The philosophers muse if no one’s there to hear the tree that falls it may not make a sound
But I heard on the news you hanged yourself with no one there to hear except the trees — did they hear you?
When you were a little girl
The other kids would push you, make you cry then laugh
When you grew a little older
Things began to look a little bleaker, doctors came said they could treat you
Sometimes things seem right but they don’t work out
Theory may be perfect but it’s wrong
One day we will open up our minds
And our trees will be heard
Doctor saw you in his rooms
Minutes later gave you pills to make you smile
Few months later cut your wrist
Checked you on the ward and gave you shock, then locked you up for your own good
The philosophers muse if no one’s there to hear the tree that falls it may not make a sound
Though the rest of the world may close their eyes, let those who seek to change their thinking come to you
IMPORTANT: the symptoms of psychiatric drugs withdrawal can sometimes look exactly like the “mental illness” that the medications were prescribed for in the first place.
People can become “psychotic,” anxious, or any other psychiatric symptom from drug withdrawal itself, not because of their psychiatric “disorder” or condition.
When someone goes off a psychiatric drug they can have anxiety, mania, panic, depression and other painful symptoms. These may be the same, or even worse, than what got called psychosis or mental disorder before the drug was taken. Typically people are then told that this proves their illness has come back and they therefore need the drug. However, it may be the withdrawal effect from the drug that is causing these symptoms.
Withdrawal symptoms do not necessarily prove you need a psychiatric drug any more than headaches after you stop drinking coffee prove you need caffeine, or delirium after stopping alcohol shows you need to drink alcohol. It just means your brain has become dependent on the drug, and needs time to adjust to being off it. Psychiatric drugs are not like insulin for a diabetic: they are a tool or coping mechanism.
Scientists used to believe that the brain could not grow new cells or heal itself, but this is now known to be untrue. Everyone can heal. A strong and healthy body with good lifestyle and positive outlook will help support and nurture your brain and body to heal. When you have been on psych drugs for years, it can however sometimes take years to successfully reduce or go off them. Many people on these drugs, especially long-term neuroleptic anti-psychotics, develop brain injury and damage. This may not be permanent, but sometimes people live the rest of their lives with these brain changes. You may find that the goal of going off completely might not be right for you. You may feel better staying on them, and decide instead to reduce your medication or stay at the same dosage, and focus on other ways to improve your life.
To Be a Mental Patient
by Rae Unzicker (1948-2001)
To be a mental patient is to be stigmatized, ostracized, socialized, patronized, psychiatrized.
To be a mental patient is to have everyone controlling your life but you. You’re watched by your shrink, your social worker, your friends, your family. And then you’re diagnosed as paranoid.
To be a mental patient is to live with the constant threat and possibility of being locked up at any time, for almost any reason.
To be a mental patient is to live on $82 a month in food stamps, which won’t let you buy Kleenex to dry your tears. And to watch your shrink come back to his office from lunch, driving a Mercedes Benz.
To be a mental patient is to take drugs that dull your mind, deaden your senses, make you jitter and drool and then you take more drugs to lessen the “side effects.”
To be a mental patient is to apply for jobs and lie about the last few months or years, because you’ve been in the hospital, and then you don’t get the job anyway because you’re a mental patient. To be a mental patient is not to matter.
To be a mental patient is never to be taken seriously.
To be a mental patient is to be a resident of a ghetto, surrounded by other mental patients who are as scared and hungry and bored and broke as you are.
To be a mental patient is to watch TV and see how violent and dangerous and dumb and incompetent and crazy you are.
To be a mental patient is to be a statistic.
To be a mental patient is to wear a label, and that label never goes away, a label that says little about what you are and even less about who you are.
To be a mental patient is to never to say what you mean, but to sound like you mean what you say.
To be a mental patient is to tell your psychiatrist he’s helping you, even if he is not.
To be a mental patient is to act glad when you’re sad and calm when you’re mad, and to always be “appropriate.”
To be a mental patient is to participate in stupid groups that call themselves therapy. Music isn’t music, its therapy; volleyball isn’t sport, it’s therapy; sewing is therapy; washing dishes is therapy. Even the air you breathe is therapy and that’s called “the milieu.”
To be a mental patient is not to die, even if you want to — and not cry, and not hurt, and not be scared, and not be angry, and not be vulnerable, and not to laugh too loud — because, if you do, you only prove that you are a mental patient even if you are not.
And so you become a no-thing, in a no-world, and you are not.
SS: New psychiatric symptoms created by the very drugs people are told will help them recover?
RW: Absolutely. The most obvious case is with the antidepressants. A certain percentage of people placed on the SSRIs because they have some form of depression will suffer either a manic or psychotic attack — drug-induced. This is well recognized. So now, instead of just dealing with depression, they’re dealing with mania or psychotic symptoms. And once they have a drug-induced manic episode, what happens? They go to an emergency room, and at that point they’re newly diagnosed. They’re now said to be bipolar and they’re given an antipsychotic to go along with the antidepressant; and, at that point, they’re moving down the path to chronic disability.
