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Crazy Train Part 1

18 Aug

I have a LOT of friends who suffer from mental health problems. From depression, to panic attacks, to bipolar disorder, and even schizophrenia, it seems that the diagnostic rate of mental illness is on the rise. One thing I have always found peculiar about our treatments for mental illness is the fact that we focus so heavily on pharmaceuticals that are meant to correct neurotransmitters. Most people are unaware that the bulk of our neurotransmitters are made in the gut – not in the brain. Psychiatrists and Big Pharma would have you believe otherwise, but if you stop and think about it, you’re putting pills into your GUT in order to correct your brain….hmmmmm.

Babs loved a challenge which is why she took on the “difficult” patients. And why she owned three primitive breed dogs that ran out the door at every chance they got and refused to come when called. I probably should have taken a hint from the dogs.

The downfall of treating mental illness with pharmaceuticals is that many of these drugs come with life altering (and frequently, life THREATENING) side effects and we don’t even understand how most of them even work. Like many with chronic illness, my symptoms originally manifested as psychiatric in nature. If you think my adventures in allopathic medicine with traditional docs are entertaining, just wait until I share THIS gem about one of my psychiatrists (not the one who dismissed me through her secretary over the phone for being “too complex” and leaving me without a referral and no one to manage my medication…yeah, THAT was a good time and I was a MINOR!). This might take a few entries, so grab some popcorn and prepare to go “WTF??!” Yeah. It’s one of THOSE.

Like many young overachievers, I spent a good portion of my adolescence in therapy with … you guessed it … a slew of bogus diagnoses. I was bounced from one therapist to another, dubbed a “complex case” and was actually dismissed from more than one clinic before I was even seen. At the age of 18 I consulted with a psychiatrist who had a reputation of being a pharmaceutical whiz (read: drug pusher) and it wasn’t long before I was doped up on a cocktail of 5 or 6 pills in an effort to treat the side effects left behind from the meds that were treating the symptoms. I was rapidly gaining weight, hungry ALL the time, felt like crap, exhausted, couldn’t concentrate, and on top of all this I was STILL depressed and anxious.

For narrative purposes we’ll refer to this uniquely incompetent psychiatrist as Dr. Nutso. I’d prefer to call him Dr. Lazy Eye, but I’m not one to poke fun at others’ physical limitations, and could the man help that his right eye looked like it was about to fall out of the socket? Talk about awkward though because I swear I’d have a panic attack just thinking about which eye I was supposed to look at while speaking to him.

Anyway, Dr. Nutso came to the conclusion that as a result of sub-standard parenting (his words), I had developed a personality disorder and would be best served under the therapeutic talents of a woman we’ll call  Babs. Babs was supposedly the best of the best at treating youth gone astray and when I told the psychiatrist I was serious about getting well and I asked “whom do you recommend”, he was adamant that Babs was the real deal. I remember the first thought that crossed my mind when she opened her front door to greet me for my first session: “How the hell is this broomstick-thin woman supposed to help me with an eating disorder??”

Turned out, she had an eating disorder of her own (as well as a lot of other problems that she readily shared with patients). Her refrigerator contained NOTHING except for a small collection of Red Bulls and supplements. You might be thinking it’s rather odd for a person to have seen the inside of her therapist’s refrigerator. Well not long after I began seeing her, there was a disagreement among my parents regarding my progress and payment. They were going to stop paying Babs for therapy sessions. So what did Dr. Nutso do? Kicked me out of the clinic. He told me that since my PARENTS clearly weren’t interested in cooperating for the greater good (my wellness), he couldn’t continue to see me as a patient. He then told my nutritionist and Babs that they’d be well-advised to dismiss me too. What??

This wasn’t the first time that Dr. Nutso had dismissed me. When I first began seeing him my psychotherapist at the time was working to have me admitted to an inpatient facility for eating disorders. Dr. Nutso told me I didn’t have an eating disorder, despite the fact that I had been in and out of treatment for one for nearly 6 years at the time. His theory? The “personality disorder” was causing the eating issues and if I treated that, all would be ok. I thought the man was full of it and made arrangements to go inpatient anyway (best decision I EVER made, really) and he kicked me out then too. My therapist at the time called and smoothed things over and all was well. I was back in the fold as the compliant patient. When I returned from inpatient in much better health, he raved about how he was so glad HE suggested it!! (insert raised eyebrows here)

So anyway, Dr. Nutso dismisses me for the second (and final) time because my parents stop paying Babs and refers me to a community mental health clinic. I said “screw it” there was no WAY I was going to be treated at a community mental health clinic after being a psych major and learning about how those patients are treated. In fact, I was beginning to suspect that the cocktail of drugs I was on were the bulk of my problem. Please know that I do NOT advocate doing this, but I stopped ALL of them. I researched how to wean off and tapered off all 6 medications on my own. And I NEVER felt better. The depression lifted, the anxiety dissipated, the brain fog and impaired concentration melted away, and I had more energy! The very pills that were supposed to be helping me had clearly been doing WAY more harm than good. In fact, they were likely poisoning me. Especially since the onset of my mitochondrial disease and central nervous system disorder kicked in not even 6 months later. I don’t think this was a coincidental correlation and sometimes I wish there were a lawsuit (or two…or 6) I could hop on in order to help pay for the enormous expenses I’m incurring trying to undue years of damage.

Fast forward a few months and Babs emailed to tell me that she recognized how badly I wanted to be well and she was willing to help me. We’d “work out” payment through a barter system and I wouldn’t have to worry about the bills. I could make her jewelry, walk her dogs, help her around the house, house-sit for her when she went on trips, help her catch her dogs in the middle of the night (she owned three that would escape and have to be flanked in order to catch them again. It was insanity)…you get the idea. Was there a part of me wondering if this was unethical? HELL yeah, but I silenced that inner voice by telling myself that she was a licensed professional and would never do anything to jeopardize my health and well-being. ::shifty eyes:: Plus, I was the ever-compliant patient and I was willing to do whatever it took to get well again. Even if it meant chasing untrained, Japanese dogs around my therapist’s waterfront neighborhood at 10 o’clock at night…

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