What If Jesus Was Labeled A Schizophrenic?

“You are Bi Polar”

Anytime I write about the trauma of the psychiatric system, not only am I triggered by reliving and rewriting these things. My writing is not very good so I apologize if this is hard to read.

Psychiatric drugs are killing people. Mostly from side effects and often by suicide which is a side effect of the drugs.

Imagine that. You feel suicidal and they give you drugs where one side effect is suicidal ideation. They are designed to be horribly difficult to get off of. Terrible withdrawals. Is the pharmaceutical industry trying to dumb down millions of Americans? I’m personally afraid for my life in that these drugs have affected my health. I’m near diabetic. I’ve gained so much weight from them, I’m obese. They can cause kidney failure. The list goes on and as I type this and am weaning off slowly my anti psychotic because my doctor refuses to help me. I was misdiagnosed bi polor in 2003 but I’m still fighting the system to get me off these poisons..

No one also does not want to walk into a psychiatrist’s office like your just a lump of meat with a label on your forehead given to you by same psychiatrists. (Educated Bully)

My goal is to get off this medication I should have never been on in the first place. Stuck in a system with a Bi Polar diagnoses that I shouldn’t have been given in the first place.

Sitting in a blood lab waiting room, I look down at the paper work from my psychiatrist and see at bottom.

Diagnoses: Sczhoaffective Psychosis. What in the hell? Where did this come from?

As if I’m not already living the dangerous side effects of these dangerous drugs, that have suicide as a side effect. Hmmm? You’re suicidal so you ask your Dr. for a drug to help but it has suicidal ideation as side effect…..I have to be bullied by some Dr. who you are stuck in a relationship with because you can’t stop your meds cold turkey or it’s death and insanity due to the withdrawal. But you can’t get off them because his job is to tell you that you need them. Without you what what he be. Without a job I hope.

I rarely tell my shrink about my spiritual life. He actually doesn’t really want me to speak. When he asks “how I am?” I must answer in three sentences or he interrupts me. Once last year I told him I took a psychic development class. I mentioned I felt telepathic. He encouraged me to keep taking the classes.

So was it this one thing I said once is why he changed my diagnoses? Without telling me? Why? How would he know me since he does not talk to me. He just pushes pills.

What he really did was stamp a disease on my head another one! I don’t fucking deserve. He did me harm. He shot my God. He said without words “you are diseased. You can’t trust your own mind. Your own heart. Jesus hates you and there is no God. DO YOU HEAR ME, you were not created in the image of anything and you are meat on a skeleton stick that I can drug and take advantage of.

Imagine if Sir Issac Newton was drugged for thinking out of the box?

How many humans with amazing potential are drugged and right now they just sit in their living room watching cable and over eating because they feel and think nothing anymore?

Horrifying.

Our next genius may have been dumbed down already.

Can’t begin to think what they would have done to Jesus if he hadn’t be crucified him and they had these drugs. If Jesus came back, I’m pretty sure they psychiatric industry would like to get at him.

I Feel Crucified

I realize people who say they are involved in a conspiracy are considered nut cases. To say conspiracies do not exist is completely irrational. In the history of history to say there have been no conspiracies ever is actually more irrational than saying they do exist.

If you go back into this blog you will see other essays about what I’m trying to express.

For the first 40 years of my life I lead a fairly normal happy life. I was born to a poor family but I was later lucky enough to be go to University, travel the world, had careers that were highly respected and successful. I got married and had a child. It was not until I got post partum depression is when I was encouraged to psychiatric drugs all my life.

