I Have An Abusive Relationship With Psychiatry

You should know I don’t feel safe or cared for by IU Health. In fact I’ve never felt safe and cared for by psychiatry. The last time I talked with your office has caused the last few weeks horrible anxiety and fear of dealing with anyone from your office. I feel you need to hear my story to understand how to help me.

I never had any mental health problems in my life until I was six weeks post partum from having my son. I went to OBGYN and told him I could not stop crying. This was 1992. He gave me prozac and said I would have to take it all my life?? It changed my personality. It made me feel bad and I shouldn’t need to take a anti depressent all my life because of a bout of post partum depression. Two years later I was not feeling good due to the med and I wasn’t aware that these meds can have side effects. A doctor put me on Zoloft. I became manic. I started smoking cigarettes. I did things I would never do. I left my husband.

This was the beginning of how psych meds destroyed my life. Eventually I went off them and my life went back to normal. Jump to 2003

I have been tormented by psychiatry for two decades. From the moment I was “diagnosed” in an ER in Seattle up to the last conversation I had with you office staff, I am still traumatized by your profession. Each new Dr. I talk to including spending an hour with Dr. Thomas telling him of the waking nightmare I have endured by Psychiatry. These traumatic events have caused me to have PTSD. Not one Dr. in last 5 years has addressed this or diagnosed me with PTSD because I believe they either don’t believe me or are unwilling to admit that Psychiatry can do people harm.

Here I will list just a few examples of some traumatic events:

1. When it all started: I had a thyroid problem. I believe the new prescription was too high and I began to have strange symptoms. This was 2003 in Seattle. My boyfriend took me to the ER. We had to wait in a storage closet on a makeshift bed, there were so many people there. After three hours we decided to leave. A security guard came up to me and scream YOU ARE NOT LEAVING and threw me down on the floor. I was then put in a concrete room, a holding cell for mental patients. There I was locked in and observed. I pissed myself many times because they wouldn’t let me out to pee.

(I was diagnosed bi polar in 15 minutes with an ER doctor)

After this I lost my career. I was over drugged and slept all day. This type of ER event happened two more times when I went back to the ER because the drugs were making me hallucinate. My boyfriend was convinced that I had bi polar symptoms because my family doctor had changed my synthyroid to a much higher dose than normal and we didn’t catch it until much later, by then I was already diagnosed, over drugged and (what is the word for complying without fighting)

During the 2000’s in Seattle I never had the same doctor. I was in a system for poor people without insurance. Everytime I had a Dr’s appointment there would be a new doctor and he would change my medication completely. I was unrecognizable to my partner. I had paranoia. I was so heavy and sleepy I would need help to the bedroom. Once I was interviewed for an intake for new Doc when a young girl ask me questions about my life. She said “you believe you are talking to Kurt Cobain from the grave right?” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO. I had told someone I had lovely dreams for a long time of Eddie Vedder who was a musician with Pearl Jam who lived in my neighborhood. This kind of terrible care was normal by that time.

In 2008, I finally found a doctor I liked and he was a private doc. By this time I stopped telling people I was mis diagnosed because I was basically believing them. This doc treated me for ADHD and Bi Polar indicated if you have a co morbid condition both should be addressed.

I began volunteering for West Side Baby, a non profit who supply diapers, clothing and essential items for children. I also founded a Baby Pantry in West Seattle Food bank. My life was good. I started with 50 families and by the end I have over 1,500 families that looked to me for baby and child supplies. Then one day, that doctor that was treating me for a co morbid condition packed up and left town. He had no other colleague to send me to. Here I was suddenly going cold turkey off Abilify and lithium. It was hell. Every where I looked no one would help me. My family doc was sympathetic but could not help me. If I had weaned off the meds I know I would have been fine.

