Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts

Bad Mental Health Take on Autism - One More from Allen Frances

Before Mental Health Awareness Month draws to its nonconsequential end -- 

Allen Frances

New York Post has published a new interview with Allen Frances about how bad it is to receive a diagnosis, or as he puts it, become a mental patient.

Become a mental patient?

Some background: Allen Frances is a professor emeritus of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Duke University. His fields of research were wide ranging, including personality disorders, chronic depression, anxiety disorders, schizophrenia, AIDS, and psychotherapy. [Note: not autism]. He served as the chair for the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) task force, which published the DSM IV in 1994. He later became the chief critic of the DSM 5, which is a modest revision of his work.

In a nutshell--he didn't like any of the revisions.

As part of Frances's critique of the DSM 5, he wrote Saving Normal, subtitled An Insider's Revolt against Out-of-Control Psychiatric Diagnosis, DSM-5, Big Pharma, and the Medicalization of Ordinary Life. His book was published one week before the DSM-5. Since then he has continued the themes of the subtitle.

In addition to my review of his book linked above, I have commented a few times on Frances's statements. I appreciate his concerns about Big Pharma's influence in the treatment of mental illness and inappropriate use of medication, especially in the case of mild depression. His periodic attempts to save normal, not so much.

A couple quotes from his New York Post interview:

Dr. Allen Frances told The Post that he is “very sorry for helping to lower the diagnosis bar.”

Now, Frances said, he fears his work “contributed to the creation of diagnostic fads that resulted in the massive over-diagnosis of autistic disorders in children and adults.”

Stigma Against Mental Illness

One of the themes of Saving Normal is that diagnosis exposes people to stigma. So it would be worrisome to him that so many people are now mental patients, newly exposed to stigma.

I'll grant Francis this point. Prejudice against mental illness is alive and well - and particularly dangerous when it is expressed in the medical field.

There is scant evidence that Stamp Out Stigma campaigns have moved the needle, except on the issue of depression. Judging by news reports, prejudice against people with mental illness has been growing. 

  • Recently, an ex-Marine is lauded as a hero after putting Jordan Neely, a disturbed man on a New York subway, into a choke hold for fifteen minutes. In two days Daniel Penny raised over $1.5 million for his defense against a charge of second degree manslaughter.
  • As politicians regularly blame mass shootings on mental illness, they also routinely reduce funding to address it.


The thing is, prejudice against difference does not stem from diagnosis. It stems simply from difference itself.

A Diagnosis of Autism

In the case of autism, let me suggest an alternative to Francis's view.

From the anecdotal evidence of many people finally diagnosed in adulthood, the diagnosis brings not stigma but relief. They had already been stigmatized throughout childhood. Not by a psychiatric diagnosis, but by the schoolyard diagnosis weird and the classroom diagnosis behavior problem. They grew up being bullied and punished because they were not normal - to use Dr. Francis's favorite word.

People diagnosed with autism in adulthood often already have other diagnoses, most commonly depression and anxiety. They sometimes have experienced suicidal thoughts or attempts. These are the consequences not of their undisclosed diagnosis of autism, but of the way they have been treated by others - on the basis of their difference which it does not take a psychiatrist to notice. It only takes a psychiatrist to explain.

Hence their relief - finally to have an explanation.

The NYP quotes the statistic that rates of autism in the US have soared 500% over the last sixteen years. This is a bait and switch statistic. The DSM 5 changed the definition of autism, combining profound autism, childhood disintegrative disorder, pervasive developmental disorder, and what was once called Asperger syndrome under one umbrella diagnosis, autism spectrum.

Whether or not combining these conditions with different treatment needs under one label was a good idea is a separate discussion. But the change in rates was not as drastic as the statistic suggests. The numbers for three separate diagnoses have been added to the first.

But it is not the first time Dr. Francis has played fast and loose with statistics to claim over-diagnosis. The statistic does not support his thesis of over-diagnosis because the sample population has changed.

Underserved Children with Autism


The article misses the most significant part of the story, reported in the journal Pediatrics. There are significant disparities in rates of diagnosis between white and black children and between affluent and poor children:

Black children were 30% less likely to be identified with ASD-N compared with white children. Children residing in affluent areas were 80% more likely to be identified with ASD-N compared with children in underserved areas.

