The Drug Advisor Fiasco

Just ignore the fact I’ve neglected this beautiful place for so long, I’m sorry.. again..

On the recent Dr. Nutt fiasco, this Telegraph reader has it right, in my opinion:

Professor Robin Murray published one of several family studies that show that cannabis induced psychosis is indeed associated with a positive family history of schizophrenia.

One draws the conclusion that schizophrenia, or its early effects before it becomes clinically diagnosable, is causing the cannabis smoking rather than the other way round. (For some reason Professor Murray ignores his own study and others that support the fact that “cannabis psychosis” is indeed familial.)

The deeper malaise is the need for the Labour Party leadership to portray themselves as the great protectors of the British people, so that they can win votes. The party leadership have convinced themselves that, by creating a moral panic about cannabis, ecstasy and crime, they will be seen as our saviours.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/letters/6480486/Science-is-on-the-side-of-drug-adviser-sacked-to-make-Labour-look-like-saviours.html

Cult / Sect Abuse – Jill Mytton interview with Richard Dawkins

A slight detour, admittedly, but a lot of my personal ‘psychological fuckups’ tend to be able to be traced back to a delightfully abusive and, quite frankly, evil organisation by the name of ‘Subud’.

The interview is quite lengthy (52 mins) but very enlightening and worth the watch.

Symptoms Return, Scared Witless

I have a lot of catching up to do. Let us just say the long and short of it is I now have a heart condition, which seems to set off schizophrenic symptoms each time it gets painful / bad enough.

I can’t even believe I’m back talking about schizophrenia as a solid-state condition again… symptoms… what the feck am I saying!

Paranoia is a big one at the moment. Life is a spy film. I keep having windows (like now) of partial clarity and sense but the headache persists through and I can’t see properly. Maybe it’s the beta blockers / penicillin / painkillers I’m taking everyday.

I’ve heard voices interfering on the phone, call centre like voices. The thing is, the other party has heard them too. Maybe something really is happening? How odd it would be to be kidnapped.

Forthcoming Podcast Series: My Psychiatric Notes

I’ve thought long and hard about doing this. It’s something I really, really want to do. At some point, I’ll almost certainly face a wall in some fashion, whether a potential employer listens, or someone else that could do best not to have a preconception of me.

But I’m going to do it. Stay tuned to hear audio recordings of my first major, 4 month admission to a psychiatric hospital – told from both sides, as I have hard copies of all notes written by the nurses and doctors.

First episode this week. Will post and link when all is set up!

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Chapter One: Arrival

The feeling was one of both apprehension, and puzzlement. The obvious lacking emotion was fear, but the past few months had eradicated meaning from the once powerful concept of fright. It may be hard to imagine what losing a feeling is like, but I will not blame you for that. Imagining the loss of emotion in itself just creates more emotion – not unusually, fear.

I could also not see as perfectly as I once could. The monotonous passing of old, thick-trunked trees on either side of the driveway became a blur of brown and green. For which I could possibly be forgiven for, as the only lighting I had at my disposal came from the piercing headlights of my mother’s car. I wondered if the bulbs would blow before we reached the end of the private road, the last part of the journey was taking forever.

I remember we bought the car, a sport-ish Fiat Punto, some months before all of this. I can distinctly recall working the salesman’s game out, acting on the assumption that 90% of their speech was bullshit. Of course, it was my mother mistakenly purchasing what I considered a bottom of the barrel, clapped out trollop of a motor, even though it was brand new. I just felt protective of her, the salesman being an enemy, rather than an ally.

I could see lights ahead, a small car park with several cars also. All of them, sparing the 90’s Ford Fiesta shunted below the lamppost,  were typically what I would class as ‘Posh Bitch Cars’. I pictured the salesman once again, cursing him under my shallow breath.

It was a cool March night, a slight breeze threw me off as I stumbled out of the now parked car. The building before me stood tall, confrontational in it’s stature. A modernised mansion, cast away from public life by the long path we had just come down at 5 mph. Pillars either side of a grand oak door beaconed me to reach for my ‘overnight’ bag, and slam the Fiat’s door shut – almost in a mini rebellious rage.

Each step towards the opening coincided with a deep, cautious breath. My mother said nothing, I’m guessing her emotions ran from fear all the way to relief. My emotions, on the other hand, persisted to lay dead, as I entered the reception of The Priory North London Psychiatric Hospital. The journey had really only just begun.

Schizophrenia Blog Revived

I begin with an explanation. I had intended to move this blog to it’s own hosting – it seems for one reason or another it didn’t quite work out. So I’m back, here, now – and more ready than ever.

I follow with a plan. I now intend to create a compilation of chapters, a story if you will, of the experience of my first hospitalisation. The first post shall follow this one by about 10 minutes.

I sincerely hope you enjoy!

@Kathy Sierra: Thoughts are with you.

If you haven’t heard, there are very vile and vindictive people in the blogosphere right now. I don’t want to cover old ground, I just want to share my wish for your safety (Kathy, Robert & Maryam).

You all present an unbelievably honorable service to us all day in day out, for which I am certainly thankful.

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