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Date: Wed Mar 1, 2000 4:54am Subject: Crying > Dear Ellie, > I just wondered about the redirecting - I've been doing it more but is it okay to be crying as well as the anger, as I seem to be more upset lately? I've been doing the redirecting in my head. So is crying just as much a release as the anger? The crying still happens automatically, and I still don't know why. If my partner asks me what is wrong, I honestly don't know. I just feel overwhelmed by "stuff" - emotions, feelings, the world, everything. Tina Dear Tina, There are two parts of the peripheral nervous system that are being cleared out in this recovery. One part, the sympathetic system involved with feelings of anger, and the other part, the parasympathetic system involved with feelings of grief. Crying is a part of releasing toxins from the brain and the parasympathetic nervous system, and is important to do. This is good news, even though it's hard to bear all these upsets. Usually anger is released first and then the feelings of grief, like the crying. But they can also be released together. It sounds like you are really doing the work and making progress since you are crying. Keep doing the redirecting mentally and cry too. Don't try to stop the crying...it will heal you. A good book is Cure by Crying by Thomas Stone. He recommends watching movies that make you cry. When you are post flood you will have normal expression of anger and tears when appropriate. Ellie
Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Wed Mar 1, 2000 8:18am Subject: Confrontation Dear Laura, I don't believe confrontation or telling someone the truth about their codependent behavior is ever hostile to them. It's tough love. Often they think it is hurtful and want to become the victim, but it is we who are the victims of that behavior and we need to have our anger. Confronting avoids resentment on our part, which we would have if we stuff our anger. Sometimes with my aunt I don't bother to confront her as long as I have my anger and mentally direct it to her. But I believe it's OK to confront directly if it's done calmly, which is easy to do when post flood. And I have found it can improve relationships and make them friendly, depending on how sick the person is. Ellie
I want to get to the point, I recognize what is being said and can relate back to the person just that, I want to be direction the spot, not days later, or years, I'm getting better. Sally I don't always do it on the spot either, and if I don't have my anger, then I'm going to bring back the toxicosis and could end up with resentment and other symptoms. Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Wed Mar 1, 2000 8:38am Subject: Re: Confrontation Ellie, regarding confrontation, sometime back I had problems with the newspaper lady, walking out on me when I'd tell her no about an ad, and I redirected til it was out, stemmed from my parents walking away all these years when I'd tell them no, ie. ,,my anger stemmed. Well, it appears this lady and I have 'bonded' or something, I find myself and her talking like chatter bugs, she no longer walks out of me, as I told her she does again, don't walk back in, anyway she is bowing down before me or something, just my friend, so confrontation can build, it that person wants it build and the other person will just go away anyway. Sally Thank you, yes, I've had similar experiences where being honest brings respect and a better relationship. I guess it depends on how healthy they are. And what is really nice is that I no longer attract sick abusive people in my life. Ellie 310 From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Thu Mar 2, 2000 4:32am Subject: No more mental illness > > hi I'm the one who wrote you asking about how to do this when you have a 3year old child, sorry I haven't got back to you its hard to find time to use the computer being a mom and all, thaannks for recommending the Tears and Tantrum's book, I really WANT TO GET IT, ACTUALLY I WAS ON HER SITE AND that's where I heard about you ,from a link I read the long and short article, that's why I'm here , I was totally interested in your theory, I've been looking for different ideas about these things I don't trust the modern ideas of "mental illness" or whatever what you've said in your article I really AGREE WITH,IM NOT IN THERAPY,I JUST DONT TRUST MOST THERAPY, me having a child myself I really don't want to screw him up the way alot of us have in this society, I love reading these every day its great, I want to write more and be more a part of things, I myself have had ocd and panic attacks and anxiety and depression actually, my twin sister has ocd too, I've been wanting to share with her also, you know a year and a half ago I had a nervous breakdown I got myself better but sometimes I have flare-ups and feel scared it will come back, I never want to go thru anything like that again, I notice when I read alot of mainstream ideas about these kinds of things I feel more scared and worse, thanks for this list, take care...Edith So glad you are here. I hope if a panic attack hits you can do some redirecting. Ellie 311 From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Thu Mar 2, 2000 4:50am Subject: Rejection > --I'm having a rough a.m. - awoke w/shakes, chills, 4 hrs sleep. The past 4 yr when I've been rejected this is what happens & I cannot be alone. But alas & alack I am alone. It will be interesting to see how I fair. Would you pray for me? Laura Insomnia, chills...all part of the detox process. I think rejection is the most painful, but also the most powerful healer if you can turn the hurt to anger and redirect to all past abusers who rejected you, especially your parents who gave you life and then rejected you emotionally. My scientific paper of the biology of all this was enthusiastically accepted by a journal and the editor invited me to speak at the International Convention along with Alice Miller. Then when he heard my story of recovery he rejected it. I think it was too confrontational to him personally. I was devastated but realized he had triggered my birth trauma, being given life and then rejected. I raged for several weeks on and off and redirected my rage to my parents. I had a fever of 104 for about a week during this final detox. This was what brought me to post flood. After that I never had any major moods swings again. Keep praying those fu prayers to all of them, and I'm praying with you. Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Thu Mar 2, 2000 8:54am Subject: Please read this if you are still in pain > Hi Ellie -- > Just a note to tell you that with my latest round of redirecting against recent abusers, I feel so much more grounded, and finally I think I am getting into a space where I'm not irritated with and resisting other co-dependents much at all. Am feeling this strong love and joy vibration that is really helping me to feel good around other people and a whole lot better about myself. I am starting to feel the music within me now, in a real way, beginning to come forth. I find myself composing music in my head all the time now, again, a lot more than in recent years, and I'm feeling not just a desire to play my music borne out of frustration and longing, but a feeling of enthusiasm and joy connected to it that has been missing for years. Will keep doing the daily redirecting-- I know I'm on the right track at last. I just needed to keep at it. The great thing about redirecting is, if you can get past the feeling that you're doing something "negative," doing the work will bring you to a place of such genuine contentment, tolerance and love-- eventually-- that you'll never regret the temporary anger and rage that brought you there. > Love, Shirley
Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Thu Mar 2, 2000 10:42am Subject: A good word for anger > Anger in itself not brought to the surface is anger locked inside, therefore the negativity one longs not to express or do, is what is inside and if not brought forth will destroy, so that in itself proves it is not a 'negative' action. It is like a balloon filled with acid, and you keep putting more of the same into it, it will explode and get everywhere, but if you put a little pin in it and let it drain slowly out, Sally I like the balloon image and it fits the physiology. Anger is a healthy God given emotion, but when repressed it becomes rage inside the balloon and unless we put that pin in and let it out, the balloon can explode and destroy us or others. This is the cause of war... when men and women with toxic minds get together. Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Thu Mar 2, 2000 10:45am Subject: Re: fever > I remember in the first part of redirecting some 15 years ago, I ran a low grade fever for almost a year, there was nothing physically wrong with me either. No low-grade infection just my body had a small fever, was quite frustrating, but then there was a day I dealt with a specific past thing that was affecting the present and the fever has never returned. Sally Fever is a healthy sign in detoxing. It's just the body revving up metabolism to help eliminate the toxins. Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Fri Mar 3, 2000 3:16am Subject: Numbness I go numb often, not feeling anything... or just having depression & being numb, which is what I think depression is for me anyway...it's a blobbing of feelings that I cannot access. The path of truth is not straight-like nature it wanders. love Laura Depression and numbness often follow the redirecting. You may even feel physical numbness in your limbs. It's a good sign you are releasing toxins. It will lift during the next detox crisis. Ellie
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Fri Mar 3, 2000 3:41am Subject: Feel good therapies Dear Ellie, I wanted to let you know that I am feeling somewhat better this morning. I had a real flood of emotions last night. I was in a lot of physical pain and wa-+s very frustrated and angry about it. I got mad at my kids because they kept demanding my attention and I was so worn out and then I felt guilty and sad because I felt that I was a bad mother, etc, etc. It all began to pile up and I kept trying to redirect it...I have had some intense depression since starting the redirecting and that is different and I almost welcome that because I know what is happening. I guess it is harder to see the gut pain as detoxing because it has been with me for so long. These physical problems have been with me in some form or another since I started my first intimate relationship in my twenties. The e-mail about the redirecting as a negative was helpful to me because I still have trouble thinking that it is okay to get angry and say negative things. That is why I get afraid and think that it will make things worse. I guess my mind has been filled with ideas about positive thinking and other religious ideas that seem to contradict what I'm doing now. I understand that its okay, it just never feels okay. Carol Dear Carol I'm glad you feel better, and yes, the depression and physical pain can get worse before it starts subsiding. It's a good sign that you are doing the work. And no mother is a bad mother, it's the sickness of not allowing children their anger that can hurt. I hope you can turn that guilt into anger and do some more redirecting. Even if you get mad at your kids, they will survive. It's not getting mad at them that hurts them. I'm sure that you, now knowing the truth, will let them have their justifiable anger back at you. Yes, it's only the rage that might be called 'negative' It's a misnomer, as Sally mentioned. And those 'feel good' therapies never worked for me. Now that my brain has detoxed, the power of positive thinking comes naturally. Ellie
