Quantum Biology and Hallucinations

I was on a TED talk binge this morning, and I watched Jim Al-Khalili talk about Quantum Biology. Although this is regarded as a relatively new field, it’s not. It’s been around since the 30’s/40’s and was really contemplated within Schrodinger’s book “What is life”.

Essentially Quantum Biology is the study of quantum properties acting within biological systems, like cells. Al-Khalili gave a pretty good summary of the way we have already provided some evidence of this, like the Robin which uses particles that are Quantum entangled in their retina to sense the magnetic poles around the earth–this is how they know which direction to fly during migration. I think this study is the most well known one. The other has to do with Quantum tunneling.

Quantum tunneling is this:

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Basically, a particle has the ability to pass through a physical barrier. This has been shown to be a process within the sun and is a prime occurrence in nuclear fusion, but it has also been shown to occur within enzyme processes. Enzymes are those little guys that help with digestion and metabolism. They keep processes speedy and accurate. It only makes sense that they would evolve a quantum process to help them keep up speed.

If you would like to watch the video and get a better summary/explanation than this, here is the link to Khalili’s Ted Talk. 

What I find so fascinating about this besides the quantum element is what it could mean were we to ever really understand what we’re seeing. Especially what it could mean for medicine. Could you imagine understanding the real quantum process within an enzyme that has been infected with a Cancer?

We’d obviously be dealing with a lot probability and uncertainty, but I think we’d have a greater chance at really understanding what’s going on with diseases like that were we to have somewhat of a better understanding of the process it goes through, and the processes it disrupts. I’m no doctor, and I’m certainly no physicist yet, but I do pride myself on being pretty logical and philosophical and there are a lot of ideas that come to mind when I watch videos like this.

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There are a few more lectures on YouTube about Quantum Tunneling if you’re interested. When I was in high school I got interested in physics and picked up a bunch of books on the subject. This was before I understood an ounce of math, so I didn’t really get that part of things, but I understood the theories. You don’t have to go to college to learn this kind of stuff if you’re dedicated.

Now that I have taken some physics classes, things are even more clearer. So, honestly, had I not read those books I did in high school, I probably would have had a much rougher time in the classes, and I still had a pretty rough time. Too much group work. I can’t group-think. I have to individual-think.

I think the point in all of this is don’t believe everything you see.

There are so many things out in this universe that we don’t understand.

I was listening to another Ted talk from a man talking about how consciousness is basically all of us hallucinating but agreeing on the hallucinations: that’s what we call reality. He said that the brain uses more information that it’s already gathered about the world to show you what you see, rather than actually seeing what’s in front of you, and therefore what we see and experience are kind of like “controlled” hallucinations. This got me thinking, as he mentioned psychosis and other altered states could then be considered “uncontrolled perceptions”. But because he is assuming that all perception comes from something we’ve already perceived, then what is it that the brain has perceived that makes some people see/hear demons, as yours truly does? What is it in this world, outside of our physical realm, that our brains can sense that we can’t?

You can watch that video here.

Consciousness and the world of quantum mechanics is so convoluted and complicated that anyone who claims to really understand any of it is certainly a liar. Anyone who claims they understand the process of hallucinations is also a liar.

Just food for thought: today’s mental truth.

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Eloquence

So yesterday I was casually reading an article on schizophrenia and how the cortical thickness seen in the condition is directly related to duration and dosage of antipsychotic medication rather than the progression of a “disease”, and my cat started meowing. Nothing out of the ordinary really. A little spider scurried across the couch arm and I smashed it because I fucking hate spiders (sorry Buddhists, and sorry if there are any spiders from the spider dimension reading this, please don’t come and eat me) and I moved to the other side of the couch so that if there were any more spiders they wouldn’t come near me and I could see them coming. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.

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The only thing out of the ordinary is how content I felt with it all. My cat, the spider, the idea of a spider dimension, the article I was reading–well, I wasn’t really content with that, because that just pisses me off, but you get the point. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t sad, I just was, and that’s a beautiful thing.

I was talking to someone about how uncomfortable being content has been for me lately, because I’m so used to feeling depressed or suspicious about something or other, sometimes about nothing at all. Sometimes I’ll just sit in a depressed, suspicious heap and not understand an ounce where it’s coming from. But lately, besides crippling anxiety, I’ve felt okay. I’ve been pouring my heart out into some poetry, which is something I’ve never really done before, and I’m considering grouping them all together into a collection. I’ve personally never liked poetry, or written a lot of it, but lately I’ve realized how similar it is to writing a story, only the language and metaphors and similes are done in an equally beautiful way.