The consequence of under-diagnosis is that, while rich white kids get services, poor black kids get placed in the school to prison pipeline.

There are real life consequences to under-diagnosis. Poor black kids should not have to pay the cost for Allen Frances's hobby horse.

More Next Week


So clearly, I have thoughts. Lots of thoughts. It's time to sign off for this week and promise more to come. But you are welcome to join the conversation by commenting below!

Why Am I Still Sick? Mental Illness, Faith, and the Love of God

Rumor has it, I'm going to start preaching again. My brain functions a lot better than it used to. But it still functions slowly. So to give myself plenty of time, I have been looking ahead to the scriptures that are coming up in the lectionary.

[In the Episcopal Church, among others, we preachers don't pick and choose our favorite bits of the Bible. We get confronted by and have to deal with what is assigned.]

That's how I came across Matthew 9:18-26, one of the texts for early June. Jesus is on his way to heal a young girl when a woman with an issue of blood reaches out surreptitiously to touch him. He feels the power go out of him and turns to confront her. Then he says:

Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.

Ah, here it comes -- the faith question of every person with a chronic or fatal illness, every person who prays and has people praying for us.

Don't I have faith? Don't I have enough faith to get my healing?

Many years ago in one of my darkest times, I met a young woman. She was part of a mission group who had come from Mexico to Costa Rica. On behalf of a local church, she and others would be going door to door, sharing their witness.

She asked me what I was doing in Costa Rica. So I told her that I had depression and was writing a book about it.

Without missing a beat, she answered, If you give your life to Jesus, he will heal you, and you won't have depression anymore.

She described her life in her teens, a life of indulgence, as she put it. She was a smoker. But then she gave her life to Jesus and he turned her around. He took away her addiction to cigarettes

Oh, honey.

She and I had met at the church that was sponsoring the mission. The worship service had gone long. I was tired. And I didn't have enough Spanish to get into it with her.

So I didn't tell her that 

  • I fell in love with Jesus when I was eight and was baptized
  • I took Jesus as my Lord and Savior when I was eighteen at college
  • I gave my life to Jesus when I entered seminary at twenty-five
  • I vowed to . . . pattern my life in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that I may be a wholesome example to my people when I was ordained a priest at twenty-nine
  • I . . . well, you get the idea.

The thing is, I have a brain that works differently, and sometimes not very well. Living a life in Christ has not protected me from the symptoms of bipolar disorder, nor even from feeling suicidal at its worst.

Bipolar disorder has been around for millennia. People had it before the coming of Christ. And people have had it since. Faith in Jesus really has nothing to do with it.

I am glad that Jesus took away her addiction to cigarettes. I am glad that Jesus healed the woman with an issue of blood, that he freed the Gerasene man who had been possessed, that he raised Lazarus from the dead.

But he hasn't healed me. At least, he hasn't taken away my bipolar.

Why not?

No, don't answer that question. I don't want an explanation. I especially don't want God to explain to me how He -- and I use that pronoun on purpose -- how He is using my suffering to some greater end. To help you, I suppose.

I don't want a God who manipulates people who are suffering, moves us around on some chessboard as part of His grand design.

For God's sake, don't tell me to have faith.

What a cruel notion that if you just believe hard enough you will be healed.

The first preaching I will do after an absence of a few years will be for a man who was one of the most faith-filled people I know. He died after waiting for years for a lung transplant, while people around the world prayed for him. As people have prayed for me.

Why am I still sick? I think that's the wrong question to address to God. I think that question posits the existence of the kind of God that we want, a God who will answer our questions and give us certainty and make us feel good.

A God that exists only in our desires and our imaginations.

Whoa! Did the preacher say that God doesn't exist? No, the preacher said that the God that does exist is not small enough to fit inside the box of our desires.

Who is the God who does exist? I am a very smart person. Nevertheless, that question is beyond my bandwidth. I have my own desires about God. But I no longer expect that God will satisfy them.

However, reading all those stories of healings year after year, over forty years of preaching on them, there is something that I have noticed. In almost every one of them, part of the healing is a return to community.