318 From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Fri Mar 3, 2000 3:52am Subject: Current situations > Ellie, I just realized right this moment, I am angry with my employee, and haven't understood how it relates to any past anger, the ie. I'm angry with my say mother, but I won't say it, and will with present situational person. I am upset and angry as hell at my employee, and it just dawned on me why for sure, I'm ready to release it, I don't feel she is taking care of me properly, which is ie., not doing her job, which makes me have to work harder and get the stuff done. So simple now that I understand, I never felt my mother took good care of me, Can't wait to redirect this and be free from this anger I'm feeling. Something in this last post triggered my understanding. Now, I can go back to work with peace. And require my employee to do her responsibilities, and I don't have to double up and feel responsible for her lack of what I pay her for, Sally
> Last night I got my flutes and electronic equipment and stuff out and tried playing for a while. Even though I've been feeling some music coming back into my consciousness -- which has happened before, during the nine years of my "hiatus" from music-- I still have this awful sense of having lost something precious that I can never get back. I tried playing music last night. It sounds okay, but there is no substance behind it, and I just end up crying and feeling hopeless about it. Everything is different. It's hard to explain. It is partly related to a strong feeling I had that I was blessed for a period of my life when I was playing healing music for people, and after my experience with the Haitian voodoo person I was no longer deemed fit to do this work by the great Whatever. Many things happened at that period in my life that felt like I was being tested. Try as I may, I cannot shake this strong, strong, overpowering feeling that my music, which once was, to me, like being a channel for celestial harmonies, is now just ordinary. And when I face this realization that I'm on my own and my music is not going to be helped (I used to feel strongly guided and helped, and many magnificent opportunities and even free instruments, etc., were given), it is just too much. I am inconsolable and can't think of anything to make life worthwhile. I have shared this with a distant "healers" in the past, and eventually his response was to completely cut me off and ignore me. Love Shirely Perhaps there are two things going on. One is that the grieving you still need to feel and go through may be coloring how you feel about playing and I hear some self-criticism, ie anger turned inward that needs redirecting. Another thing might be that in time your creativity with music will take a very different tone, if that's the right word. Maybe wait a while before trying it again. I used to love to sing in church choirs, and felt very emotional with the music. I see now that the music was a means for me to release my pent up emotions. Think about the Beethoven's and others who used music as a release. I think a post flood Beethoven would compose more like Haydn. I hear he was fairly stable. After a while I became less interested in that kind of music and enjoyed singing the rather emotionless Gregorian Chant. Now when I turn on choir music, it grates on me and I find I turn it off. You wrote 'I was playing healing music for people' and it sounds like you were giving yourself and others a certain kind of music to help get the emotions out, or sometimes to sedate. I'll bet in time, especially when the grief is gone, that you will create and play in new ways that are more in harmony with joy and steadiness, and peace, and will appeal to the healthy people in this world. There is a real parallel with my creativity, which is in science. In the past I researched drugs to excite or sedate, now it is in a theory for the healthy. Ellie Hi Ellie - Your insights really, truly help, enormously. I get into these cycles of "!#*&!#&#!!" that come on very suddenly and go away a few hours later (usually after a night of sleeplessness with rapid heartbeat). Then I feel normal again. I have very little perspective on reality- at least about the specific things that are bothering me, not mundane reality- during these temporary upsets. Re. your suggestions about the music itself, I believe you're absolutely right, right, right! I have always been a very good improviser (smooth jazz, jazz-rock, Latin pop, Afro-pop- you name it; anything except blues or very cerebral jazz, just 'cause I don't like them much) and I get an electrifying response to it when people hear me jamming with a good group of musicians. I can usually improvise perfectly to any tune without a chart, once I've heard about 3 measures. Have done some studio work on other people's albums, etc., and in my younger years I performed in an avant-garde jazz group, a new age rock group (now famous), and a folk-rock duo. But I LOVE smooth jazz. I could be a female Kenny G. So why aren't I making money and having fun doing this thing that I'm really good at?! Yeah! (This is called a self-pep-talk. I KNOW I'm very good, but I don't USUALLY brag like this.) ;-) I have felt inspired to join or start a band in one or more of the above genres for awhile, but I know better than to do it yet. I'm hoping I'll be ready to get on with it maybe sometime this summer. This is real incentive to really get with the redirecting "program" and get better. Keep bragging, it's the hard earned self esteem you were born with, but which was stolen from you. Ellie --