I’ve also started comparing psychosis, mine at least, to poetry. And I’ll explain that at a later date, as soon as I figure out exactly how to do that.

I think I wrote in a different post about contentment, but there was a lack of feeling in it because I hadn’t got into my groove yet. Now I’m back in my groove and finding my voice again, so I can talk fucking eloquently about my experiences. Are you ready, kids?

Fuck depression.

That’s eloquent, right?

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I don’t know if my psychosis is related to my depression, it very well could be, but it seems to be more consistent across the board than the depression, so it might not be. We’ll see what the psychiatrist says on our next visit: I would like her to tell me what she’s diagnosing me with, besides PTSD which was already established. I don’t want to have to sneak a look on her computer like I had to with the county psychiatrist. Did I tell you all about that? She wouldn’t tell me shit, so when she left the room I sat in her chair and read all the notes she wrote about me, from the “denial” of substance use, to the “ruling out” of schizophrenia. If you’re wondering how I didn’t get caught, it’s because she was wearing heels and walking back and forth across tile. I knew when she was leaving and when she was coming back. She had diagnosed me with Psychosis NOS and Depression and GAD. My current psychiatrist has since wiped that all off the table and added PTSD as a for-sure diagnosis.

And this is why I am not someone who advocates that people need to be diagnosed. It’s just a bunch of back and forth malarkey. Everything overlaps each other so frequently there’s no telling if what you’ve been diagnosed with is even accurate. So you end up with a list of diagnoses and a list of medications and you’re wondering who you are, why you’re so fucked up, and yada, yada. Why go through all that trouble? Why not just be told you’re struggling and these are a list of options to help you through that struggle?

Seems a lot easier and less damaging to me.

I also recognize that for some people a diagnosis really does solidify things for them.

And if that’s the case for you, be proud of it and own it.

You’re unique.

 

 

Finally.

I think I pinpointed one of my major problems today.

As I was driving home, listening to SAD by XXXTentaction for whatever reason (shut up), one of his lines caught my attention. It goes:

maxresdefault“Who am I?”

“Someone that’s afraid to let go” (Should be WHO’S afraid to let go, but I let him slip since he got shot and killed)

“You decide”

“If you ever gunna let me know”

“Suicide”

“If you ever try to let go”

“I’m sad I know, yeah, I’m sad I know yeah.”

Not the deepest lyrics in the world, but to me they hit a chord, particularly the “I’m sad, I know yeah” portion. I think denial has been an issue of mine for a long time now. Through the entire three years that I’ve been blogging on this account, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this. And it’s hard to write about something I haven’t already mentioned on this fucking blog.

But I think I denied how “Sad” I really was for some years now. I played it off so well that I convinced myself nothing was going on. So when I got extremely low, I broke. Then I repaired myself, denied it ever happened, and waited until the next break. I think that’s where portions of my psychosis comes from.

Which is another weird thing to say: “my psychosis”.

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For a long time I denied that as well. And it wasn’t always just because I actually believed the delusions and such. It was also because I just didn’t think there was anything wrong with me. Regardless of the thoughts or any voices, I just didn’t think anything was wrong. I was suffering, and refused to believe anything was going on. I don’t understand how a brain can do that. I just don’t. I don’t because I was aware of everything so vividly. And yet I was so distant from it all.

It feels vindicating to say those few words “I’m sad I know yeah, I’m sad I know yeah”.

I also think I denied the psychosis because it wasn’t “as bad” as other people. I didn’t end up involuntary because of paranoia until I threatened to kill myself over it, so it’s not like I was found running naked down the street screaming about aliens. No, I kept my naked, screaming self hidden within the back of my mind and suffered that way. If there’s no such thing as a quiet psychosis, I’ve just invented it.

I’ve invented quiet everything, trust me. Quiet rage, quiet happiness, quiet sadness, quiet psychosis, it’s copyright. Don’t steal it. The only exception is “quiet borderline” which is already a thing so I can’t steal it. Fuck whoever coined that term. That’s MY term.

I feel like I’m starting to get back into this writing groove. This is nice.