One night I went to an ER alone because by now my partner of 13 was really stressed out about my health. In an ER I told them that my Doc left and I don’t have a prescription for my meds. Again, I knew coming off psych meds cold turkey were making me lose my mind. They send me home with a piece of paper saying if you feel bad in morning come back. My partner and I decided it would be better if we no longer lived together a few weeks before. After the ER visit the night before, I was scheduled to move into my own place in two weeks. That morning I woke up early feeling quite well actually. In my PJ’s drinking coffee at my desk. My partner came up to me and coldly said I needed to me that day. I had lived in this house for a decade and paid rent and was on lease. I got upset and said I’m waiting for them to paint my apartment. I can’t move today. He went back into his bedroom and locked the door. Of course I got quite upset. Begging him to come out of bedroom to discuss this in an adult manner. I started ramping up. Being off meds and having withdrawal, I threw some of my plants on the floor. I was crying hysterically. He literally planned it I believe. There was no property damage. Only books on floor and plants. While calming myself at my desk, I looked out the window and two cop cars had pulled up. 4 policmen were coming to my door!! I answered calmly and respectfully and told them what was happening. I said I had not doctor and no hospital will help me as I’m coming off medication. In the kitchen my partner told a different story I guess. I was calm and respectful. One of the policement told me to put my hands behind my back. They took to out of my house in my pajamas no shoes no bra no coat. It was January. I was put in jail for three days. I had no family there. I was in solitude the first day and I blacked out. A doc came to the door and push a valium through the slot and said “You shouldn’t be in here.” It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to me. Trauma beyond imagination. I ended up having to go to mental health probabtion for 2 years. They never helped me get a doctor. Soon after that I found myself without shoes on a train to Boeing field. It was a sunny day and I guess I started walking. I woke up near a parking lot and police came and ask if I needed help. (This was a few months after I moved) I didn’t know how I got there so an ambulance came and took me to a hospital I’d never been to. At first I was fine, just anxious and telling them how I couldn’t find a doc and how I had to stop my meds cold turkey. After hours they gave me something to drink. I guess it was a sedative. I must have fallen asleep.

I woke up in 4 point restraints! No one was in the room. I screamed help me! Someone help me. Why am I in restraints. Help me! Help me!!!!!!!!!!!!! I saw purgatory. It was like an out of body experience. I thought they wanted to kill me. I still can hear the screams in my mind. The jail and the restraits flashbacks happen to me often. Such horrible memories I can’t get out of my mind and no one has ever said you have PTSD from this. How can I not?

So I ended up in my own place and eventually the withdrawal stopped and I lived for the next two years with out psych meds and I was happy, able to walk and get groceries and be healthy and write some of my screenplay. In January of 2013 I left Seattle because the memories of the torture in all the psych wards (there are so many stories Dr. Delaney about things that happened to me in psych wards. I just can’t retell them here,)

I came back to Indianapolis where my son and family lives. Although I moved into a scary neighborhood, I was no longer on psych meds and doing just fine. I did manage panic attacks with clonazapam from my family doctor. The flashbacks of all the trauma not only happened during the day but in dreams.

In spring of 2013 I developed a bladder condition called Interstitial Cystitis. At the time I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I was in pain and for two days I peed over everything in my house because I couldn’t control my bladder and the pain became an emergency. I called an ambulance. I got to St. Vincent’s ER on 86^th. (The place I gave birth to my son) In the ER they checked me for a bladder infection. They could tell I clearly was in terrible pain so they gave me a morphine drip. Then I lost track of time. Several hours later at 2am, I woke up on the floor of the Stress Center! I was crying on the floor what am I doing here? Two nurses at the desk just stared at me. I continued to cry and cry someone help me. A nurse came over and shot me up with Haldol. Never ask me never ask my permision. I was forced drugged for two weeks. The doc I saw there was cruel and cold and ask me questions like “do you talk to Jesus?” I was very lucid and fucking pissed off that he had no right and I came to the hospital for bladder pain. I told him ‘I talk to jesus, what of it?” He said you will have to stay two more days. Never was my bladder pain treated.

This happened two more times. Went to the ER for pain, (by this time I knew I had IC and told them) They would send a nurse from Stress Center to try to get me to admit myself. They would say “you seem stressed.” Of course I do! I’m in pain and no one will help me. On pain meds I agreeed. And was put on drugs again (which is the reason I am still on them because I have never been able to get a Dr. to wean me off) Evetually I met a urologist and he diagnosed my bladder considition and gave me hydro destintion procedure and that gave me relief for about a year. Then one night I went to St. Vincent’s and they forced me into Stress Center again while I was in pain. This time I just laid on the floor of the bathroom crying hysterically in pain. They only said you are upsetting the other patients. I told them I needed a urlolgist and another hydro destinion procedue. Hours went on and they put me in this large room with no bed and just a rubber mat on floor. They said a doc is coming. Some guy showed up, he wasn’t a urologist. I don’t know what he was. I told him what I need. He said………

“take down your pants and underwear and spread your legs.” Then he stood 8 feet from me laying on floor with pants down and looked at my vagina and said “You look fine to me.”

