A Hellish Money Making Merry Go Round: Modern Psychiatry
I am halfway through Robert Whitaker's new book on the treatment of mental illness, "Anatomy of an Epidemic." I feel so very sad, like I have been told a million and one lies by those I put my trust in. I feel that my life could have been so different had I not started on the ridiculous medicinal roller coaster I've been on for nearly twenty years.
Anyone interested in the treatment of mental illness should read Whitaker. In his previous work, "Mad In America", he describes the horrifying procedures undergone by sick folks like myself throughout the history of our country, as well as more recent, "scientific" efforts that are equally grotesque and maybe more deceitful for those being treated.
As most know who care to know, it is a scientific fact that the drugs given to those patients are not much, if any, better than a placebo in the short term treatment of depression or psychosis. What I am learning from "Anatomy" is that the studies on which so much modern medicine is based stop after six weeks. What happens after six weeks? The people given meds get worse or stay the same, almost never rejoining healthy society. The folks lucky or smart enough never to go on the meds oftentimes get better and many times work and live full lives.
The theory goes that the drugs people like myself are given change the brain in a physical way, so that not only does the patient NOT get much, if any, better from having taken the drug, but take away the drug at any point in the future and the patient will get worse. This decompensation has long been the basis for not taking patients off their meds and the stated reason why they "work" so well: what patients go off them they get worse. But the fucking reason for this is that taking the drugs in the first place changes the brain's wires around so that the cure is worse than the disease.
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I graduated high school in 1984. I graduated college within four years, in 1988. I passed the CPA exam upon graduating. I was, admittedly, very unhappy the whole time, but functioned at a high level. Then in the early 90s, while living in Charlottesville, VA I became extremely depressed and quit my job, moving back home with my parents in Amherst, NH in 1991. I remember finding a job in Massachusetts quickly, then quitting after one day because I was too scared and anxiety ridden. My father suggested I see a therapist he knew of. I saw this guy, with little results, for about a year. I remained depressed and anxious, and may have even been delusional (my memory of these times is a bit foggy) Desperate, I took a large bottle of aspirin one night in an attempt to kill myself. When that failed, I was taken by my mother to a local psych ward and started on the medication cocktail(s) that remain a part of my life to this day.
Would I have successfully killed myself without intervention and the subsequent drug taking? Quite possibly. But my theory today is that the part of the treatment I received that was beneficial was being inpatient at a caring facility, being around other depressed and delusional people and getting support from the staff. The part that I believe didn't work was the drugs: I quickly began to sense cameras throughout the rooms of the ward. I don't recall sensing cameras watching me before I was put on medication.
And so it went. I rapidly bloomed from about 200 pounds up to 250, then up to 300. I began to either sleep most of the time or none of the time. And most importantly, I believe, I went from a young man with potential to live a decent life to a middle aged fat slob with no prospects of a full life (meaning marraige, children, career, home, retirement).
The first job I had out of college, working at a CPA firm, I did not enjoy and left after six months. In the next job, as an accountant at a large company in Charlottesville, I believe I was an exemplary employee for the two and a half years I worked there. Had I not left the company due to my depression, I believe my career prospects with Comdial or whoever was to come next would have been good. I believe I might very well have been able to support myself, buy a house, find a wife, do all the normal manly things. But instead, I became "disabled", fat, isolated, lonely, and a burden to the state. That is not how any healthy person wants to live their life, but it turns out that that is the story of my life.
Anyone interested in the treatment of mental illness should read Whitaker. In his previous work, "Mad In America", he describes the horrifying procedures undergone by sick folks like myself throughout the history of our country, as well as more recent, "scientific" efforts that are equally grotesque and maybe more deceitful for those being treated.
As most know who care to know, it is a scientific fact that the drugs given to those patients are not much, if any, better than a placebo in the short term treatment of depression or psychosis. What I am learning from "Anatomy" is that the studies on which so much modern medicine is based stop after six weeks. What happens after six weeks? The people given meds get worse or stay the same, almost never rejoining healthy society. The folks lucky or smart enough never to go on the meds oftentimes get better and many times work and live full lives.
The theory goes that the drugs people like myself are given change the brain in a physical way, so that not only does the patient NOT get much, if any, better from having taken the drug, but take away the drug at any point in the future and the patient will get worse. This decompensation has long been the basis for not taking patients off their meds and the stated reason why they "work" so well: what patients go off them they get worse. But the fucking reason for this is that taking the drugs in the first place changes the brain's wires around so that the cure is worse than the disease.
------
I graduated high school in 1984. I graduated college within four years, in 1988. I passed the CPA exam upon graduating. I was, admittedly, very unhappy the whole time, but functioned at a high level. Then in the early 90s, while living in Charlottesville, VA I became extremely depressed and quit my job, moving back home with my parents in Amherst, NH in 1991. I remember finding a job in Massachusetts quickly, then quitting after one day because I was too scared and anxiety ridden. My father suggested I see a therapist he knew of. I saw this guy, with little results, for about a year. I remained depressed and anxious, and may have even been delusional (my memory of these times is a bit foggy) Desperate, I took a large bottle of aspirin one night in an attempt to kill myself. When that failed, I was taken by my mother to a local psych ward and started on the medication cocktail(s) that remain a part of my life to this day.
Would I have successfully killed myself without intervention and the subsequent drug taking? Quite possibly. But my theory today is that the part of the treatment I received that was beneficial was being inpatient at a caring facility, being around other depressed and delusional people and getting support from the staff. The part that I believe didn't work was the drugs: I quickly began to sense cameras throughout the rooms of the ward. I don't recall sensing cameras watching me before I was put on medication.
And so it went. I rapidly bloomed from about 200 pounds up to 250, then up to 300. I began to either sleep most of the time or none of the time. And most importantly, I believe, I went from a young man with potential to live a decent life to a middle aged fat slob with no prospects of a full life (meaning marraige, children, career, home, retirement).
The first job I had out of college, working at a CPA firm, I did not enjoy and left after six months. In the next job, as an accountant at a large company in Charlottesville, I believe I was an exemplary employee for the two and a half years I worked there. Had I not left the company due to my depression, I believe my career prospects with Comdial or whoever was to come next would have been good. I believe I might very well have been able to support myself, buy a house, find a wife, do all the normal manly things. But instead, I became "disabled", fat, isolated, lonely, and a burden to the state. That is not how any healthy person wants to live their life, but it turns out that that is the story of my life.
posted by joe sweeney at 6:00 PM
1 Comments:
I have comments about this..but only for your ears ..Chris
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