The woman who had had an issue of blood for fifteen years (endometriosis?) would have been unclean on that account. Nobody would have touched her. For fifteen years. Now she could take a neighbor's hand.

The Gerasene man who was possessed (schizophrenia?) lived in chains outside the city of Gerasa. When he was restored to his right mind, Jesus sent him home.

Lazarus -- dead and in the tomb. Jesus returned him to his sisters.

And me with my bipolar -- that is the kind of healing I have experienced. When I was newly disabled and not leaving my second floor condo except to go to the doctor, I joined NAMI -- National Alliance on Mental Illness. I went a Peer to Peer class, where people with mental illness teach other people with mental illness how to navigate our lives.

I discovered people who didn't care whether I had faith or not. They didn't need for me to be healed to confirm their own faith. They expected I wouldn't be. And they loved me. They invited me in. They were my new community.

Romans 8 -- that's what I believe. When I don't believe in God -- I really don't believe in the God who withholds healing based on my puny wounded capacity for faith -- I do believe this:

I am sure that neither death, nor life, [nor feeling suicidal], nor angels, nor principalities, [nor health insurance companies], nor height, nor depth, [nor the personal hell of side effects], nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I am not healed. But I am loved.

That's a kind of healing. And it is enough.


photo by Nevit Dilman, used under the creative commons license.

Questions Work Magic: How They Change the Brain

Quick - What does a lemon taste like?

I know what a lemon tastes like. Tell me something else instead:

What just happened inside your mouth?

David Hoffeld asks another one: Want to know what your brain does when it hears a question?

His article from the website FastCompany.com explores the neurological consequences of hearing a question. Questions temporarily hijack the brain. Did you immediately think about lemons? First, serotonin is released, causing the brain to relax. Next you get a hit of dopamine. The question takes over your thought processes while you think about the answer. The technical term is instinctive elaboration.

The hijacking doesn't last forever. The person who was asked the question can choose to ignore it, can argue against it, can go off on a tangent - though for people with ADHD or bipolar disorder, a question that interrupts our train of thought may cause us to derail.

But Hoffeld cites a number of research studies that document when you ask somebody whether they are going to do something, you increase the probability that they will do it - buy a car, vote in an upcoming election, even donate blood.

Questions not only alter your perception. They can even alter your chemistry. Chances are, when you read the lemon question, you started to salivate.

My Holiday Wish for Us All - Trip the Light

In my darkest bleak midwinter, I find the following. And I believe again. I do believe we can get back to this. And if the video were made again, with everybody in masks, it would not detract from the joy. It really wouldn't.

PS - While you are watching, dance!


If all the days that come to pass
Are behind these walls
I'll be left at the end of things
In a world kept small

 

Travel far from what I know
I'll be swept away
I need to know
I can be lost and not afraid

 

We're gonna trip the light
We're gonna break the night
And we'll see with new eyes
When we trip the light

Remember we're lost together
Remember we're the same
We hold the burning rhythm in our hearts
We hold the flame

We're gonna trip the light
We're gonna break the night
And we'll see with new eyes
When we trip the light

I'll find my way home
On the Western wind
To a place that was once my world
Back from where I've been

And in the morning light I'll remember
As the sun will rise
We are all the glowing embers
Of a distant fire

Come on and trip the light
We're gonna break the night
And we'll see with new eyes
When we trip the light

Music: Garry Schyman©
Lyrics: Alicia Lemke and Matt Harding©

Source LYBIO.net

Surviving Suicide - Can Our Stories Help Others?

The worst part of being suicidal isn't that it can kill you. The worst part is that you likely suffer alone.

You don't talk about it with friends and loved ones because it hurts them. And they respond by saying hurtful things.

You don't talk about it with a professional because you fear being subjected to the trauma of forced treatment.

No, that's not right, not always right anyway. Sometimes loved ones know how to listen. Sometimes professionals know how to help.

But still. These skills seem to be rare. And it's all so scary.

Even after you're better, it's scary. Scary for you, scary for them. Especially scary if it got to the point of self-harm, a suicidal act. Upon release from the hospital, you are treated to silence. People want to "protect your privacy." They also want to protect their own peace of mind. NOBODY wants you to mention it again.