From: Elnora Van Winkle> Date: Sun Mar 5, 2000 9:58am Subject: My story of recovery Some of you read the article I sent to Schizophrenia Bulletin. I sent it as a confrontation to psychiatrists, and it's no surprise it was rejected. I can see it is meant to go on one of my web sites, which I hope will be a way to reach patients still caught up in the abusive practices of some psychiatrists. If you want to read it, it's on: http://pages.nyu.edu/~er26/schiz.html Here is what I put at the end of the article. The editor of Schizophrenia Bulletin replied that he did not find the article suitable for publication in his journal. I hope that it served as a confrontation to this editor and his peer reviewers. Here is a quote from my paper, The toxic mind: the biology of mental illness and violence: Psychiatrist Judith Herman wrote: The mental health system is filled with survivors of prolonged, repeated childhood trauma. This is true even though most people who have been abused in childhood never come to psychiatric attention. To the extent that these people recover, they do so on their own. While only a small minority of survivors, usually those with the most severe abuse histories, eventually become psychiatric patients, many or even most psychiatric patients are survivors of child abuse. The data on this point are beyond contention. . . . Survivors of childhood abuse who become patients appear with a bewildering array of symptoms. . . . Perhaps the most impressive finding is the sheer length of the list of symptoms correlated with a history of childhood abuse. In a following sentence Judith Herman wrote: They become engaged in ongoing, destructive interactions, in which the medical or mental health system replicates the behavior of the abusive family. It is tragic that so many in the psychiatric profession are in denial about their own need for recovery. PS I'm attaching the full article here so it will also be in the Archives. The toxic mind: confessions of a schizophrenic
After spending years as a patient in psychiatric hospitals staring at one-way mirrors, I am delighted you have taken the mirrors down and invited us into your conference rooms. I am grateful for this opportunity to tell you my story. To you who so generously tried to help me when I came to you as a patient, I confess I did not really want your help. In truth I wanted to be mad--not 'mad' mad--but 'angry' mad. When abusive parents force their children to suppress justifiable anger, a toxicosis develops in the brain consisting of noradrenaline, adrenaline, and other neurochemicals that store repressed anger and grief. The excitatory nervous symptoms of most mental disorders are periodic detoxification crises, which are usually followed by depression (Van Winkle 2000). During these detoxification crises repressed anger--now rage--is released, and because neural pathways are clogged up where memories of early trauma are stored, the rage is often misdirected inward or toward others rather than toward the original abusers. Because neural pathways are askew, thinking becomes distorted and the mind is prone to fantasies, delusions, hallucinations, and psychoses. The afflicted person is likely to act in bizarre and unintended ways. But the symptoms, which are detoxification crises, are healing events. If the person can be guided to redirect anger toward all past abusers during these symptoms, the mind can heal. In "The Tell-Tale Heart," Edgar Allen Poe wrote that insanity is nothing more than an overactive nervous system. He intuitively knew that his character was driven mad by the same force that caused the loud beating of his own heart, an activity associated with anger and fear and accelerated by the release of toxic amounts of noradrenaline and adrenaline. What I want to show you is that the symptoms of my many psychiatric disorders were periodic detoxification crises. I further confess to you that I am playing amateur psychiatrist, have peeked at the DSM-III-R (American Psychiatric Association 1987), and sprinkled my story with parenthetical diagnoses. So unconsciously eager was I to be mad that psychiatrists found my symptoms listed in most of the three hundred or more disorders described in that manual. As explained by the toxic mind theory all the various nervous and mental disorders are manifestations of the same physiological process of detoxification, differing only because of the location of the toxicosis and the function of the area of the nervous system affected. As physiologist Herbert Shelton pointed out, "the brain can't vomit and the stomach can't become insane" (Shelton 1979). I was born in 1928 and grew up in an affluent suburb of New York City. My parents were outstanding members of the community, provided for their three children in every way, and taught us the kind of moral values that are supposedly the makings of decent human beings. A picture of me at two weeks showed a faint but sweet smile. From that time I tried never to smile again until I was in my sixties. My facial expression was one of fear and anger. Except for spankings and having my mouth washed out with soap at any attempts to vocalize anger, I was not physically abused. But I was left in my crib to 'cry it out' and listened to my father rage at my mother, brother, and sister. I learned from birth to suppress my