I had spiritual experiences like synchronicity in my life. Where amazing coincidences lead me down paths to make my life seem to be guided by God forces that got me to amazing places. I got married. I had a beautiful baby boy. I was a good Mom. I was a very hard worker. However, at six weeks post partum in 1992, my OBGYN talked me into going on Prozac. He had been sold the pill by Lilly and probably got a free golf vacation in Hawaii to promote it. Now I feel this was the first criminal act by a doctor against me. Instead of saying, the Post Partum will go away, he said I needed to be on this med the rest of my life. I didn’t know anything about these drugs then. As soon as I went on them they changed my personality and made me manic. I ended up divorcing my husband. That was when Dr.s started the life long forced drugging with psychiatric medication. He was not a a psychiatrist and if I had known better I would have never taken it. This is when my life changed. These horrific drugs they prescribe for everything now, controlled my life. Later in the late 90’s I had stopped this drug. I felt normal again.

Jump to Sept 2003 a clinic overdosed me (by accident?) on my thyroid medication. I did not notice the increased dosage on bottle. As the medication changed my body I began to have ringing in my ears, unusual thoughts and suicidal ideation. I did not realize they had upped my synthyroid. I experience some pretty horrible effects over a period of two weeks due to too much thyroid in my body. I ended up in an ER, where they put me on a gurney in a storage room while waiting for Dr. I was with my partner at the time. When I had arrived I said I was having symptoms of feeling like I was going to die. All this due to thyroid. We waited for hours to be seen. We gave up and tried to leave when a security guard threw me down on the bed and screamed in my ear YOU AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE! I was terrified. A doctor came in and ask me my symptoms. I told him how I felt and instead of asking about my health and my thyroid (doing no blood work) which if they had done would have shown my manic behavior was due to an overdosed thyroid. He immediately in fifteen minutes diagnosed me Bi Polar. I had had only had low grade depression all my life. I could not understand how he could come to this diagnoses in minutes.

I was immediately put in a psych ward ER holding facility where I was locked in a jail room. I was watched and ignored. They would not let me go to bathroom. They let me pee on myself. They took me upstairs to the psych ward and immediately gave me an MRI. While in machine they started asking other techs to come in and look at the scan. They all seemed really concerned about something. While I laid there I got this weird idea that i had a chip in my head. As if they were acting like there was something wrong. Putting a suggestion into my mind. Afterwards I ask them what was all the drama about. They said “oh nothing.” I think they call that a hypnotic suggestion. Why all the techs rushed into the room was beyond me. That was the first time I ever felt I might have a chip in my head. I didn’t want to think of that I’m too rational to entertain that but I’m also not blind when medical people do things I consider odd.

For the next 10 years I was pursued by psychiatrists. They gave me every new anti psychotic made. Since I believe I didn’t have Bi Polar, I believe my mis diagnoses of Bi polar is what made me think I needed the pills. I lost my job. I was put on disability. I was so drugged at times I could not stand. My relationship with my partner deteriorated. If someone takes psychiatric drugs that do not need them, then a brain on these drugs can be damaged which actually creates a mental illness. This happened to me.

Terrible, terrible things happened to me in psych wards. I had no advocate but just one good friend who helped. I know I have PTSD from all this. I also have brain damage from taking these drugs I did not need. My life was terrifying. Meanwhile there were good things that happened.

In 2011 I did research on how to come off psychiatric medication safely. The way they are designed is if you stop cold turkey, the side effects mimic the condition you are taking them for in the first place. I was withdrawing from these meds and my Dr. had left town. I had no doctor. I  had gone to an ER and told them I was withdrawing from psychiatric medication. They only said to take them again. That night the ER sent me home with no help. I went to bed. The next morning at 7am, I was fine, sitting at my desk, just drinking coffee. My partner came out and said causally you have to move out today. We had lived in that home for 10 years and I was on lease. I was actually moving in two weeks as we were breaking up. I was just waiting for the apt to be painted. When he told me to move today I laughed. I can’t move today. How can I do that. He went into his room and locked the door. I started crying and threw some books around. Little did I know he was calling the police. 4 cops showed up at my door. I was calm and respectful and told them I was ill and that I had been in ER night before. I had a piece of paper I showed them that said to come back to ER next day if I felt worse. They arrested me for harassment and I went to jail for three days. I was in shock.

3 weeks later my boyfriend moved his new girlfriend into our home.