Live Through This

So an archive of 157 stories of people who tried to die at their own hand, and yet they survived, a place where you can find people who are willing to tell their stories, how they got to that scary place and how they moved beyond it, or how they didn't (the scary lingers), that place is -- transgressive.

"I Don't Believe in God Anymore. Just Don't Trust the Guy"

Job 42 - A sermon

Fourteen years ago, I wrote an essay titled, I don't believe in God anymore. It was a response to my grief about my mental illness, the loss of my self-image, my sense of confidence as a person who could rely on the state of my own mind.

I wasn't suicidal at the time. But I was acutely aware that chances are I would be again in the future, because I have a remitting, recurring condition. It appears, it gets better, it flairs again. And suicidal ideation is one of its symptoms, a particularly cruel symptom.

I felt betrayed. Betrayed by God.

I mean, I had given my life, my energy, my health to serving God. And all of those things had been taken away from me. Me!

Okay, I know that bad things happen to good people. Bad things happen even to saints. But, damn!

It wasn't about mental illness so much as it was about grief, grief for the loss of what I thought I knew about myself, what I thought I could count on, my brain, most of all.

And I thought I could count on God, too. So, I wrote, I don't believe in God anymore. Just don't trust the guy like I used to.

Job had a different response to his grief. He never said, I don't believe in God anymore. He continued to challenge God to be the God he thought he knew. But there are ways that the book resounds powerfully for me.

Real Suicide Prevention or Self-Satisfied Nonsense?

It's Suicide Prevention Month/Week/Whatever again. Those of us who are or have been suicidal know suicide prevention as a year-round, full time job. Those of us who are or have been suicidal have a whole lot of experience at preventing suicide. Is anyone interested to hear from us? Some of the following came from an earlier post. It bears repeating, 'cuz evidently even some bright people have some strange ideas. Like:





Suicide is not a choice

The way people talk, you'd think we sit down and make a list, pros and cons of suicide. Then based on our calculations, we make some kind of decision. She chose to end her life. Or, How could he have been so selfish.

This is called the volitional theory of suicide, suicide as an act of will. The suicide prevention approach that addresses it is to weigh in on that list of pros and cons, like Jennifer Michael Hecht's book, Stay.

You know -- Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Or, Think of what you'll miss out on. Or, whatever. In other words, how dumb or short-sighted or irresponsible or selfish you must be to decide to kill yourself.

Resisting COVID Depression, One Song at a Time

Who knew COVID would last this long? Did you, like me, feel a bit of hope last spring? We had the tools; we got the jab; the numbers started falling.

But . . . not everybody got the jab.

Then . . .


Now? Children are thrown into a virus laden cauldron while state legislatures pass laws prohibiting measures that would reduce the spread of a pandemic. Nurses are dropping like flies. A guy died in an emergency waiting room this week because there was no room for him in ICU.

And people with a high school diploma and an internet connection know better than the medical community. Instead of heeding the pleas of their doctors, they are taking horse-deworming medicine. Our local feed store has run out of it.

I guess next up--the horses start dying.

So, it looks like this thing is going to be with us for a while.

Surviving Heat Waves with Bipolar Disorder

Did you know that more people are murdered at 92 degrees Fahrenheit than any other temperature? I read an article once. Lower temperatures, people are easy-going, over 92 and it's too hot to move, but just 92, people get irritable.

That's what the sheriff said in an opening scene of It Came from Outer Space. Set in Arizona -- even in black and white, you could feel the heat rolling off the sand. And throughout the movie, they attributed people's reports of strange sightings to heat-induced lunacy.

As I read that quote from 1953, I think -- 92, if only!

Everybody is irritable right now in -- how shall we put this? -- the coolest summer we will experience for the rest of our lives. Everybody is exhausted. But some of us more than others.

via GIPHY

What is God Doing on World Bipolar Day?

It was not that this man sinned, nor his parents, but that the works of God might be made manifest in him. John 9:3, Revised Standard Version.

Or as The Message puts it: You're asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no cause and effect here. Look instead for what God can do.

There's the text for World Bipolar Day.


In the Gospel, Jesus heals a man born blind. Presumably what God can do is made manifest by that healing. So, okay, Jesus, what about me?