justifiable anger. My mind was made toxic by the kind of moral upbringing Alice Miller calls 'poisonous pedagogy,' a tradition of child rearing that suppresses all feelings in the child and maintains the godlike position of the parents. When children are abused and forbidden to express their justifiable anger, "their feelings of anger, helplessness, despair, longing, anxiety, and pain will find expression in destructive acts against others (criminal behavior, mass murder) or against themselves (drug addiction, alcoholism, prostitution, psychic disorder, suicide) (Miller 1990)." The fantasies in which I lived for close to sixty years were unconscious attempts to recreate early traumas and provide a stage wherein I could redirect my anger toward my parents. I retreated into this fantasy world when I was four or five. Freud understood that fantasies and nightmares represented the release of emotions related to childhood trauma. What he did not realize was that these are detoxification crises during which toxic amounts of neurochemicals are released from neurons. Because neural pathways are clogged up and nerve impulses are diverted, and because of the way the brain stores experience as characteristics, the fantasies become distorted reenactments of the early trauma. The human brain is brilliantly designed to create inner dramas for the healing of the mind. But the brain cannot create new experience. Imagination is distorted memory. What the brain does is to put together new mosaics made up of bits of old experience. My first fantasies were in the form of play with a young friend. We used chessmen as people and small blocks to build our scenery. One drama was in a castle ruled by a tyrant king (my father), and we were the children acting out our indignation. The other scene was an orphan asylum. We built towers, each with a room on top where we were imprisoned by the wicked orphan asylum lady (my mother). We would call to each other and plan our escape and revenge. My mother got the gist of this play and forbid it. After that I was careful to keep my fantasy world a secret, but unconsciously I must have sensed that the schizophrenic world I had entered was my salvation. To maintain my fantasy world I was painfully shy, socially inept, and often mute (Elective Mutism). My mother said, "Why do you frown so?" and "Has the cat got your tongue?" I spent so much time daydreaming I was unable to concentrate. I could not ask for comfort from anyone (Autistic Disorder). I was very upset if any minor changes were made in my room. Because of an overactive sympathetic nervous system, which facilitates the detoxification process, I was always fidgeting, taping my fingers, and if I did something with my right hand I had to do it with my left hand (Tourette's Disorder). I loved to shake my head furiously from side to side and spin around (Autistic Disorder). Spinning is an ancient practice of Yogis and an instinctive detoxification technique. I often made funny faces. "Funny face" was one of my nicknames. I was extremely sensitive and nervous (Anxiety Disorder). I startled easily and became hyper-vigilant (Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, Overanxious Disorder). I was terrorized by the nights and continued to scream for my mother until I was a teenager (Separation Anxiety Disorder). I had terrible nightmares and was a sleep walker (Dream Anxiety Disorder, Sleepwalking Disorder). At the Chicago World's Fair I was taken to the top of a play mountain where there was a slide through a tunnel. My sister slid happily to the ground. I was so frightened and screamed so loudly I had to be carried down (Panic disorder, Agoraphobia). It was probably a reenactment of the birth experience, and I already knew I wasn't going to be welcomed in this world. My nicknames were "Scardy Cat" and "Cry Baby." I had to be coaxed, even bribed, to go to parties (Schizotypal Personality Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder). I was incapable of experiencing joy (Depression, Cyclothymia, Dysthymia). Sometimes my anger came through in real life as a temper tantrum or a hurtful attack on my sister (Intermittent Explosive Disorder). I became sulky and argumentative when asked to do something (Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder). My mother called my stubbornness a moral failing, and I became consumed with guilt as I turned the anger inward. Craving the stimulation needed to activate the nervous system and initiate a fight or flight response, I became attracted to some rather dangerous play. I liked to walk on a high railing over our concrete driveway, shoot pebbles from a slingshot at passing cars, and chase after fire engines (Attention-deficit Hyperactive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder). I had a compulsive need to start a fire by setting a match to a plastic toothbrush container (Conduct Disorder). In school I had a teacher who locked pupils in the closet for punishment, and I purposely acted up so she would put me there (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). This was an unconscious attempt to reenact the long forgotten prison of my crib, and I misdirected my anger toward the teacher who substituted for my mother. My fantasies became my bedtime happy hour and kept me up for hours (Primary Insomnia). In my teens I developed a tremor that lasted into my sixties (Parkinson's Disease). My mother dragged me to tea parties where my hands trembled so, the teacup rattled on the saucer. Summer camps in New England gave me an opportunity to put counselors into my fantasy world, and when I dared I would act out my fantasies. I knew they were creations of my mind, but