Of course I was back on drugs but didn’t ever find a psychiatrist. A family doc was writing my meds but keep saying you need to find a psychiatist. I could never find anyone near me. It was insane how I had medicae and could not find a doc. My insurance was with Community. I never went back to St. Vincents. One day a year later I couldn’t sleep. I had gone three days without sleep. I went to Community North ER. They put me in a room with no bed and I laid on the floor. They keep bullying me and saying you need to get up. There were no others in the mental health holding cells. One room was empty with bed and they wouldn’t let me lay down. Mind you all these times, even though I have family here there wasn’t one person helping me. No advocate. No one to keep me safe. My son had a newborn and wasn’t able to help. They admitted me to the first floor I was on. One night a mexican woman as in her room crying. I went in to comfort her. Then I went up to the front desk to let the nurses know she needed help. They didn’t help her. They said we need your blood. She literally kept stabbing me and couldn’t get blood. I yelled to stop! I said I can’t believe you won’t help that woman. Next morning, a security came and my dr. said they were moving me. They took me to the dark basement where they keep the really fucked up people. They took me down and guard had a gun. They locked me in a dark room and I blacked out as I always did in extreme fear. At one point a patient came into my room and threatened me. The next day they put me in yet another ward this one was nice. The meds they gave me I don’t know but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t function while I was in there. I felt like a lab rat. I’ve always felt like a lab rat with psychiatry.

When I made the decision to change my insurance to IU Health, I thought I would have better luck and I had graduated from IU. It took a while. I think I saw a Dr. powell. I don’t remember. Then I got Dr. Stephane. I told him the best I could of my past with Psychiatry but since he only let me speak for less than 5 minutes, he always ignored the fact that I want to get away from psychiatry and I want to try to wean off responsibilty so I can go back to living without meds. He never helped but he was at the point the best Dr. I had ever had and it was consistant. No changing Dr.s all the time. Of course he eventually left and again I was stressed. So I had a temp dr. I don’t remember. Then I got Dr. Thomas and for the first time in my life here was a psychiatrist who didn’t scare me. Who let me talk a lot!! Who listened. Who showed compassion. It was too good to be true. And to be able to see him virtually and not have to be anxious and drive all the way downtown from Noblesville.

So I knew Dr. Thomas would leave, but I didn’t know there would be more trauma on me. I don’t lose my primary physican every year. I don’t lose my urologist every year. Why do I have to be juggled around with a new Dr again! And this time I’m told

‘YOU CAN ONLY SEE DR. MCANN ON MONDAY MORNINGS”

Let me tell you why I have been having flashbacks of the last converstaion with your office. This is how it went.

Dr Thomas: Let’s get you scheduled for Dr. McCann. He only see patients on Monday mornings.

Me: That does not work for me and I don’t want another intern/resident. I want a proper consistant doctor like Dr. Delaney.

Dr. Thomas: I’m sorry. (schedules appoint with Dr. McCann)

Next morning I get a voice mail from your office. Please call to schedule your next appointment with Dr. McCann

Me: (Calling office) I’ve already had it scheduled.

Erica: Doesn’t look like it’s here.

Me: I don’t want an intern. I want a proper doctor. I’ve been through hell and I won’t be juggled around at my age and based on the hell I’ve been through. I don’t feel safe.

Ericia: (Puts me on hold) ……………..Comes back, I think we can get you in with Dr. Delaney. Put’s me on hold again.

Me. Thank God.

Erica: Opps sorry, we can’t do Dr. Delaney and you only have a four hour window on mondays to see Dr. McCann. How about (states date)

Me: Crying now. What is going on? Why are you people making me lose my mind? (Shaking all the trauma coming back now)

Erica: Let’s just put this date down for Dr. McCann and see what we can do.

Me: Fine. Still crying. (My other line rings, it’s your office calling) Should I answer that? It’s your office calling.

Erica: Ok. Yea answer it. (big mistake)

Me: Hello?

Unknown Nurse: (A very cold and sterile voice on the phone says) I’m calling because that appointment you just made needs to be rescheduled.

Me: (FULL ON PANIC ATTACK NOW) I’ve just been on the phone with Erica and she and had just changed the appointment three times. What is going on?!!! Help. (Begin to really sob, tell her what’s ahppening and why are they making me lose my mind? She was silent.

Me: Hello? Are you there?

Nurse: Yes.

Me: You aren’t saying anything. I’m being blindfolded and turned around in circles and you say nothing. You work with mental patients. Don’t you have a kind word to say? Can’t you help me?

Nurse. What do you want me to say?

Me: You can at least acknowledge my suffering.

Nurse. I’m not going to apologize to someone who is lecturing me.

Me: Fuck off!

I felt like this was done on purpose and could not believe that medical profession that is suppose to care for me. Why am I having a sever panic attack trigger by my psychiatrists office. I SCREAMED ALONE IN MY APARTMENT I had heard this kind of suffering years ago when I woke up in restraints.