In jail they put me in isolation. A doctor came to the door and gave me a Valium and said “you should not be in here.” This was one of the most terrifying moment in my life. I can hardly type it out. They said I would have to go to court unless I said I was guilty and I would be on mental health probation for two years. I took that. It was wrong. All of it was like being crucified.

I can’t begin to type 16 years of the traumatic events. I moved back to Indiana where my family was from. I had to get out of Seattle. Too many shrinks chasing me around. Seattle kept me in the psychiatric system by making me continue to go to shrink in Indiana when I had finally got off all drugs. This is when I felt something, someone was trying to harm me.

The terror did not stop when I moved home. My son who was 20 by now, was my only joy.

One day in 2013 I experienced so much bladder pain, I was peeing all over my house. I did not know it at the time but I had Interstial Cystitis. A chronic bladder condition that makes your bladder shrink and causes severe pain.

There is a true story about a woman named  Eleanor Riese who sued the system to stop forced drugging and a patients right to refuse medication. The side effects of these drugs caused damage to Eleanor’s bladder. It was not until I saw this film, did I see similar situation in myself.

So back to the first time I had intense pain in my bladder. I called an ambulance. They took me to the ER in the hospital where I had my son 20 years before. They gave me morphine and said they could not find anything wrong with my bladder. They had no idea about IC. While I was on morphine, they started to quiz me about my bi polar. Oh God here we go again. They ask if I was stressed. They saw I had good insurance. I told them I was stressed because I was in pain! They gave me something to drink and hours later I woke up on the floor of a psych ward The nurses at desk just sat there as I woke up. Let me lay on floor. I was forced to take drugs against my will. I was in there for two weeks and they never diagnosed my bladder condition.

Two years later the same thing happened again. I was coerced while drugged to admit myself into psych ward even though I was in ER for bladder condition again. I told them I had Interstitial Cystitis. While in psych ward, I was in severe pain. They put me in an empty room with mat on floor because my cries where bothering other patients. I was crying hysterically asking for a urologist. They ignored me. I prayed and prayed and what I heard was “keep crying until they do something.” Finally some “doctor” who was not a urologist came in. He ask me to take down my underwear. He stood six feet from me and ask me to spread my legs. He looked at my vagina from across the room and said “it looks fine to me.”  Both of these incidents took place at St. Vincent Hospital in Indianapolis, Indiana.

This is where I have to stop now. I hate to write things that sound crazy but there have been too many incidents with the psychiatrists and all the drugs. I am normal when I am not on these poisons

Now I live alone. I have PTSD. I meditate. I am very spiritual. But my life story over the last 16 years seems like someone who is being oppressed. Or crucified in a metaphoric sense. The new problems are Urologists who often deflect my bladder problems onto a psychiatric diagnoses.

I often feel there may come a day I may kill myself although I do not want to do that. I have two little grandchildren, but I have so much trauma that I can’t even think somedays. I do have a psychiatrist now who I like since I’m stuck in the system now. I take Lithium. I do have horrible night terrors for last 6 years. My Dr. believe in psychic abilities and has encouraged me to develop them. I’ve also felt like I’ve developed telepathy in last 10 years and never says he thinks I’m schizophrenic. Sometimes angels come to me and say that I am special and all this hell I’ve been through, something wonderful is going to happen to me.

All I feel as I end this never ending essay is how terrifying my Mother is to me. How she can hit and run my mind. If the thing that grew you in her belly, talks to you to make you feel like you want to die, sometimes you wish she would die so I don’t have to be bullied ever again by my first enemy. My Mother. Who tells me I’m nothing and crazy and basically a piece of shit.

Have to go and try to overcome writing this incomplete essay, always feeling like I’m involved in some kind of experiment. I feel like a lab rat. I’m such a loving person and care about the world and I don’t understand how I ended up in this living crucifixion.

I’m mostly alone. No one is there at night when I have nightmares. No one comforts me during panic attacks. I have some good friends who help at times. I only know one thing that will save my life.