I began to lose touch with reality in acting them out. There was a counselor who put campers who misbehaved on a small island in the lake. I made sure I was often there--another re-enactment of the crib experience. The counselors, who had wanted to award me 'best camper," were mystified by this erratic behavior from such a well-behaved camper and withheld the award. On the way to New England we drove north on the old Route 1 and passed by a large block of red brick buildings that I was told was an insane asylum. I saw people in bathrobes standing behind grim, dark porch screens. I was drawn to this place and began to daydream about being one of the inmates. I wanted to be mad and I wanted to be locked up. I continued to incorporate school activity into my fantasy world. Despite a higher than average I.Q., my communication and reading skills were poor, and it was only my perfectionism that got me through and even allowed me to graduate first in my high school class. My teachers became actors in my dramas. They became the inner voices who told me what to do, and I began to believe those inner voices. More and more I lost the ability to distinguish between my fantasy world and the real world. A favorite drama was about my high school math teacher, who was a tyrant like my father. In my mind I pretended I didn't know the answers so he would yell at me. My father had often quizzed us and would be angry if we didn't know the answers. In my fantasy world I could get mad back at this teacher, but in reality I was afraid of him and knew every answer. I was labeled "Mr. Miller's Answer Book," in my high school yearbook. I was terrified of social situations. I had one boy friend in high school--a disturbed young man who later committed suicide. My year older sister Joyce was outgoing and very popular, and while we were best friends, I was very jealous of her because she had always been my mother's favorite. When she was sixteen she went off to be a counselor at a summer camp on Cape Cod Bay. I had a letter from her about an exciting canoe trip on the bay and how the good looking coast guard boys rescued her during a storm. Shortly later a reporter from the New York Times told us my sister was missing in another storm. The camp had failed to notify us. My parents waited anxiously for three days, hoping for good news. But deep in my mind I had a murderous thought that maybe if Joyce died my mother would love me. Rather than be angry at my mother, I wanted to destroy my beautiful sister. She drowned. I not only lost my closest friend but my mother was never able to grieve that loss and expected me to take my sister's place and, in fact, to be my sister. There was no way I could meet this expectation, and I withdrew even more into my silent world. I went to an ivy league college where I had no special academic interests and never read a book from cover to cover except for Jane Eyre in which I could live out my fantasies. I spent the four years daydreaming. I recall trembling at the thought of having to make a short speech in a required speech class. The teacher said, "There's nothing wrong with the way you speak dear, you just never speak." My parents died when I was in my early twenties, and at that time I married the first young man who asked me. It was a brief and unsuccessful marriage. It was then that I stood trembling at the office door of my first psychiatrist. I confess I did want to be relieved of my terrible anxiety, but I also hoped he would find me insane. He told me I had an anxiety disorder and gave me some Milltown. I was disappointed with that minor diagnosis. Within a short time I landed in several small psychiatric hospitals, and then came the big time hospital in New York City--Bellevue! I was thrilled to be there. I loved that place and did everything possible to try to get them to put me on the most disturbed ward. After six weeks my doctor suggested I admit myself to a private psychiatric hospital in Westchester. I was immediately diagnosed as Schizophrenic, Undifferentiated Type, later changed to Paranoid Type. I see now that paranoia was a good device for starting a fight and getting my anger out. By now I had all the characteristic symptoms of schizophrenia--social withdrawal, deterioration in personal care, flat affect, delusions, paranoia, hallucinations, increased absorption in inner thoughts, impaired concentration, changeable behavior, lack of initiative, and so forth. You know them all. I was pleased they found me sick enough to give me shock treatments. Now that's a wish I regret. During one of the treatments-no anesthesia in those days-I didn't get the full amount of current, did not lose consciousness, and felt the agonizing pain of the electricity as it surged through every cell of my body. Specialists were called in. Not knowing how to relieve my terror, which lingered until my sixties, they sedated me heavily and put me in Room 1--the room for the most disturbed patient. I was finally back in the crib! I loved that room and stayed there for four years. It was the room with no furniture except a bed and a straight jacket thrown on the closet floor. I loved to rage against the tight linen sheets and scream for the nurses, thinking they would come and comfort me as my mother never did. But this was a delusion since my unconscious reason was to get the anger out. One time my psychiatrist, now a principle actor in my dramas, found me well enough to go downstairs for a session in his newly decorated office. He had a beautiful new picture window. "How do you like my new office?" he said. "Very nice," I replied, and I raised my arms as high as I could and put my two fists through the window