Possible cause of schizophrenia discovered today

Scientists at the University of New South Wales identified a potential cause of schizophrenia today in Australia. This could be a major break that researchers needed in order to further the study, treatment and improve the lives of those afflicted and their families. The exact cause of schizophrenia has long been a mystery to the medical research community and this could have implications all over the map when it comes to the cause. To read more, visit psychcentral.com

Chapter 1, Prologue It was one of those crisp evenings, and on nights like this, I could remember how it all started. Nights like these were filled with the spring air, the same air that I remembered smelling when I had it all one day, and the next, I lost it all. It had began abruptly, without warning, I had gone from a happy college kid, to someone who feared fear itself. What made it all the more disturbing was the lack of sleep. In one instance, I was tired, but could not sleep, then I would lay there in my dorm room bunk bed and stare out the window at the beautiful Gettysburg College campus and listen to the chirping of birds, which normally was a happy sound. The sound of these birds, however, took on a demonic and meaningful shrill chirp. After a few hours of laying there, eyelids clicking, trying desperately to sleep with no sign of the sweet relief coming, I climb out of bed and check the time while I reach for the telephone by the TV set. The clock read 6:45 am. As if moving through an ethereal cloud of reality mixed with increasingly slow moving and gloomy perception, I sank deeper with every passing minute. It was finals week as I neared the middle of my college career, end of my sophomore year. Just three more exams to take, I thought. But at that point I was in trouble. Not the kind of trouble you get into with the law or with a girl you date, no, I was in over my head, and it would be a long way out of a deep, dark hole. I was going to call my mom, but even as I dialed the numbers, I couldn't remember what her number was and the digits on the keypad looked all mixed up in a jumble of mathematics that I couldn't figure out. "Ok, you can do this," I thought to myself. I reminded myself that anyone that had not had a wink of sleep in 72 hours would probably be in similar shape. Finally, after several attempts of punching in random strings of phone numbers, the phone was ringing, I was calling for help. The voice on the other side of the cheap dorm room phone was a comforting one, although at this point, the most comfort that I was in for was the way out my mother was offering. "I'm leaving in a few minutes, do you need anything?" She would say, "I just need to grab a few things and then I'll be there baby, don't worry." My mom, I thought, was my savior and my confidant, and although she could not understand the strings of psychotic thoughts I was stuck with, she could help me from the outside. "Are you feeling all right?" my room mate would ask me. "No, not really," I would respond as the very fabric of time would be in my perceptions, intermittently speeding up and then back to a slow crawl. Every outside stimuli, like someone calling to their friend from far away or a car honking it's horn, had some insidious purpose for doing so and it all fit together. It fit together so well, I remember thinking, that the events happening all around me were part of a larger purpose. My roommate was working for the CIA, I thought, and he can read my thoughts. Even the people on the radio and TV mediums knew what I was thinking. It wasn't until later that I learned that this was a form of projecting upon others. In fact, they were all just cogs in a grand master paranoid delusion that made up conspiracy theories and confirmed their validity with every passing moment. My friends, on the outside of the dungeon of my mind, just got to enjoy life, free of the burden of schizophrenia and its poison to my thoughts. For me, well, I was just stuck in a racing auto bon of thoughts with no slowing down in sight. It wasn't until my mom arrived and picked me up that I felt my first pang of relief, if just for a moment. The next 11 years of my life, as it turns out, would be a roller coaster to recovery through medication, doctor's visits, brief hospital stays and an ever increasing ability to cope with the symptoms of my brain disease. Chapter 2 One thing that we often lack in Mental illness specifically, is insight. A little bit of understanding or the word insight as it pertains to mental illness is needed here. Insight is often not a hard concept for us to grasp normally, with a regularly functioning brain, that is. Now imagine that you are entirely a prisoner in your own mind. Imagine a world warped by the many perceptions and thoughts cutting sharply through your neurons like a lightning bolt. Put another way, is this--imagine that you are a world-renowned lecturer and you have the biggest audience of the best academics at a speaking engagement before you. You have zero time and absolutely no way to predict