried to come off of them). It’s as if my brain goes into sensory overload — there’s too much stimulation, so much so that I can’t do anything. I thought I could manage the simple task of driving home from vacation in Florida (to NC) without the Invega, but alas, I felt so physically ill and mentally overloaded without it that I broke down about 1/4 of the way home and had to resume my usual dose. Either the Invega causes this pendulum effect, where I feel way more mentally ill than I would at my “normal” baseline, no med state, or my mental health has deteriorated a whole lot since I’ve been on Invega, unbeknownst to me because the Invega has successfully prevented this worsening of symptoms from manifesting.

I relayed my latest adventure in coming off meds to my roommate, who said that many people call their antipsychotics the “glue” that holds them together. That sounds like the best and most succinct way of describing the difference between being on medications and not being on medications. I’m rather loosely put together now, as a result of my illness, I believe, or natural personality changes over time — whichever way you prefer to look at it — and I don’t like to take too high of a dose, because it feels so unnatural to be too tightly put together, too tightly strung. My current low dose is enough to give my days a shape, to keep me engaged in constructive activity, and for me to care enough about details, things and people to have a semblance of a life.