I have only lived four decades, but I hope never again in life, even at its end, to experience suffering like I felt while taking and withdrawing from the drugs. At essence, looking back six years after swallowing my last psychotropic medicine and feeling saner, healthier, and happier than ever, all I can see is a vast black storm behind me: the physical illness, emotional lability, and compromised cognition caused by the pills; the hopelessness of being told that this chemical abomination was some underlying “organic” and “lifelong” “disease”; and the even bleaker hopelessness of having my autonomy stripped away in the hospitals, of forced drugging on a host of ever-more dangerous and unnecessary pills. Often I wonder, just what the hell was I thinking, entrusting my brain — the very seat of my soul — to other people?
At a certain point, there begins to be something undeniable that remains, no matter what is going on. The body can go through greater intensity, greater burning and yet there is some okayness. This okayness is realization taking birth. As the relationship with what is unchanging grows, the intensity in the body usually increases because... Continue Reading →