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Anyway, my point is I feel like I’m getting my brain back, my motivation, my determination, and my passion. I also feel like I’ve learned so much about myself over these last three years that I’m really thankful for every bit of the experience, even the times that have been roughest I’ve ever been through.

It’s been the first time I’ve spoken in therapy about my delusions. I call them that, but at the same time I still kind of believe them. So I don’t really know how to deal with that. I guess I can say that everyone else calls them delusions, I just call them reality. But regardless, I’m talking about them, and it feels good to have a therapist who isn’t judging what I’m saying. She may talk like a speed demon, but her words are valid and kind. So far.

I’ve also been recognizing when my perception of others is getting in the way of me seeing their true self. That’s a whole other can of worms to open.

I think that’s enough for now.

Own up to what you deal with. You don’t have to believe you’re crazy. You don’t have to believe you’re delusional or psychotic or any of those things. Just know you’re struggling, and start to get okay with that, or you’ll never be okay with it. And that’s today’s mental truth.

Psychosis, the poem

Under the tree that whistles

lies a sharp and pointed thistle,

that pokes and prods

whenever I intend to leave this little spot under the whistling tree.

A bunny hops,

with four eyes and two legs,

and I poke it with a peg,

to shoo it away.

I hear you call my name

as a hundred others do,

and I hear curses whispered,

apparently from me to you.

They say I’ve infected you, injected you,

and I must run away,

but how do I do so under this whistling tree today?

They get louder and louder and I don’t know what to do

so I get up and run, I run right past you.

I’m in danger, can’t you see?

My shadow senses it and bolts ahead of me,

leaving me unprotected.

I stop and shiver, cry and quiver,

as I lose myself within the night.

There’s no coming back and you’ve gone,

I’ve gone,

and the whistling tree seeks revenge.

I go roughly into that good night,

beaten and scarred,

feathered and tarred,

and you are there beneath the whistling tree with angel wings

out of my reach.

I lay on the ground beneath the spotlight

curled with my knees to my chest,

my best defense

against the dark arts.

You fly to heaven and I am alone, truly alone,

comforted by the whistling tree.

 

I think what’s ironic about this poem is that, to me, my experience with psychosis has been poetry. It’s been a beautiful, terrifying, cold dance with the devil who is, as he is in the Bible, an angel.

Happy Anniversary

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Yesterday was my 3 year anniversary on WordPress, according to WordPress. I’d like to take a look through all the crazy shit that’s been posted on this site for the last three years. Let’s start at the beginning.

I think one of my favorite posts from 2015 has got to be when I compared Neurological disorders and diseases to mental health issues, because there’s this weird idea going around that mental health issues are “diseases”. There was an article I came across trying to convince people that all mental health issues are also neurological diseases and disorders. And I, well, had a field day with that. You can read it here. And if you’re curious about this subject, there’s more on it here.

My greatest issue with that debate is that there hasn’t been an ounce of verifiable, or valid biological evidence that mental health issues are one hundred percent, well, biological. The majority of the research done on people struggling are done after they’ve been taking psychiatric medication for years. And the genetic component in relation to mental health issues are grossly exaggerated, especially considering the new research out that shows genetics contribute loosely to our health when considered to environmental factors.

I’m not one to argue all psychiatric research is false, I believe genes do play a very, very small roll. But I’m also aware that a lot of research is biased, and the results are manipulated to sound good for the public and the FDA. The truth will come out.

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In 2016 I continued my rants. A good piece of memorabilia from then would certainly be the post I did on IPS (Intentional Peer Support) the first time I took the training for my current job. You can read about IPS here. This training humbled me as a person, as a mental health consumer, and as a mental health worker. This was the beginning of my transformation from lonely, depressed, arrogant, and hopeless to whatever it is I am now. I’m certainly happier, I’m not arrogant, and I’ve got a lot of hope for my future. I owe this attitude adjustment, in part, to peer support and IPS, certainly.

In 2017 I wrote a lot about my job, and how it was changing me, humbling me, how much I respected the people I worked with, and how I was published on Mad in America. One of my favorite posts that I wrote back then was about when I found out what was really in my food. You can read that here. It’s about science, Popsicles and what I thought was in those Popsicles.