what will happen next. Like someone just jabbed a razor-blade through your temple, the most painful headache that you have ever experienced suddenly hits you as you are standing in front of, lets say 5,000 extremely intelligent people (you the most revered among them) and you have been stopped dead in your tracks. Just like the lecturer has no insight, most likely into what brought on his terrible migraine, those with mental illness have no insight into what causes the pain in their thoughts. You see, every day of a functioning schizophrenic's life is the big performance in front of onlooking peers, coworkers, colleagues, Vice Presidents and subordinates- not to mention your family, friends, neighbors, and whomever else you may come in contact with every day. All the while, you are attempting the impossible, like the world-renowned lecturer that needs some Advil, those with mental illness need to sort out and set filters for, the excruciating psychic pain that they are feeling......all the time. Chapter 3 JFK flight to Frankfurt Germany, June 1998, Luftansa Airlines As I stepped off the plane in Frankfurt, Germany, I entered the airport thinking to myself, "This is my dream, to travel to Europe during college." And I was right, it was the summer of 1998, after my freshman year at G-Burg and now I could feel the wind in my hair. We then shuffled into a bus, that is, myself and 15 other kids from around the country, were all here on a missionary trip, whose purpose was set to inspire churches in eastern Europe to make a difference. And this was a highly selective group of which I was one of the chosen few. Yes, I had six weeks of travel, culture, food, singing and fun ahead of me and then my whole life to enjoy thereafter. As far as the Youth Mission Chorale and the missionary trip were concerned, I was right on. After that, however, I had no idea that the future would hold a major psychic break one short year later. That bus trip to Switzerland, was a gorgeous display of hillsides set in with rivers and snowy peaks and lush green valleys. As the landscape rolled along, I sat by the window, completely taken in by what I witnessed passing before my eyes, and I heard, "just wait till we get there, Meringen is known for it's beauty," a female voice said. I turned and replied, "I can't wait- you know I have never been abroad before this." then: " Have you? I'm sorry, I don't recall your name?" "That's ok, it's Katarina," the blue eyed blond from Dickenson college, it turns out, that was right down the road from my institution. "Nice to meet you," I said, with a little swagger, since I really meant it. "You too, hun." Silence "Have you traveled much in the past?" I asked, just trying to make casual conversation, although my heart was fluttering with the flirting excitement. "Yes, but just to Russia, Moscow is an extraordinary city, it's too bad that we are not headed there this trip." "But you have to admit that this trip is going to be spectacular," I hoped. "Oh, yes, definitely" And as abruptly as Katarina had struck up a conversation, she moved on to her next social adventure, a man, whom I knew for many years, Mark Miller. "Ok, see you later!" I managed to blurt out. She gave me a big, toothy smile and waved. Yup, this was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience abroad. I smiled back at her and gave her a half-wave as she made her way on the moving bus up three rows of seats to where Mark Miller was chatting with a heavy set young man with curly dark hair and glasses to complete the look. On his feet, I noticed a pair of worn out looking berkenstocks. This trip, while it was going to be a life changing experience and a highly selected few got to experience it, heck, we were even going to be staying at wonderful accommodations while on our trip--but the icing on the cake was that most of the cost of the trip was subsidized heavily by the Global Board of General Ministries of the United Methodist Church. The end result to my parents, who were footing the relatively small bill for me to come, was less money than it actually cost to fly Luftansa Airlines on the round trip from JFK to Frankfurt. A mere defray for the Methodists, who were obviously putting up some pretty big bucks to send the "chosen few" for a six week tour of the Baltic States and St Petersburg, not to mention a two week stay in Switzerland (one of the most gorgeous settings in the world) in order to rehearse the songs we were going to sing in 7 different local and world languages. Yup, this was going to be sweet. Chapter 5 As an American, you simply can't grasp how outstanding it is to see the Swiss Alps first hand. We read about it, sure, but to actually stay at a first-rate hotel in the middle of it all, is an experience that you must have first hand to truly appreciate. Set into the mountain, about three quarters of the way up, with floor-to-ceiling windows and being served lavish seven course meals while overlooking the small, yet colorful city of Meringen, a short 20 kilometer train ride from the city of Interlochen. This