For me to meet someone who understands what I have been through and who will make me laugh and never disregard the horrors I’ve seen. I’m so scared I’m unloveable and at 56 it’s almost too late to dream of a better life with someone who loves me.

Maybe I can continue to live by writing and imagining even if they aren’t real, some savior will come save me. Jesus understands. I know he does.

Thank you for reading all this crap. I didn’t believe in conspiracies until all this happened to me. I hold onto my faith as much as possible until it’s not there.

Jesus, Please Don’t Abandon Me

I feel broken. I need encouragement and help.

It’s 5am and I’m having a panic attack. I’ve been trying for two weeks to find a new place to live. I have to be out of my apt by June 3 when lease is up. I always pay my rent on time. always. But I’ve been sick in this apt. The constant noise of construction and  I have had issues with loud neighbors bullying me who I have complained about but office never did anything in the end, the neighbors complained about me so I need to leave for my peace of mind. Second apt in three years when young people bully me and I lose.

I have looked at several apts in two weeks, many were rather dumpy or not affordable on my disability. Each time you apply for apt they charge 35$. I put in an app at one apt on Thursday but have not heard anything. They have run a credit report but now are waiting for my current residence to check other things I guess. Bottom line I have a disability, I have had ambulances here, I have had panic attacks due to the bullying neighbors but if my current place won’t give me a good recommendation I’m dead in the water with other places. I can’t keep paying 35 app fees to every apt I look at. I don’t have the money to keep paying people to turn me down. I’m almost out of money this month to even eat.

I’m now 53 and feel like a complete loser compared to my peers who went on to do things with their life. I just got bi polar in 2003 and my life went into a hell hole and never came out.

I’m back on lithium again and haldol but I have to stay so drugged up to deal with the fact I have no control over my life when it comes to money and finding a peaceful place to live alone on 1,400 a month. It’s barely feeds me and pays all bills. I live without decent clothes, amusements like movies and going out to dinner and I don’t have any friend left anyway. My family is practically my worse bullies. I’m so lost.

It seems my life as hopeful as I was when I graduated from college and worked and had a life, has now turned into a nightmarish story of loneliness, sickness and poverty. I was in hospital for nervous breakdown two weeks ago and the feeling is staring again. I pray and pray things will turn out, but to be honest there is no family here that could take me in in case I have trouble finding a place. I sometimes feel death can’t come too soon because living alone with my illness and in poverty in a time where paying your rent on time does not matter. I feel stigmatized and discriminated against but there is nothing I can do but wait.
I wake up every morning feeling sick to my stomach wondering what happened to my life? why did this illness destroy all my dreams?
I can’t bare this especially alone. It’s hard to live alone on disability, it’s horrible in fact. Sometimes the best part of my day is going to bed to be unconscious it’s the only escape for my ever worsening survival as a disabled person alone with PTSD and no family that cares.

I’m not going to say I’m suicidal, but I will say death will be a welcome thing when it finally comes if life has become only this for a smart woman who once was something with potential. Now I’m just a risk on paper and my soul is weary of fighting to survive.

 

I feel like I may end up homeless and I’m running out of money to do anything this month including eat, pay deposit on new place, pay rent here and move.

Jesus, you know how we talk. Please don’t abandon me. No one else seems to want to be around a mentally ill person. I have lost so much, don’t let me lose my dignity to have a peaceful home to be alone in.

thank you sweet Lord.

Telling My Mental Health Story In A Safe Place

Here is a post I made to a forum that supports people coming off psychiatric drugs. I thought it would be helpful in my blog.

I have been searching for groups that allow me to speak out about not taking psychiatric drugs without being bullied or called a Scientologist…which I am not. (However the documentaries produced by Citizen’s Commission on Human Rights. CCHR, which is funded by scientology. But shoot the messenger I say) I did my research on the internet on how to come off medications alone. There are few scary documentaries on the dangers of psychiatry that scared me to death, so I became my own doctor and made a choice to live with my “bi polar” symptoms.