If you’re new to this blog, or you haven’t read it in a while, I’d suggest getting the back story on why it’s taken me so long to get back into the writing mode. I’m going to start posting creative writings on here more often, just little blurbs of creativity that can get the brain stirring and maybe some philosophical juices flowing in all of us.

pirates_ship_logoI have an account on Booksie that you can check out here, under the name Impulsively Penned. Most of the things I write are rather impulsive, and most of them are penned upon paper and then typed into a computer, so I figured the name suited me well. You’ll find short stories, some poems, a one-act play I wrote in a fiction class a few years ago, and even an excerpt from a novel I’ve been working on–the very beginning of it at least. I’m always looking for new readers with new opinions and constructive criticisms, so I fully welcome you to visit and leave comments there, or visit here and leave comments here. It would be great to get some new perspectives.

Wishing everyone well.

 

Unveiled

It’s not often I share a portion of my creative writing on this blog, but I feel like I might as well, it might help me get back in the groove of writing. I also don’t write poems often, nor do I ever follow any forms of poetry when I do write them (so cut me some slack on that, poetry fanatics) but here’s a poem I wrote last night just freely, without restriction or editing. I posted it on Booksie, along with the one following it, but would like to put it here as well. I’m changing the title to: “Veiled”

 

Unveiled,

The truth has thorns,

and the darkness has arms;

happiness lies, and anger explodes.

We move along this common ground,

you and I,

a soup of emotions, ready to blow.

The nature of progression pushes us forward;

we move silently through strife,

and why, who knows.

Plant our feet carefully between mines

we know are there yet we cannot see,

and be, we try, with ourselves,

however bitter that may seem.

We come across a stream that flows free,

how we wish we could be,

blue, crisp, and clear,

with a purpose dear,

to this Earth,

and we envy the stream.

But free we are in the mind and heart,

as the stream can never be,

rejoice, I say, for we are unique.

Unveiled,

the darkness has arms,

and we have voice.

 

This one is entitled “Freedom”. 

 

A renewing of strength,

I stretch my fingers, crack my neck,

I feel I haven’t lived for years.

 

The sun shines bright, an orange morning light,

and I wonder how long this will last,

this time I know this is real.

 

Birds chirp their welcome songs,

trees dance in the breeze,

and I observe it all,

a caged bird now freed.

 

A renewing of strength,

this feels contagious,

a bubbling pot on the stove not contained by any lid,

a new homeostasis.

 

This is freedom

in its purest form,

a feeling unmatched by others,

but envied by them.

Extravagant and glorious,

it makes you harmonious

with the past,

present,

and future.

A trick only freedom can do,

this renewal of strength.

 

Let me know what you think.

Reaching Contentment

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Where are you in your journey?

I feel like I spent a lot of time confused. If any of you are reading from the past, you’ll remember all the posts I made while I was in classes, about annoying girls flipping their hair right in my face and Calculus tests and writing workshops. You might even remember that I started dropping classes like flies. Now I’m trying to work on getting back into my classes so I can finish this puny fucking degree.

I’ve always liked school, and I’ve always been rather smart. There were some things I had to work at harder than others, but a lot of that was chalked up to my anxiety and inability to raise my hand and ask for clarification when I needed it–everyone needs clarification sometimes, I don’t care how smart you are. And if you are unable to get that small little aide, you start falling behind. And that’s exactly what I did. That’s exactly what I’m still doing.

Where am I in my journey–I’m not quite sure. I still feel a little lost and a little confused, but I feel like the directions are becoming clearer. I feel like I’m not longer standing at a fifty pronged fork in the road, I feel like I’ve narrowed it down to about 4 prongs.

I will be attending some classes again this semester, but I feel more ready for them, more so than I have in the last couple years. It’s going to feel a little strange being back in the classroom and as I watch my cat jump atop the fridge to get atop the kitchen cabinets, I realize that I have to do the same thing she does: calculate how far I can really leap, and what my limits are. I can’t just be jumping aimlessly. I need to jump with a purpose. That’s the only way to keep what little motivation I have left steady.

Life is such a great learning experience, I’ve learned to appreciate so much over the last three years. I’ve learned to appreciate myself most of all, and the shit I’ve put up with.