morning, it was a healthy, yet rich five course breakfast and then to morning rehearsals. The setting of the rehearsal room was an old chapel inside the hotel consisting of opaque and colorful variations of stained glass, an electronic organ for accompaniment, pews that were lined up horizontally to the alter where we stood. As if serenading the congregation, we learned to sing (alongside some heavy hitters and great sight-readers) in seven different languages including Lithuanian, Latvian, Estonian, Russian and Swahili. Set to the tunes of some classic hymns and local fares, these songs spoke a message, in the local tongues, in order to inspire the listener to do God's work. After we finished our rehearsal, it was time to do some shopping in the valley of the mountains, where the Swiss alps led to the charming cobblestoned city of Meringen. I boarded the ski lift cautiously. I always had been afraid of heights, and this was no exception. Ginger and Shawn, two of my singing mates, stood by the window with their faces pressed to the glass. I, on the other hand, stayed towards the middle. We must have been thousands of feet in the air, descending what I felt was a treturous rock faced drop that we could meet our doom at any time. I knew, in my heart of hearts that the lift was safe, and thankfully, it was only a ten minute trip, so the sinking feeling in my chest only lasted for a brief period, and then we were looking at Swiss watches and chocolates. Although I was here to praise and for fellowship, God had some pretty blonde, brunette and redhead muses that I would later look back on as tempting, yet, your-only-young-once types for me to explore. And explore, I did. Over the next 5 and a half weeks, I had my share of sensual experiences. After all, it wouldn't be until 4 years later that I would meet the woman that I would marry and spend the rest of my life with and share my deepest, darkest secrets with. Heather is my soul mate, but I had a lot of trial runs with many different types of women before I settled down and I never looked back once I did. Chapter 6 There are many misconceptions associated with mental illness and we tend to pass judgment on what type of people we "picture" to be afflicted. As such, and although the general public has come to better understand and appreciate what those with major depressive disorder and to some extent bipolar disorder go through and for treatment options, the same is most definitely not true for schizophrenia and it's devastating effect on the nearly 2.3 million Americans that suffer with the brain disease. For example, would you think that a person begging out on the street and maybe talking to herself would have anything in common with an Assistant Vice President and Branch Manager of a bank? Most likely, you would say that other than being of the same species, no. But quite possibly, there could be a very insidious connection between these two individuals-- quite possibly they could both be tortured with severe mental illness. See, the problem with us mere mortals is that, well, one day we die. We all know this, yet we continue to do things to ourselves that may make that day that we perish come more quickly. It is known, for example, that a person with schizophrenia has a significantly lower life span than those without this disorder. It is believed that people with schizophrenia live, overall, more unhealthy lifestyles than those that are not affected. Is it our fault that we are so tortured in our broken minds and oft times broken lives? Most times, the answer is no, however, we must realize that every human being has a choice. The choices that we make can dramatically improve or decrease our quality of life for many years to come. For instance, a person with schizophrenia that hears voices and has paranoid delusions for the first time decides to take psychedelic drugs instead of seeking treatment. That person will most likely have a bad trip and pay for that one bad judgement call for the rest of their life. Another individual reaches out in the same situation to someone they can trust and that person gets the help that they need, and the affected individual makes a choice for a long road of recovery instead of choosing to "self-medicate" with street drugs, that was a choice. We cannot blame everything solely on the reactivity of what happens in our troubled minds. We must, at some point, take responsibility for our actions and choose the path of recovery, however hard that is to accept. There is the discussion of insight, or the fact that since schizophrenia affects the mind, and the mind is what we use to pass judgement on ourselves, we lack some measure of insight into our own condition. The man living out in the street, for example, talking to himself and defecating in the corner, probably has lost any insight that he previously may have had into his own condition. He does not see himself as having a problem, indeed, he probably sees the onlooker as someone with a problem. How did someone possibly get to that point in their lives, living homeless on the streets?