I have heard that it can take up to four years to completely withdrawal from these drugs, which I took for 10 years. It’s been two years but I still have withdrawal symptoms as I learn to deal with my own extreme emotional states. Which often are environmental, not mental illness. I actually question labeling people. I don’t live my diagnoses. I don’t believe things like grief, child abuse issues, general depression are mental illnesses. Humans have lived with suffering since the beginning of time. I’m frightened of the control psychiatrists have over our feelings. Sometimes, there are people who have special gifts and their emotions are the way some of us stay creative. Spiritual. Awake.

I don’t believe in pushing down normal emotions with drugs that deadened me. Took away my creativity as well as my career, my family and my connection to the power greater than myself.

I’m also appalled at the fact that little children are now given dangerous drugs with suicidal side effects. There is great profit to be made by pharmaceutical companies to now cross market drugs that were once used for schizophrenia, that is now given for even general depression.

I’m also horrified by the advertising of these medications on TV.

I also question why a drug manufacture and FDA would approve drugs in such a fast manner. Many drugs were once tested for years. Now medications are being developed and approved in weeks! Why can’t they make a drug that does NOT have such horrific side effects, like suicide. If someone is already suicidal,  why would a doctor give a patient something that actually makes it worse? It’s pure insanity.

I realize some people are helped by drugs, but there are many people taking them that don’t need them. I was given my first anti depressant in 92 for post partum depression by my OB/GYN. That is a normal condition that eventually goes away. Prozac was new on the market and I’m sure my doc had some drug rep sell him on the idea. The truth of the matter that doctor told me I would have to take them all my life, when in fact after a few months, post partum goes away.  He also never told me of the side effects, which is the law now. It’s called Informed Consent. A doctor must tell the patient of the dangerous side effects and the should be allowed to say no. It’s criminal. Anti depressants changed my personality and never really helped my depression. I ended up divorcing a wonderful husband, and became someone I didn’t want to be.

While living in Seattle, I had been given too much thyroid medication that made me go slightly manic. This was in 03. At the ER, a doctor in five minutes took my symptoms and my history of depression and immediately labeled me. I believed the hype. I never felt right on the meds. Never. I became a person I did not recognize. I gained so much weight on the medication, I was swollen beyond comprehension. No doctor, not even a family doctor saw the dangers in swollen face and ankles. I went from 140 pounds to 196.

just before diagnoses in 2003.

140 pounds.

2006

170 lbs

 2011, almost 210 pounds….

….what I looked like when my son felt I should stop taking the medications.

I noticed that almost all anti psychotics for me made my face and ankles swell. In fact my legs were often so swollen my family Dr. thought I may have diabetes which Serequel can cause. I did not however.

I was smiling cause this was church photo, but inside I was really freaked out for my health.

October 2014

166 pounds after two years free of the medication.

Smiling and mean it this time…

Although no one can stop age, I have gained a healthier lifestyle with exercise and diet changes.

Update: 7/15 – 3  years med free so the weight gain came off pretty easy.

157 lbs

It’s been two years since I have been free from anti psychotics, (except for a four week forced drugging that took my weight back up for a bit) so I had to start the withdrawal over again but I have lost over 30 pounds and the weight is flying off! I’m so happy I have my legs back so I can zip up my old boots!

Now I have the energy to actually work out!

but back then, I could barely move….

My partner, my family, except my son, encouraged me to keep talking them as they saw how sick I was on them, when the real sickness was that I was allergic to drugs for schizophrenia and it caused horrible suffering and a change of personality. I was suicidal feeling all the time, I sleep for 14 hours a day on these drugs and lost my career. My home. My partner. Most of my family. I stopped writing and I’m that was my passion. It also did not allow me to feel my spiritual self. I once had a doctor ask me if I heard voices. I said, “I talk to myself in my mind as I am always writing dialog for screenplay then added, “I also hear Jesus’ voice” just to push his button to see what he would say. He called me delusional and forced me on the most dangerous drug I ever took, Risperdal. I told him I could not take it, He gave me no Informed Consent and was told that if I did not take it, I would have to go to court to get out of psych ward.