What about me? How many people, with how many disabilities, wonder what God is doing, especially those of us surrounded by others who wonder, Who sinned, this one or the parents?

One More Reason to Ask About Suicide

It's always dangerous to listen in when psychiatrists and therapists talk among themselves. I used to do a whole series, OMGThat'sWhatTheySaid, devoted to overhearing what they say about us. More than one post was devoted to their discourse about suicide.

There's been lots of opportunity to overhear in the last several days since the Meghan Markle interview. The clinicians weighed in on Stacey Freedenthal's New York Times article where she dared to repeat what some doctors and therapists have told her (an expert in the field of suicide and suicide prevention), that they fail to ask the question about suicide. There have been proclamations about professionalism, training, protocols, risk-assessment, and - God help us - malpractice.

I started to write a post reporting my own experience of risk-assessment and the failure of my doctor and therapist to ask, even as they told me they were concerned about me. Concerned about what exactly?

But I began to feel -- empty. Like the whole conversation, including my part in it, was missing the boat.

The boat is pain.

What is at stake is whether we have a safe place to talk about our most painful feelings.

What Happened When Meghan Markle Asked for Help?


Ask for help. That is the suicide prevention message. When you are in trouble, ask for help.

And I am not going to suggest otherwise. That's about the only way you will get help. The pain that you are in, the scary thoughts that you are having, there is a way out that is a way through, that leaves you alive on the other side. The way begins when you tell somebody, when you ask for help.

That, alas, is not the end of the story. This week we watched as a princess, a celebrity, somebody who lived in a multimillion dollar house in a multibillionaire family told her story of what happened when she asked for help.

They told her, No.

Do You Really Want to Use Mental Illness as an Insult?

I am tired to death of hearing mental illness diagnoses used as pejoratives.

I am tired to death of hearing technical medical terms that apply to me and my friends hurled as insults at political figures, used to describe weather conditions, and employed as self-deprecating comments in the context of life's little challenges.

I am especially tired to death of hearing this language in the postings of Facebook friends and in the pulpit from educated people who should know better.

Especially after I have called them on it over and over and over.

So you can imagine that my eyes perked up at a thread that addresses this issue, posted on Twitter by somebody who goes by the handle @queerfox.

Can People With Mental Illness Become Saints?

 The day approaches - the start of Lent Madness.

What, any reasonable person might ask, is that?

Take March Madness. Mash this bracket-style competition with a list of saints, some well-known, some utterly obscure, chosen by Scott Gunn and Tim Schenk, the two members of the Supreme Executive Committee who answer to nobody. Despite years of campaigning, they still will not include Fred Rogers. But I digress...

Every weekday through Lent the reader is presented with two saints and asked to vote. Anybody with an internet connection can vote - only once - they will know. The saint with the greater number of votes advances to the next round.

Help! How Do I Talk to My Delusional Cousin?

Consensual reality has taken a real beating lately. Fake news, alt facts, conspiracy theories, Russian Facebook bots... Sure, we'd all like some civil discourse. But what do we do when we can't even agree on what is true?

Delusional is a big word to throw around, especially when you are trying to stay in some sort of relationship with friends or family whom you believe, frankly, to have gone over the deep end. Does it really apply to this situation? Or is the use of the word a lit match in a room full of gasoline?

Let's start with some clarification. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-5) defines delusions as
 fixed beliefs that are not amenable to change in light of conflicting evidence. Well, that sure sounds like what we are dealing with.
Delusions are taken as indicators of a mental or physical disorder. But before we go making armchair diagnoses, consider how powerfully our minds cling to ideas that are demonstratively false, the fear of spiders, the hope in lottery tickets, trickle down economics. Let's exercise some restraint and some humility here.

Prozac Monologues Moves to Batshit Crazy Preacher

Advent is the season of spiritual preparation for Christmas. The idea is to slow down, not speed up. Spend some quiet, reflective time. Remember the reason for the season... Honestly, I think about setting up an Advent wreath, that sort of thing. But our candle holders broke. They broke years ago. I guess I'm just not into the candle thing.