Writing, Help me Please....To the Abyss and Back....need Critique

Chapter 1, Prologue It was one of those crisp evenings, and on nights like this, I could remember how it all started. Nights like these were filled with the spring air, the same air that I remembered smelling when I had it all one day, and the next, I lost it all. It had began abruptly, without warning, I had gone from a happy college kid, to someone who feared fear itself. What made it all the more disturbing was the lack of sleep. In one instance, I was tired, but could not sleep, then I would lay there in my dorm room bunk bed and stare out the window at the beautiful Gettysburg College campus and listen to the chirping of birds, which normally was a happy sound. The sound of these birds, however, took on a demonic and meaningful shrill chirp. After a few hours of laying there, eyelids clicking, trying desperately to sleep with no sign of the sweet relief coming, I climb out of bed and check the time while I reach for the telephone by the TV set. The clock read 6:45 am. As if moving through an ethereal cloud of reality mixed with increasingly slow moving and gloomy perception, I sank deeper with every passing minute. It was finals week as I neared the middle of my college career, end of my sophomore year. Just three more exams to take, I thought. But at that point I was in trouble. Not the kind of trouble you get into with the law or with a girl you date, no, I was in over my head, and it would be a long way out of a deep, dark hole. I was going to call my mom, but even as I dialed the numbers, I couldn't remember what her number was and the digits on the keypad looked all mixed up in a jumble of mathematics that I couldn't figure out. "Ok, you can do this," I thought to myself. I reminded myself that anyone that had not had a wink of sleep in 72 hours would probably be in similar shape. Finally, after several attempts of punching in random strings of phone numbers, the phone was ringing, I was calling for help. The voice on the other side of the cheap dorm room phone was a comforting one, although at this point, the most comfort that I was in for was the way out my mother was offering. "I'm leaving in a few minutes, do you need anything?" She would say, "I just need to grab a few things and then I'll be there baby, don't worry." My mom, I thought, was my savior and my confidant, and although she could not understand the strings of psychotic thoughts I was stuck with, she could help me from the outside. "Are you feeling all right?" my room mate would ask me. "No, not really," I would respond as the very fabric of time would be in my perceptions, intermittently speeding up and then back to a slow crawl. Every outside stimuli, like someone calling to their friend from far away or a car honking it's horn, had some insidious purpose for doing so and it all fit together. It fit together so well, I remember thinking, that the events happening all around me were part of a larger purpose. My roommate was working for the CIA, I thought, and he can read my thoughts. Even the people on the radio and TV mediums knew what I was thinking. It wasn't until later that I learned that this was a form of projecting upon others. In fact, they were all just cogs in a grand master paranoid delusion that made up conspiracy theories and confirmed their validity with every passing moment. My friends, on the outside of the dungeon of my mind, just got to enjoy life, free of the burden of schizophrenia and its poison to my thoughts. For me, well, I was just stuck in a racing auto bon of thoughts with no slowing down in sight. It wasn't until my mom arrived and picked me up that I felt my first pang of relief, if just for a moment. The next four hours were a blur, until I finally spotted a burgundy 1989 Buick Park Ave pulled up and my mom jumped out. Chapter 2 Carol Lynn Dibley On the way home to Chatham, NJ, I felt my first worried thought for my oldest son. Driving in the focused desperation of my first experience with this young man, who had so suddenly needed help. My son had been so independent up until this point. I didn't care one bit about that, this was the maternal instinct in me who would do anything and be strong in the face of whatever came the way of my son. It didn't matter, I was probably just as frightened as my blond- haired-hunk-of-a-son who was currently rocking back and forth like someone who is suffering withdrawal from horrible street drugs. With the seat in the Buick Park Avenue back, it looked like Shea was riding on a burgundy couch with tremendous leg and head room and support. "Focus on