In fact, I ended up in the psych ward when I went to the ER for a chronic bladder condition I suffer with. While under morphine in the ER, they ask me questions about my mental health history and my writing, (Which I write Sci Fi stories) I woke up two hours later lock involuntarily into their stress center. I was distraught. No one addressed my bladder and was immediately shot up with Haldol. I continued to ask staff why I was there. I must have said something under the influence of morphine and they stigmatized me. I could not get out. I was forced on the meds after I had withdrawaled already for a year. No legal representation. A nurse kindly told me to take the pill for two days so I could just get out. I had been taken to court twice in ten years to get out of a psych facility which I voluntarily entered.

I also tried to obtain my psych records for my screenplay on why I was involuntarily committed last summer and said I was not allowed to have them. Does anyone know this. You are not allowed to get your own psych records. The doctor who was to approve it was the very doctor that forced me on the drugs that almost took my life. The Indiana Attorney General’s Office finally decided to take my case and I’m currently waiting to see if I can get my records because I need to know why I was committed when I went in for Interstitial Cystitis. I told them I would not sue, but the case has become bigger than that. Not only was a wrongly committed while under heavy drugs, I also was never treated for my IC. I was also not given the required “Informed Consent” which is my right to refuse drugs that would cause me harm.

I’m now suffer from horrible memories of being restrained, being mistreated in a psych ER, and once jailed by partner when I was withdrawling from the drugs.

The key point is. That when you come off these drugs cold turkey, which i had to because no doctor would support me coming off, at first you feel wonderful. I felt I could think again. I wrote like crazy and had wonderful days even though I lived on disability. It was my 20 year old son that said, Mom, maybe your problems ARE the drugs because you don’t seem like yourself. So when the withdrawals comes and they were scary like LSD trips, I would make a mistake and go to an ER and say I’m withdrawaling from drugs that I’m allergic too. They never believed this. I was always told, “No, your in crisis BECAUSE you aren’t taking the drugs.” Do you see the insane circle in this? Psychiatry is very biased. If only I had had a a good alternative doctor who realized that the pills were the problem. But I had bad psychiatric treatment and was always coerced to go back into hospital and start drugs. This went on for four years. I would try to stop and they would put me back on and I would have to start over.

“THE PAIN WAS IN THE PILL.”

I did successfully come off and eventually I began to feel joy. I would walk to the park and watch Orcas. I volunteered at two jobs and began writing my book again. It was like feeling happy for the first time in 10 years. Sadly, I had to leave Seattle as my son was going to be a Father and I could not stay in a town that was paradise but scared me. All the trauma and horror stories I have would blow your mind. So I left nature, my real medicine and moved back to the midwest where now I”m lonelier than ever in this backwards town I left years ago. There is no alternative medication I can afford, nor is medical marijuana legal here which is what helps my depression almost completely disappear. I’m blessed I have disability and a small part time job. But I suffer still. Sometimes from stigma. Sometimes from family members that refused to believe that I withdrawal symptoms and possible brain damage and PTSD from taking the meds. My mother is cruel and always tells me you need pills. It enrages me. She takes anti depressants and feels nothing which is why she is so cruel and un supporting.

I lost the love of my life three years ago. I live alone in a dumpy section 8 apartment now. Just two busy good friends, but no love, no understanding, no hope sometimes  that my story might be published someday to help others like myself. I can’t really find a quality therapist that is not attached to a shrink or if I find one, they are too expensive for my budget. It’s a sad circle. My tools in Seattle, was going for walks in nature, attending festivals, my Buddhist practice and friends.

I have been back two years and I now wake up everyday from nightmares, in tears that I’m here. In tears from memories of psych wards and how these drugs might have permanently damage my brain. I have read that some of these drugs actually shrink your brain. And it can also take up to four years to get back to “normal” after taking them for ten years. I literally don’t remember how to handle my emotions because I was a walking zombie on meds. I felt nothing. Nothing.