Most years, the closest I get to Advent wreaths, calendars, whatever, is a box of twenty-four wee drams of Scotch from Master of Malt. I know, I know, Scotch is not what your psychiatrist recommends for your recovery toolbox. At least it usually take me well past the twelve days of Christmas to finish the thing.

Anyway, this year I found a practice that does spark my imagination, #AdventWord. It is an international community of prayer that you can enter in whatever way appeals to you. There is a daily meditation to read, based on a different word every day. Advent Word, get it? The ones so far this year are tender, deliver, strengthen, earth, rebuild, fellowship, and glory. People post photos on Twitter or Facebook, or scripture passages, or songs inspired by the word. You can get a poster with spaces to color in each day. You can doodle, decorate the word, or draw whatever comes to you. When it's finished, it's supposed to remind you of a stained glass window. The whole project lets you do whatever prayer style works for you.

Ritual, Stress, and Surviving a Pandemic Thanksgiving

Human beings are pattern-seeking creatures. Place us in an absurd situation, we feel stress. We respond by ritual behavior, or clinging to biases, or even inventing an explanation. Does this sound like anything happening around you for the last several months?

Some of these responses serve us better than others. Biases preserve energy by saving us the time it takes to make case by case evaluations. But they also can be mistaken and rob us of original insights.

Invented explanations are how we manage the terror of acknowledging any bad thing that is out of our understanding or control. Why did Daddy hit me--again? Who is to blame for all these fires lately? How could my candidate have lost? We tell ourselves a story that makes sense of the event, relieving the pain of uncertainty, and thus gaining control over our emotions.

Between Stimulus and Response

I went searching for a Viktor Frankl quote. Mental health pro-tip: When desperate, Google "Viktor Frankl quotes." I mean, how does even the most desperate, darkest depression argue with a Holocaust survivor?

Here is what I found:


Okay, I confess, when you put an inspirational quote on top of a beautiful peaceful scene, it loses its inspirational value for me. That's just the way my brain works.

So I'd make my own image if I were inclined to that sort of thing, like if I were having a hypomanic episode. It would be three boxes, left to right.

On the left would be a screenshot of a webpage saying something like, Cannot open page because search timed out. Maybe, Cannot find printer. I saw those images on my laptop a lot last week.

Sanity, the Serenity Prayer, and the Way of Love


Last week I just couldn't. Well, my laptop was dying. And then my printer wouldn't install. But all that within the context of everything that well, you know... So last week there was no new post.

This week, I still can't, not really. I can't find any new research that intrigues me. I can't bear the thought of yet another rant. I am determined not to spread any more pain.

But there's pain out there. There's pain in here. And this blog is about the things I can change. So this I will do.

I have a spiritual discipline that I am using to walk through these days. I am a Christian, and this is a Christian discipline, or series of ancient practices - though my guess is that nonChristians can find something of value here. I will do my best to do some translation.

It's called the Way of Love.

Suicide is Not a Mystery - Get Beyond the Romance to Get to the Work

Suicidal people have not been quiet this year during Suicide Prevention Month. Most years we are the topic of conversation, not the source of the content of all these campaigns. But Twitter, at least, has been filled with our own voices this year. I have always shot my mouth off, and seldom taken the party line. Which means my voice is never included in the campaigns of the typical mental health organizations.

The following is an example, a post from a previous Suicide Prevention Month, edited with my more current thoughts on the matter.

This is Suicide Prevention Week - from September 8, 2011

When I started Prozac Monologues, I didn't know there was a Suicide Prevention Week. I spent a month writing about suicide in June, 2009. I chose June because it is the month when the highest number of suicides take place. So I wonder why the officially designated week is in September. Maybe because when everybody else is so happy about the sunshine in June, they wouldn't give any thought to the darkness? Maybe because they didn't ask those who are suicidal?

If you want to know my take on suicide prevention, here is the link for those original posts. Among the Labels in the right-side column, you will find links to other posts tagged suicide, suicide prevention, and the like.

Looking back at these posts, I wish I had less to say about suicide. But having this much to say, and frankly, a lot more, I think it's best I go ahead and say it. That was my POV for The Suicide Monologue. And I'm sticking to it. I urge you to take the same approach. If you have something to say about suicide, go ahead and say it.

You know, all those years we never talked out loud about cancer, our silence never saved a single life.

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