the road, Carol Lynn," I was hardly paying attention to the pavement moving beneath and behind us on Route 81. As we headed back towards the New Jersey boarder, I had so many unanswered questions, so many concerns, many of which I wouldn't get the answers to for a few years to come. My mind was like a pendulum, swing between questions, worried rushed thoughts, and contradictions to each. We will get to the bottom of this, I knew confidently. But then and again, a sinking feeling would pull my confidence away, and then it would roll back up over me like a warm wave pulling and pushing as would the tides of the ocean. On the one hand, I felt relieved that my son had reached out when he did for help. It was almost like he had a clairvoyance on the phone, and a clarity of mind to match. And on the ride home so far, for the hour or so that he was reclining next to me, Shea was passing through stages of lucidity, anxiety, moving his hand nervously over his face and down his sides as if to wash out the demons that must have been haunting him. Suddenly, an image flashed through my mind of fifteen or so years ago watching him do a similar motion, then it fleeted, and it was gone. Was I going crazy? I had to keep it together for Shea and for the rest of the family. After all, Colin wouldn't understand this sudden turn of events, he just wasn't deep enough. As we drew closer every mile to home, I realized what laid ahead of me. Calling doctors, finding treatment, offering support, all the while wondering whether my barely 20 year old son would make it through all of this. However horrid this was going to be for him, though, I had a feeling that it was going to also be extremely difficult for the family and for me, especially. Chapter 3 Alana Carolyn Dibley May 5th, 1999 Tomorrow was my brother’s 20th birthday, but it wasn’t the same this year. Shea had come back from college after our mother raced out of the house in a panic to get him from college, and since he had been home, he had been in bed 20 hours per day, and mom had been on the phone most of the time trying to get some answers. No, this year was different. After all, it would only be a short week until my sweet sixteen and I had issues of my own with school, friends and popularity struggles. A nagging feeling of dread still tugged at me, though, leaving me wondering whether college was all it was cracked up to be and whether in a few short years, my brother Shea’s fate would also be my own. The house was mostly quiet and the Dibley family had hit a new nerve, with all on edge and all worried about my oldest brother. Troy, being only 14 months older than I, seemed to have a quiet detachment from all of this, while showing compassion and caring in his own calm convicting way. Just then, a dark late spring cloud was forming that rolled over the hill to make it's descent on our English Tutor and those who inhabited it. Shea Dibley Mid May 1999 Chatham, NJ It was something of a sleep, but I would have called it more of a fitful thing. Sometimes 20 hours a day I would lay in that freaking bed. I would wake, or be woken to satisfy my hunger or to relieve myself, and be so intensely tired that I had no choice to give in to the horrible sleep that consumed me once more. Eyelids clicking and fighting a boxing match in slumber, I was reduced to the most primal of states that are seldom seen at my age of 20 years. No, in fact, it was generally reserved for those in the most early and last stages of life. When I was awake, covers thrown off in the 85 degree arid heat, it was a different thing that chained my very being up to make me the prisoner in my mind that I had so suddenly become. After all, the highest ranks of foreign and domestic governments were now conspiring against me in a grand master delusion that bashed at my psyche. Falling fast, deep within my mind, I knew that I needed more help than my family could provide, if only temporarily. Although a long and uphill gravel road with perils along each turn lay in store for me, not once did I give into the very darkest daemon, the one that told me, in not so many words, that life was no longer worth living. What a strange turn of events this was, as the earth split underneath my feet to reveal the dark chasm below. I was falling then, deeper into the abyss that I had to swim free of for many long years. The pressure of the water around me almost completely crushed me from all angles. Unable to capitulate on the length of time I would be down in the dark divide in the earth's crust, I simply embraced the darkness, as the solar eclipse of my mind began. ---------