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I think what has made this experience one of the best experiences is that I’ve really learned how to feel my feelings. I was talking the other day with someone about how content I was, and how that feeling has been harder to learn to accept than the negative emotions. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m content. I don’t have to fight with my brain, I don’t have to practice breathing because I’m not anxious, I’m not hearing voices or seeing demons, I’m not suicidal, I’m just kind of sitting in my house content with where I am in the moment. And that’s a new feeling. As with all new feelings, they take some time getting used to.

My intention was to pinpoint ways to become content like this, but I’m not sure if I can put it into steps or even words. I’m still expanding my support force, both with peers and in the professional world, and I’ve dropped a lot of pride. I’m still morally against taking psychiatric medication, but I came to the realization that as a temporary tool they can be useful. I’ve decided to give it a year or two, see how much progress I can make, see what skills I can learn to curb my experiences, and re-evaluate at that point. It felt like a defeat. It will always feel like a defeat.

My cat is scratching to the beat of Chop Suey by System of a Down. THAT was hilarious.

I think I introduced my cat to everyone 2 years ago when I got her, and I said I’d named her Andromeda. That was a lie. I have since named her Jazz. She likes Jazz music and is wild like Jazz can be, and smooth and calm like Jazz can be. Therefore, her name is Jazz and it will forever be Jazz. Here is Jazz now:

 

Jazz Photo
She’s gotten much bigger
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This was her 2 years ago

Now she lays on her back and watches Television. ‘MERICAN Cat.

My posts are going to be haphazard like this until I get back into my writing groove. There is a groove, believe it or not, that writers get into. Some people are content with spewing the first thought from their head, and that is their groove. I do most of my deep thinking when I’m writing, so a lot of these thoughts are carefully calculated in my head as I type. Nothing is too spontaneous. I edit and edit and edit and take what I say very seriously, even when I’m joking about Ben Carson lying about his times at Yale. Carson could never be a good manipulator of the masses, he lies too blatantly. You have to lie subtly, with the intent to make the lie sound real. Nothing he said sounded real. I think he needs to operate on his own brain.

I will forever rip him, Trump, and Alex Gorskey a new one at any chance I get. One day I hope at least one of them will read some of the things I’ve said about them. I will be content on my death bed if that is the case.

Throwing Shade.

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The Nature Of Progression

It’s weird coming out of this writer’s block. I feel that I have so much to say and yet somehow have forgotten how to say it.

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Before the brain fog hit terribly, and I was still blogging on here, I talked about a class I was taking, a Native American literature class and how the material really spoke to me. I also talked about how there was a girl in my class who I was sure was so jealous of me that she was turning the professor and my classmates against me, and conspiring to get this blog taken down–like I said, it was right before the brain fog settled in.

I’m sitting here tonight thinking about where my journey had brought me so far. I think it’s brought me to a much better understanding of myself, of how I fit in this world, of where I can go. I manage to plow through a speech yesterday, something I promised myself I’d never do again, and felt okay about it–better than I usually feel about something like that. It was the first time I could speak in front of a decent group of people and NOT forget everything I was supposed to say because of anxiety.

And tonight I opened up a book I got from that Native American professor and the first passage entitled “The Nature of Progression” touched me suddenly and deeply.

“There’s a gyroscope inside the body, whose electro-magnetic fingers reach out to touch the facets we call spirit, mind, and emotion. It builds a progression that’s always seeking to occur, always moving, always bringing us to balance, despite our confusion, our camouflage, our sabotage.”

That’s described my experience over the last 3 years perfectly. I felt I was always losing control, always bouncing off the rails, and yet there was another force within me fighting for balance. I knew where I needed to return, I just didn’t know how.

And I think that’s a struggle for a lot of us dealing with our mental health. We have a vision of where we want to be, how we want to be, but we’re not quite sure how to get there. I’ve learned a little secret about this.

I’ve learned to let life take me where it will take me. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be perfect in everything as I was pushing myself to be. I’ve learned that where life takes me is where I will end up, and I’m okay with that. Sometimes if you let go of a little control, you gain more than you’d ever imagine you’d have.

The thing about life is that you can’t control it. The universe is so chaotic that it’s ordered, so no matter how much you try and control something, the universe already knows what needs to be in order for balance to come to fruition. And it will guide you in that direction, it’s guided me.

This is my second post of the day because I just have so much to get out of me, so much to catch everyone up on, and a blog to run, of course. I’ve been absent for too long. It’s been calling me back ever since.