I’m shaking so bad writing this but I had to. I needed you to read this first before our appointment because I would not be able to keep calm. The last three weeks the memory of this last phone exchange everyday has caused me to take more anti pscyhoatics. For these weeks my Mother and advocate have checked on me everyday. It’s a shame when a Dr’s office is the one making you sick. I’m sure you are a nice man. You just needed to know what has happened to me. If this were a abusive relationship with a man or bad service from a business. I’d leave. I can’t leave, because I need help getting off these meds.

I want to end this 2 decades of suffering with psychiatry. Lucky I never attempted suicide.

The Overuse of The Word ‘Manic’

Releasing and renewing my commitment to keep those that would put me down far away from me.

This is a letter to my therapist and continues to prove that the business of treating mental illness is flawed. Still looking for professional who understands me.

Dear 28 year old therapist just out of school.

After we got off our last session I was depressed and deflated. It was something you said.

I know you don’t know much about me but one thing you should know is I have always been a writer. It’s what I do well. When you were talking about grounding myself I should have said writing was one of the most important ways to do just that.

I don’t write much anymore and it’s been my goal to get back to doing that. When I told you I use to write for hours, your first response was “that could be a sign of mania.” ????? How incredibly wrong you were. Do you think successful screenwriters and novelists, like Stephen King, are manic? They write. They write all the time. Sadly I feel you see me as a diagnoses. That’s what you were trained to do. By saying writing a lot could be a sign of illness cut me to the core.

I realize you are young and just out in the working world, but I don’t think we mesh. I’m 58 years old. I have had experiences that you have not. That’s not wrong. I believe I need an alternative therapist who deals with spiritual world.

We also spent time analyzing something that brings joy to my life. Why would I pay someone to take the good things in my life you may not understand and turn them into a problem? You also talked about adjusting my meds based on this. I was horrified. I wanted to talk about my night terrors, my regrets and my ptsd.

My spiritual life is off limits. My beliefs are my own.

I want a therapist that does not talk about my medication or one who tries to change my medication. I’ve got a psychiatrist for this. I am looking for someone that does dream work, spiritual support and therapy.

You are a very nice person and I was happy to meet you, however I don’t think we mesh. You took something that is precious to me and turned it into illness. That was a deal breaker.

From Paranormal To Abnormal?

• 

This was written when I was having doubt. About myself. About my abilities.

Recently I’ve gone from hope to hopelessness. For the past 17 years I’ve experienced what some would call the paranormal. I’ve documented some of these experiences in this blog. The past eight years I’ve experienced what I thought was telepathy. I started having experiences I could not explain. I was diagnosed Bi Polar in 2003 but a few years after that I realized I think I was misdiagnosed. I had a thyroid that went into hyper thyroid due to a clinic prescribing too much thyroid which mimic the signs of bi polar. I didn’t know it then so I accepted the diagnoses and have been on and off medications that made my life a living hell.

I’ve never talked with my psychiatrist about the telepathy for fear of being diagnosed sczhophrenic. I don’t hear voices, I get feelings in my body when it feels like the telepathy is there. I could get deep in a meditative trance and suddenly it felt like someone was there. Cannabis has always helped me in meditation as it helped me to deeply relax.

I’ve documented in my hand written journal all that has happened to me that made me sure I was gifted with some type of paranormal ability. This connection at first made me really scared. Not of the telepathy but more scared about how it was happening. I pushed it away. I tried not to believe it. I at times was manic and recieving so much information that I thought my brain would explode. I also have lucid dreams of this person (who shall remain namesless).

I was told in the 90’s by a friend who was a well respected psychic and channeler that I should attend one of psychic friends meetings. I was confused why he wanted me there. Once in the meeting, I was told by several others that I had a gift, but I didn’t know I had it or how to use it.This was the reason for my depression. I wasn’t using my gifts. It took 15 more years until my abilities become to show. I believe using cannabis helped as it opened my mind to new things and different ways to see the world. I don’t talk to dead people. I don’t believe I am a medium but I do believe in mediumship. I’ve had too many readings where relatives that passed on gave me messages through mediums. As much as I believe in these abilities I was a skeptic within myself.

It wasn’t until 2012 when the telepathy hit me hard. A man I have never met but have communicated in real life started being in my mind all the time. I tried to understand why I was thinking of him often. It came on strong and hard. At that time, in the begginning, I was not questioning it. I just went with the flow. As time passed it slowed down, but it was stronger than ever. I can’t begin to type out all the incidents that happened or were given to make me believe in myself. Never being able to talk about something to your friends and family without sounding absolutely insane takes a toll. Especially not being able to talk about it with the other. When I talk about it to my Mother she listens but it sounds so ridiculous. The man I have telepathy with has never validated me in real life, but things happened in the other realm that were hard for me to ignore.