with a force that smashed it to tiny splinters. I was never allowed to disturb my father in his office and here was a way to release my anger at that rejection. If the psychiatrist had allowed me to punch a punching bag and encouraged me to redirect my anger at my father I might have begun to heal. I am sure there are psychiatrists who help their patients redirect justifiable anger, but no psychiatrist in my forty years of psychiatric care ever suggested my illness was related to childhood trauma. After four years on the violent ward of that hospital I ran out of money and tried to get admitted to the state run Psychiatric Institute in New York City, but they would not take me-- poor prognosis they said. Generous relatives took me in for a while, but I soon landed in another psychiatric hospital where a nurse who was addicted to sedatives charted extra for me in order to get some for her self. I met her again a few weeks later in another hospital where she was now a patient. I was put in restraint, had seizures, and was rushed to a general hospital where I had a near death experience. While I was in restraint one of the nurses who was intuitive about my needs gave me a tray full of plastic cups to throw at the wall. If I had known to picture my parents on the wall I might have begun to heal. During the next twenty-five years I was given a variety of prescription drugs nonstop-- sometimes six at a time--and became addicted to sedatives. I was treated by many psychiatrists and hospitalized more than twenty times for periods of three to six months. Whenever I was in the hospital I wanted the bars up on my bed and as much restraint as possible. I unconsciously wanted to be in that crib and fight my way out. In between hospitalizations I worked in research laboratories, obtained a master's degree in biology, and published in the field of biological psychiatry. One of the laboratories was in a renovated kitchen at Bellevue just down the hall from where I had been as a patient, and was where we discovered a toxin in the urine of schizophrenic patients. This discovery provided the original evidence for the toxic mind theory. But I had little understanding of the research and was absent from work for long periods. My mental functioning slowly deteriorated, and at my last job I didn't know how to work a simple copy machine. I was eventually fired-tactfully let go on disability. At a court disability hearing the judge found me legally insane. I liked that judge. I was married to a compulsive gambler who took care of me in exchange for money. I became so phobic, I left the house only to see my psychiatrist. During those years I was rediagnosed many times. At one time when one of my psychiatrists was giving me a note to be released from jury duty, he pulled out the DSM and with a smile said, "Which diagnosis would you like?" Finally my psychiatrist recognized I was headed for the dreaded tardive dyskinesia since I had been on Thorazine nonstop for thirty years. I was taken off all medication. Unable to function at all I sat cross-legged on my bed in a state of terror interrupted only by periods of suicidal depression. It was then that I entered my last psychiatric hospital. A moment I will never forget was when half a dozen doctors stood by my bed and I was told I was not a schizophrenic after all. They said I had a Major Depressive Disorder. I was a bit disappointed. I still wanted to be insane, but my cortisol suppression test was about as abnormal as it could get and I liked that. I recall looking fearfully at all those doctors in white coats and giving the classic response, "there's really nothing wrong with me," and under my breath I muttered what I thought was the truth...."I made it all up." This was the most grandiose of all my delusions. It was true I created the daydreams but no one can consciously make up the terrifying symptoms of madness, the wild ramblings of a fearful and insane mind living in a cruel and agonizing world of unreality, not knowing that this was an opportunity to heal. If only someone had told me the truth--that if I redirected my rage during that madness my suffering would end and I would find the peace and joy that was my birth heritage. I was sent home cured on an antidepressant. I had learned to string beads in the hospital, so I made beaded necklaces and tried to sell them to my druggist. He wasn't interested. I also bought lots of paper cups, filled them with dirt, put a seed in each, and those that sprouted I tried to sell on the street corner. I got a non paying job with the Electrolux vacuum people and pushed postcards under doors all over the city. I tried to sell a vacuum cleaner to my psychiatrist--no sale. I volunteered at my church where I became a compulsive cleaning lady. I spent two weeks scrubbing the underneath sides of all the pews. I had the beginnings of Alzheimer's disease and had to write down every instruction they gave me at the church. Finally I got a paying job cleaning a psychiatrist's office. For fifteen dollars a week his office never got so clean. I even washed his windows on the outside. His office was on the thirtieth floor. My husband made a prophetic remark around this time. "Why don't you clean out your mind instead?" My psychiatrist rediagnosed me as manic-depressive. Eventually I joined AA, where my dependency on drugs shifted to increased codependency on people, and looking back to my years in AA I see that I was not restored to sanity. I was still delusional. I thought the twelve steps had something to do with the twelve days of Christmas and my slightly protruding belly might be a sign I was pregnant with John the Baptist. They told me in AA to do something