As this song I’m listening to says: there’s no point in living if you can’t feel the life.  And as much pain as I’ve been through, I wouldn’t trade it in for a life of perfection. I think that says a lot.

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To Recover or Not To Recover, That Is The Question

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What do you all think about the word ‘recovery’ in terms of mental health issues? I’ve been thinking about this recently, trying to come up with my own definition and I came to realize I just may not identify with the term at all.

I don’t know if recovery is a good word to describe what we all go through to come out on the other side of things. I believe that every second of our lives living with this is something that requires us to go beyond recovery. Because once we’re in that “recovery” stage, for most of us things don’t go away, we’re just better equipped at dealing with things.

I know for me, I feel as if I’m finally coming out of a fog. That fog was devastating and has lasted almost three years. I did a lot of ridiculous things because of my paranoia and my mood swings, including dropping a lot of classes, losing some jobs, risking the one job I still do have, and was unable to connect with proper support. I went on and off medication, and documented most of that descent on this blog. I even bought this website domain and hoped to turn this into something greater, but failed because depression ruined my passion. Slowly, I’m getting that back.

Is this “recovery”, though? I don’t think so. I’m not recovering from anything, I’m just learning how to better cope with my emotions, how to better feel them and how to better manage them. That to me is a journey. I’m on the other end of my journey, it feels like, and maybe one day I’ll return to that fog with better equipment to put up with it all. I don’t know. So to say that someone struggling with mental health issues is in recovery almost sets them up for failure–if they return to that previous state of mind, what does that mean? That they’re not in recovery anymore? To me, that doesn’t make sense. To me, it’s just another hiccup in their journey.

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Word choice is very specific in the world of mental health. If you walk up to someone who identifies with the label of schizophrenia and call them “a schizophrenic”, a lot of those people would correct you, that they are someone “with” schizophrenia, that they are not defined by their condition. Which is great for them, whatever creates a sense of control over what they deal with. Some people also hate the term “committed suicide”, a lot of them prefer to say that their loved one died from depression or whatever drove them to take action.

The only word choice I have issues with is if someone refers to themselves or other people as “mentally ill” or “mentally diseased”. I’ve done plenty of posts on why I believe those terms should be erased from our vocabulary. In case you weren’t there when I was ranting about that, or don’t remember my rants on it, I’ll give a quick summary:

I choose not to believe my problems are illnesses, I choose to believe they are a result of my dealing with emotions in a different way than others. If I’m hearing voices, it’s not because of some degradation of my brain, it’s because there’s a level of stress I’m reaching that I’m not tending to. If my moods are swinging out of control, it’s not just some biological imbalance, it’s my reaction to life and whatever is going on at the moment, whether that be something good or bad. I choose to see myself as gifted, and I’m thankful to the nurses in the hospitals who had also had that viewpoint. It made my stay a lot more comfortable.

There’s also no real viable research that mental health issues are diseases since all of the brain matter studies they have done have been on people who have taken psychiatric medication, and that changes the brain structure, that’s something that’s been known for years. So:

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That’s my reasoning.

But otherwise, I don’t care what you call me. I don’t even have a steady diagnosis. So call me a Bipolar, I don’t really care. Call me a depressed freak, I don’t care. You can even call me a schizophrenic, but you’d be mistaken–either way, I don’t care. Because what someone calls me holds absolutely no weight on how I see myself or how I see others. Just like the debate years ago over changing the term schizophrenia to something else, to “remove stigma”. The stigma isn’t attached to the word, it’s attached to people’s perspective of the mental health struggle. Change the word all you want, it’s not going to make a difference.

So when I think about the word recovery, I guess it’s kind of the same thing. Whether you’re recovering or coping depends upon your perspective of your own mental health. That makes sense.

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Promote Your Blog in 2018 — MakeItUltra™ Opportunity

This is a beautiful opportunity to gain some readers and growth for your blog, I remember doing it at the beginning of last year and it really helped me come in contact with some awesome people. Visit MakeItUltra today! (Link to his post below).

 

 

Hi Everyone, In 2017 I started a blog post called “Promote Your Blog” where fellow bloggers could share and promote their blog with the MIU community. This post resulted in 25,000+ views and 4,000+ bloggers sharing the who, what and why behind their blog. I want to create a new directory to even out the […]

via Promote Your Blog in 2018 — MakeItUltra™