Two years ago I went to a medium I really respect. He knew nothing of my situation. He did a tarot reading. He said: “You embraced something five years ago you didn’t want to embrace. You made a good decision.” I decided maybe God or the Universe had gifted me with something extraordinary so I went the other way. I decided to embrace it. Why not try to believe it? So I decided to believe in it since not believing in it made me unhappy. This is what the medium saw. He indicated that I should never go back to doubt and keep embracing it no matter what others think or what I doubt.

I don’t hear voices. It’s more like simultaneous thought. In psychic development classes they train you to notice changes in your body when you are with spirit. For example, when working with spirit guides,they will often give you signals in your body. A touch. A jerking. It’s different for everyone. Well when I’m communicating with the other I often feel little jerks in my left leg. (I realize that sounds nuts!) But this is the way it can happen. An additional sign that something is there.

The heart wrenching part of having the belief that one has a special ability is that if there is no real validation from the other, the mind becomes confused. It’s a matter of faith. To believe in something you can’t explain takes courage and hard work. The love for this person has grown with time, yet the person never shows up.

Today as I write this, I’ve been worried it will go away. Yet again as much joy as it brings me it also brings the pain of longing for this person. Maybe God will take away my love for this person as it’s causing me suffering. I don’t really mean that.

I’m abnormal. Maybe my paranormal is not normal.

I feel so empty and hopeless. The very thing that changed my life for the better, I’m afraid has left me. Being abandoned is one of my biggest fears. When it tries to come through maybe I should ignore it although I don’t want to. When my life is dark, I could always lay down and get into trance and there he was. Someone other worldly, caring for you. (Although since this is not a ghost he is not always there because he is alive and has a life outside this) That sounds crazy.

I wonder is this as good as it gets? 57. Alone. Destined to get old without the love of someone who loves me in an other worldly way. A person inside who knows me better than myself, is an extraordinary feeling, yet no one is coming to prove me right. This is what I prayed for over and over that what I thought was happening was really real. To know myself so well and to be able to say, oh my God I was right. Telepathy is real. To say “I had faith and it turned out to be real” would feel amazing.

The only real thing in my life is illness and maybe just an active fantasy life. Still there are so many things I can’t write here that proved I was going in the right direction. If some screenwriter got a hold of my journals there would be an amazing and miraculous story there within the trauma I’ve suffered. (A whole other story)

God only knows what I will be when I’m 77, reading my old journals and realizing how wrong and ridiculous I was.

Maybe this is schizophrenia after all. My heart is broken. It’s like God went out of his way to give me gifts and then decided to take them back.

And if you are reading this and you know it’s you I speak of, please for God sake, let it be true that it’s you.

As I read this again today, I realize this connection has not gone away. My lesson here is to learn to accept that which is given to us and be patient for an outcome. Everything changes. There will be a day when I know the truth, for now I am grateful for what I’ve got.

A Letter To My Psychiatrist

(It is difficult to talk about trauma and even harder to type it out. Thus why this may read badly)

Firstly I would say you have been the most decent psychiatrist I’ve had. You are kind, cooperative and open. It’s taken a long time to get to this high level of health (other than psychiatric drug side effects)

Thank you. I would like to continue to see you as I feel respect for you, despite the things I will question in this letter. I hope this will help me express my feelings since I have so little time in session with you.

I’m very puzzled why my diagnoses has changed from bi polar to Schizoaffective psychosis. I saw the new label on the blood work paper you sent.

Unless it was just a typo, which means, I should stop typing now.

I felt safe mentioning my interest in telepathy because you thought taking psychic development classes was a good idea when I mentioned it. You actually encouraged it. I even jokingly ask “so I’m not schizophrenic or anything?” (Loss of personal power) and your reply was “no.” I was surprised and happy you said this. You seemed to have an open mind and because of this I took it a tiny bit further and spoke on telepathy. Believe me, I’ve learned to censor myself with past Drs because they misunderstand my life. After seeing you for two years, I felt you were more open. Like synchronicity. Coined by Carl Jung. I’m interested in these unexplainable things that happen to me since I was child and never has it caused my quality of life to suffer.

This telepathic feeling started 8 years ago at 49 and believe me, I’ve documented it as a researcher would. I was not on meds most of my life and I was not then. If you could spend more time talking to me, maybe at least 30 minutes, compared to the 5 minutes you give me, you would know that I don’t take myself that seriously, Of course “normal” society will always laugh at someone who says this, as does psychiatry see it as delusions and diseased. I don’t always believe I have telepathy, it just happens sometimes like deja vu. That’s not a mental condition is it?