nice for someone everyday without getting caught. So I took a plastic bag full of cleaning supplies and went to meetings all around the city. During the talks I slipped out, went to the ladies room, and cleaned the sinks and toilets. I believed this would be my life's work, and someday I would clean the pearly gates of heaven. But in AA I heard thousands of stories like mine with different scenarios, and I began to realize I was not unique. I went to meetings for Adult Children of Alcoholics and then attended a one week residential program at the Caron Family Services in Wernersville, PA called "Co-Dependency Treatment For Adult Children From Dysfunctional Families." In experiential therapy I learned to redirect my anger toward my parents. I adopted a diet of natural foods that helped me detoxify my body from years of bad food, drugs, and the endogenous toxins that still clogged the neurons in my brain. Once a disheveled woman afraid to speak to more than one person at a time or walk around the block by myself, my sanity slowly returned and I began to emerge as a rational human being. As my mind cleared I was able to correlate my recovery with the well established concept of toxicosis as the source of symptoms of most physical disorders. Looking back on my years of research in biological psychiatry and the work of other neuroscientists, I easily made the final correlation with catecholamine metabolism and developed the toxic mind theory of mental illness and violence. A year long search of the scientific literature brought no evidence that did not support the theory. The self-therapy based on this discovery brought my remaining symptoms swiftly to an end. This self-therapy is on the Internet in many languages, and persons from around the world with differently diagnosed disorders have reached virtually full and permanent recovery in periods from a few months to a year or so. The article in pamphlet form has been sent to all prisons in most countries of the world and is being distributed to the homeless in the USA. Perhaps a homeless person sits on the very same bed where I sat fifty years ago--those iron beds would last a lifetime--and is being helped by this discovery. And now I stand again at your office door s with no trembling, and this time I ask for your help without reservation. I ask you to read my article about this discovery of the biological basis for mental illness (Van Winkle 2000) and to study the self-therapy (Van Winkle 1999), and that you offer this way of healing to those still trapped in the terrifying world of insanity. If you are among the rare who do not suffer from co-dependency you will understand the need to give this gift of self therapy to your patients. I must tell you that most of my relationships with psychiatrists were co-dependencies--transference and counter-transference I think you call it. If you find this article confrontational I hope it will trigger your personal recovery and bring you the indescribable joy that will come when you can bring another human being out of the torture of madness References American Psychiatric Association, APA. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3rd ed. revised (DSM-III-R). Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Association, 1987. Miller, A. For Your Own Good: Hidden Cruelty in Child-Rearing and the Roots of Violence. New York: The Noonday Press, 1990. Shelton, H.M. Human Life: Its Philosophy and Laws: An Exposition of the Principles and Practices of Orthopathy. Mokelumne Hill: Health Research, 1979. Van Winkle, E. http://home.earthlink.net/~clearpathway, http://www.geocities.com/HotSprings/Sauna/2579, http://pages.nyu.edu/~er26, 1999. Van Winkle, E. The toxic mind: the biology of mental illness and violence. Medical Hypotheses, 54 (1): 146-156, 2000 The Author Elnora Van Winkle is a graduate of Wellesley College and holds a master's degree in biology from New York University. She is a retired neurophysiologist with many research publications in biological psychiatry. She began her research at the Rockefeller University in 1950, and from 1961 to 1980 was on the staff and faculty at Millhauser Laboratories in the Department of Psychiatry at New York University School of Medicine. The editor of Schizophrenia Bulletin replied that he did not find the article suitable for publication in his journal. I hope that it served as a confrontation to this editor and his peer reviewers. Here is a quote from my paper, The toxic mind: the biology of mental illness and violence: Psychiatrist Judith Herman wrote: The mental health system is filled with survivors of prolonged, repeated childhood trauma. This is true even though most people who have been abused in childhood never come to psychiatric attention. To the extent that these people recover, they do so on their own. While only a small minority of survivors, usually those with the most severe abuse histories, eventually become psychiatric patients, many or even most psychiatric patients are survivors of child abuse. The data on this point are beyond contention. . . . Survivors of childhood abuse who become patients appear with a bewildering array of symptoms. . . . Perhaps the most impressive finding is the sheer length of the list of symptoms correlated with a history of childhood abuse. In a following sentence Judith Herman wrote: They become engaged in ongoing, destructive interactions, in which the medical or mental health system replicates the behavior of the abusive family. It is tragic that so many in the psychiatric profession are in denial about their own need for recovery. Yüklə 5,47 Mb. Dostları ilə paylaş:
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