I gained 75 pounds in two years on Serequel alone and almost had diabetes. Family doctors never wanted to help either.

I’m proud of myself.  I loved myself never to kill myself because I could not do that to my son. But recently his psychotic teenage girlfriend has taken my grandson away from me after she found out I had been in a psych ward long ago.   My son watched in horror as she abused me. She is 18. I’m 51. He understands me, but has no ability to defend me at this point. Everyone in my family although they think I’m a hot mess, all agreed what an incredible Grandmother I was as I watched the infant four days a week. He was my blessing. He helped me forget all my psychic pain when he entered the house. It was like taking care of my inner child. Horrifically, my 21 year old son is on my side but scared of this girl and wants to keep the peace for the child’s sake, but in the end, she won’t allow him  here anymore. Ironically, she is more bi polar than I and is abused child so I understand and forgive her. I thought this baby was my gift after years of hell. Now that I hardly see him, I wonder why I came back to Indiana. I struggle with my faith sometimes as things don’t seem  to get better, but worse. It’s all environmental, it’s not a mental illness when you are bullied by people.

I have done great work on myself and feel I love myself despite the shame of allowing these doctors to label me and make me believe my gifts were disease. I’m so lonely. I wish I could finally find a partner whom I adore who accepts my past and my ongoing sadness. It’s very hard to be in crisis when there is no one there for you. No one to just hug you or bring you tea and say “darling, this won’t last long, just breath.”

I love music, especially Pearl Jam. Music and writing is the way I cope now with my emotions. There are times I’m tempted to start drugs again and realize, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different outcome. I believe I am bless and all  of this happened to me for a reason. My soul purpose in life is to help others, spread the word, and maybe someday a producer will approach me to make a documentary or film telling my story and giving other hope too.

It’s one day at a time.  Please no bullies. I get so scared when I speak  my story. I have been bullied and treated so bad by other bi polars that take meds when I tell my story. I was even banned from dailystrength.com after being on there for 8 years when I tried to tell my story about how the drugs almost killed me and there are other more healthy ways to live without meds. It’s sad, people on meds I have found to be the meanest, whiniest and unhappy people I have ever met. Some forums are nothing more than numerous people talking about changing their drugs or increasing their does and seeing their “pdocs” which is a word they use all the time which drives me crazy. If the drugs are working, why are these people still so unhappy? They let one doctor who talks to you for five minutes tell you what you are. It’s start to what we are not. We are not our lable. We are  humans that feel deeply. I’m neuroscience will find a new way to help people who suffer with illness and that the profits made off these drugs and the killing of people and children due to side effects can be seen as what it is. Profits and long term customers.  And the stigma society puts on us is just horrific.

There is hope. This forum is proof of that. I just wish I could really know what is going on in my brain now. How long will these panic attacks and feelings of doom stay?

Until then, I continue a spiritual practice. Try to live one day at a time and reach out for others who understand.

I have an interesting blog about all kinds of things, but there are some stories about my mental health history and horrors. Please see my profile for link.

Sorry this was so long, but as a writer I tend to go on and on.

And well it’s a sign of wellness, since when I was on drugs I would not have even been able to write one sentence.

The biggest question of all is,

HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE SOMEONE TO RECOVER FROM THE ANTI PSYCHOTICS I was feeding myself. I know have an still having withdrawal symptoms.

Am I permanently damaged? Will I ever find peace from seeking help from medicine and have sought it, being  even more disabled. I pray that my brain will recover, but I can’t find a doctor to tell me when this may happen.

Namaste and blessings to you all.

Thanks for reading.

The best part of this story is that I can heal by telling it and not be afraid of being censored from my own story.

Also, I hope I can help anyone who has also felt medications made their quality of life much worse and who want to replace medications with healthy life style choices. I’m not trying to change people’s minds about meds, I’m sharing why I choose not to take them any longer.

Namaste