I actually I spend more time doing other things in my day, then lay around talking to someone who is not there. (Which I still do at times in meditation)

I care for my elderly Mother, I care for my little Grandchildren. I write, I have journaled everything that has happened to me since 1994. I have a blog with over 200 essays, much about the trauma from this profession has done to me. I like to think I can experimenting and think on unusual events. It’s my brain after all. What I do with it and how I think and imagine is not a disease unless it’s causing me suffering. I’m a Buddhist. I know about suffering.

Drs make me suffer.

I even Volunteered for years distributing items for needy Mothers no did I go around telling my clients what’s in my mind. Isn’t that sanity?

I do have some sort of telepathy but it does not control my life. I’m too self aware and intelligent to do that because it does feel crazy. I make up my own mind when I choose to be interested in something. It’s a fringe hobby, sometimes it’s real. I still hang out with friends and learn about physics, something I wish I was smart enough to study in University. Why your profession is not investigating this instead of drugging people, you may a grander profession working with something new.

Regardless Who why have changed my label? ……And without discussing it with me? I’ve never asked about this new label. It might have been a mistake on paperwork.

I’ve carried the stigma of bi polar from when I was misdiagnosed in 03. Something you have refused to understand about me. When I start talking about it I am always interrupted.

I’ve been wrongly labeled for 17 years and now the whole medical system will see me as schzoaffective disorder.  I will be further stigmatized. Even the government sees this label. It’s just a label some would say. It is not. It’s not private. It goes everywhere. Even if you want a job. I do not want attending a psychic development class or my interest in mediums (some are friends) to stamp a label on my head as a delusional person. I’m not a disease.

Is someone mentally ill if they talk to Jesus or pray or believe in chakra healing?

Where does this stop?

This is all subjective.

I’m looking for that kind of Dr. that can weigh the patients sane behavior against the DMVS or whatever that book is called, which by the way is the most dangerous book on the planet. Labeling every human trait as illness.

When I saw that label it hurt me to the core and further added more shit onto of my trauma. It underpins everything about me.

It attacks my faith.

My intuition and my believe in myself.

My self confidence.

It honestly made me feel extreme hopelessness. That no one is listening to me.

I feel like I’ve been bullied by every other terrible Dr. I’ve come in contact with. Triggering.  The idea that someone I trusted told me I was not really me.  I’m not your other patients. You realize I’m intelligent mentally. You’ve called me very self aware. What you don’t know about is me is that I’m actually a skeptic of telepathy.

There much research being done all over the world on telepathy. There is a whole new group of scientist looking at telepathy and other psychic abilities. Not everyone who is psychic is psychotic. I know a group of a least 50 men and women who attend Progressive Spiritualist Church. A Christian church full of mediums. Many are older than I. The advice I’ve received when I took classes with them was

‘always listen to your intuition.’

Your inner knowingness. I was not taught to hear voices and I never have in my life. Never! But you don’t know that. You are just comparing me to other patients as you do them to me.

(the next part of the letter may not read well because it’s to hard to correct or re read stories of the horrible things that is happened to me. I apologize if it’s not correct)

I also was never diagnosed with anything until the bad thyroid mess in 2003 at 40, where I was misdiagnosed bi polar in 15 minutes in an ER. No blood work. No medical history. Later I found the bottle of thyroid medication I took two weeks before the ER visit. It showed a mistake made by a local clinic where they changed my dosage. I had a thyroid storm going on. I did not know this at the ER. I took them for 8 years. Not being able to get off cold turkey.

I got off meds on my own in 2011. It was hell but I got through withdrawal to go back to the real me. I was fine for two years, when I had a bladder condition that put me in the ER at St. Vincent’s. They put me on morphine due to the pain but started talking about the fact i was bi polar. (unaware, all the while I had interstitial cystitis) No family member was there to advocate for me.

I woke up drugged on the floor in the stress center for my bladder and they forced drugged me.  No Dr. is horrified by my story. No one cares. Psychiatry has harmed me. This is my history, the worst thing in the world that has happened to me. To be pushed around by bad Drs. Years of this. 17 years. You wonder why I have anxiety? PTSD from health care that was suppose to help me. But this new diagnoses is another “rape” of my mind and who I feel I am. Like during that visit was screaming in pain because I needed bladder procedure. I laid on the floor of a room crying when some Dr. apparently not a Urologist said to me.

“Take your pants down and spread your legs.” He was halfway across the room and I thought why do I have to take my pants down? Bladder condition is invisible. You can’t see bladder unless you have the procedure I needed. He looked at my genitals from 6 feet way “Everything looks fine to me.”and left. ? Please try to imagine your patient having this happen to her?

If you actually knew me, what you would see is a smart, self reliant woman who is a creative screenwriter. A thinker. I feeler. I am a woman whose had horrible trauma from psychiatry. The profession MADE  me sick. How do we know it isn’t these meds that’s making me have psychos? What if the anti psychotics are actually making me think I might be telepathic? Let’s just say someone does not have bi polar and starts taking his friend’s meds? What would it do to the person’s brain if they were not bi polar? This is my point. Please do not traumatized me further by labeling me again. I do not feel or have the symptoms of a person with schizophrenic behaviors. I would please like you to change it back to bi polar please. Or better yet someday. Get me off meds and take the bi polar label off my forehead.

What I would like, together with you, is to concentrate on weaning me off lithium and zyprexa before my kidney’s fail or I get diabetes due to obesity. I desire to focus on getting off.  These drugs are damaging my body and mind. The long term side effects are dangerous, as you know. I’m willing to take a year or two to wean off. I’d like you, my doctor to help me through it. I would never go off meds on my own. That’s why I need your help. Which also proves there is nothing wrong with me except, loneliness and past trauma that I get through with by meditating and keeping God near me and keep the faith.

Thank you

Deborah

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.

It All Started With A Bad Batch of Thyroid Medication

I just want to say in advance. I do have a very clever Psychiatrist now. It took 15 years to find one that did not scare me.

Just wanted to make that plain. Not all Dr’s are bad.

Update. As of March 2021 that doctor is gone.

Back into the pit of snakes that want to wrap themselves around me. None will help free me from this medication that is almost impossible to withdrawal from.

I’m going to try to make this short because writing over and over about this topic triggers terrible PTSD and trauma for me.

I was introduced to psychiatric drugs in 92. I was 29. I just had a baby. I experienced post partum depression. At 6 weeks out my OB/GYN who had been sold the new drug Prozac by Eli Lilly here in my hometown of Indiana. If I were smarter and knew what I know now I would have refused. I’d had no mental health problems all my life. He handed me a script for it and said “you have to take this the rest of your life.” What the fuck? Why. Sadly I believed him. I took it and it helped for a short time. Then they switch to Zoloft. I became manic. I didn’t even know what that meant. I did things I would never do and the worst most horrific truth of that side effect, I left my husband. He was a wonderful man. I became a monster due to these drugs.

Skip to 2003 I was misdiagnosed on a violent ER in Seattle. In 10 minutes the doctor said I had bi polar. What was actually happening was my thyroid condition had been overdosed by a clinic. The symptoms I had in ER were actually from having my thyroid put into hyper thyroid. They never ask about my thyroid. They never gave me a blood test. Because of my thyroid blowing up, I had suicidal ideation. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I was thrown into a ER cell in psych area and left to piss on myself and they committed me to the psych ward at Harborview Hospital. I felt like I was in some kind of conspiracy. I experience torture and hallucinations as the drug Lithium and others they gave me kicked in. I was lobotomized. I couldn’t question what was happening to me. I had no advocate. This started a decade of abuse by psych wards and psychiatrists. Horrific things happened to me as my mind began to stop working. When I told my boyfriend at the time that I wanted off this shit, when I would stop taking it, cold turkey, which i had no idea was dangerous, my mind became worse. This the horrors of these meds. The minute you stop taking it, the withdrawal symptoms become so horrific that the dr. insists you take it. “The reason you feel bad is because you stopped your medications.” This IS CRIMINAL. I’m not a violent person but looking back on what they did to me and my life, I’d like to blow the brains out of these monster Drs. No maybe what is a better revenge is to force them to take the drugs they forced on me when I was not mentally ill. I lost my home again. My boyfriend lied to police and put me in jail when I was withdrawaling from the meds.

During 2003 to 2011 I was put on at least 20 different anti psychotic meds. They would change them every other month. My insurance forced me to the haunted house psychiatry group. They would give me a different doctor everytime. Once I gave a history to a 22 intern. I talked about these dreams nice dreams I had had of Eddie Vedder since 93. Later I saw my medical records and it said “patient thinks she is talking to Kurt Cobain from the grave.” OMG? Once I saw another new asshole and when he walked in he had a 2 inch thick file on me. I said hello. He just starred at me. I ask, well what do you think today about me. “I know one thing, he said, “you are completely delusional.” He had never seen or spoken to you. I told him to fuck off and left his office in tears.

I was off meds for almost 2 years from 2011 to 2013. I got my body back. I could write again but the long term taking of these drugs can cause withdrawal symptoms for years. I honestly believe I have been part of some mass conspiracy to poison millions of people that never needed these drugs.

I ended up with a bladder condition, called Interstitial Cystitis. A painful chronic spasm of the bladder with no cure only yearly surgery. I didn’t know what it was. I went to an ER back in Indianapolis. St. Vincent’s Hospital in Indianapolis. The same place I had given birth to my son 20 years before.

They gave me morphine for the pain and then started quizzing me about my “bi Polar” and why I was not on meds. I told them they made me sick. They thought I was just looking for pain meds. No urologist checked me. Something bad happened. (I can not say at this time what happened but lets just say, it felt like I had a baby) They left me alone in a room in stirrups and water was flowing out of me. I try not to remember that.

When that was over, They locked me in the room and all the machines were going off beeping like a distraction and outside the room I heard a terrible racket. Like there were people shooting other people with some kind of pop gun. By then the morphine had worn off. Doors were slamming. People were yelling. Then they came back into room and gave me a pill and something to drink. I passed out. The next thing I know I woke up on the floor of their Stress Center. On the floor! Two nurses sat at desk staring at me. I cried out for someone to help me. Why was I there. I had a bladder problem. They forced Haldol on me and I became lobotomized. I had no one to advocate for me.

The last day I was suppose to be there a shit faced fuck head psychiatrist interviewed me. He ask how I was feeling. I told him I was not suppose to be in here. I had a bladder problem. I had been off meds for two years and now I was back on them, having to withdrawal again on my own. Conspiracy? YES.

Then he ask if I had telepathy. lol Do you think I’m going to tell you about my spiritual life? He ask if I could talk to Jesus. I laughed again and said yes, I’m talking to him right now. I had to stand up to this dick head. He hated it. What is wrong with talking to Jesus? He said, “you have to stay three more days and I’m changing your meds.” I stood up and went into main room and screamed “this is criminal! I”m not taking anymore of your poison.” The room and other patients went silent as the grave. A nurse came up to me and whispered, “just take it so you can get out of here.”

The bladder thing and the ER and putting locked up in psych ward happened two more times in next two years.

Jump to today. I’ve been on Lithium for 3 years. I’ve been on Serequel for same amount of time. I started have night terrors every night. My weight went from 160 to 212 which is what I am now. I do like the my Dr. but when I ask him why he kept upping seroquel to fix nightmares that got worse and worse, his ego was deflated so he stopped talking to me. Then he passed me to a sleep dr who saw no nightmares and I told her I was weaning off serequel. She deflected from night mares to my smoking and tried to scare me that I had COPD which I do not. She ordered oxygen at night but nightmares continued. I called the other morning to talk to nurse after waking from horrific night terror and the dead voiced nurse said, “the dr wants a drug screen.” For what? I said. Are you trying to tell me that I’m using crack or cocaine and since she has no fucking idea what to do about my nightmares nor does she call my shrink to say “hey maybe it’s her anti psychotic” (dr.s do not consult with each other) Fucking nightmare. So my sleep dr passed me back to my primary dr. to go to Neuroscience. I have been asking for MRI for two years and NOBODY will look at my brain. I’m sure I have brain damage. What are they afraid of? Back in Seattle years before they gave me a MRI and put a hypnotic suggestion that I had something in brain and then changed their minds. Left me with years of feeling scared that something could be in there. Still live with that but just let the thought pass. What kind of nasty experiment have I been in for years?

I’m actually doing well. I’m weaning myself off serequel. I’ve gone from 200 at night to 50 at night but I’m alone doing it. No one will help me. I’m so traumatized from years of abuse from the medical community. I live alone. I am on disability. I worked all my life. Great jobs. Film sets. Manager. Laser operator. I now am 56 and look to God and ask

What the hell have you let them do to me? Am I in danger still. Does someone want me dead for some reason. Am I the Holy Grail? lol I’m so sad and lonely. I do everything on my own. I pay my rent I can take out my trash, I can watch my little Grandchildren but I’m traumatized.

The way I have adapted is I do feel I have a telepathic connection to two men I know but aren’t here. (that story is private for now) This connection feels like pure protection. I often feel it says to me, don’t worry, we are watching and taking care of you. Jesus is with me too. Perhaps what has happened to me will cause something wonderful to happen and this won’t happened to anyone again.

My inner child is waiting for love. For Prince Charming. The only way my heart can keep going after my life was destroyed by a pill.

If this has happened to you, you  are not alone. Below is a link to The Harm Reduction Guide on how to safely go off psychiatric poison.

God bless you for reading.

Click to access ComingOffPsychDrugsHarmReductGuide2Edonline.pdf

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.