How does mental illness affect me, you ask?

Well, in answering that question, I often find myself saying that it propagates every single situation, every decision that I make on a daily basis, even as far as to go, the very undertones of my existence.

As much as I try to hide my schizophrenia away from those around me that I would prefer not to know about it, there is no possible way to not demonstrate, in every facet of my existence, that I suffer from the insufferable. However, to many people, it would just be what they would say is me just being myself.

Does the medication help? No question that it does, but does it make me symptom free? Definitely not! In fact, sometimes it just adds to the confusion of whether the symptoms are part and parcel of the disorder itself, or an un-intentional side effect of the medication that I take for it.

I do consider myself lucky to be such a highly motivated, successful, and caring and loving person, which really is another reason that upbringing is so important. It is not just genes that determine who we are and what we become, but the environment of learned values over time, that shape and mold us over time.

Got fired from my job today because of the disorder

Hello All,

I just got fired today because I didn't use good judgement because of my disorder! Oh man, this sucks!

My boss had it in for me from the beginning. She is a mega bitch!

Oh well, I am going to pull on through this.....just hope that I don't have a major psychotic break too!

Such are life's litle inequities

I am continually hounded at work to do the best job that I can do in a politically charged work force, and know that I have and want to be the best dad that I can be to my two sons--all the while on two separate neuroleptic medications and suffering from Schizo-Affective Disorder. Is it fair, I say no.

But what can one expect in the realm of equity for all? Not much. There are many things in this life that are inequitable and not fair, but we don't always address them. When it comes to the stigma of mental illness, I end up acting like a jerk half the time, not because I mean to, but just because I am experiencing one or the other of the symptoms of my disorder.

I have to constantly remind myself that the only person that you have to ultimately be accountable to in this life is yourself. And in the end, depending on your faith-base, you are accountable to God. You see, your family is the only one who loves you unconditionally, and no one else can bear that responsibility nor will they for you.

Shea

Post from Psyche Central

I realize that around my age and older is when symptoms of schizophrenia begin to show. I am extremely concerned that I may have it. I hear voices and see things all the time. The voices in my head introduce themselves to me, and sometimes speak in different languages. I have a friend that has Schizophrenia and she said it is usually obvious, and that it looks as if I am showing early signs. I feel as if I can read other people’s minds. The voices in my head tell me things. Sometimes good, more often bad. It’s affecting my school work because they will shout things at me in Italian. I have done extensive research on schizophrenia, and I have many of the symptoms. Such as delusions and disorganized speech. So far I’ve counted 29 voices in my head. Do I need to check in to a mental hospital? Or do I not even have Schizophrenia. Please help.

A. I do not believe that you have to “check in” to a psychiatric hospital at this point but you should have a psychiatric evaluation. You can do this several ways. One way is to go to the hospital and request a psychiatric evaluation. Generally, an individual would utilize this option if he or she is experiencing significant or severe distress or there is an emergency. Typically, an individual would be admitted to the hospital if the evaluators suspect that they are a danger to themselves or to others.

Another way to have a psychiatric evaluation is to make an appointment with a psychiatrist. You would choose this option if there was no immediate psychiatric emergency. Your parents can call the local community mental health center and schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist. Your parents can also speak to your primary care physician who may be able to recommend a psychiatrist. Another option, if you have health insurance, is to call the telephone number on the back of your insurance card. The insurance company typically has a list of mental health professionals they recommend and who are “in network.”

As I mentioned above, it is imperative that you are evaluated as soon as possible. Auditory hallucinations are not a common occurrence. It is a symptom that should be investigated very thoroughly. Hallucinations, both visual and auditory, are associated with schizophrenia but they can also be brought on by drug use, fever, organic brain disorders, dementia, and on rare occasions, parasitic infection.

Please speak with your parents immediately about having a psychiatric evaluation. It is best not to assume that you have schizophrenia or any other condition. You will not know what, if any, disorder you have until you have been thoroughly screened by medical and mental health professionals. In the meantime, it is important to remain calm. To the best of your ability, try to engage in activities that are stress-free and that you find relaxing. If the voices are worse during certain times, for instance when you are alone, try to distract yourself either by watching television, listening to music or by being in the presence of others. Other stress reducing activities include physical exercise, deep breathing, meditation, and yoga. I am not suggesting that you engage in these activities as a way to treat a possible diagnosis of schizophrenia. I am simply recommending that you reduce your stress levels as much as possible because increased levels of stress might exacerbate your symptoms.

The next step for you is to speak your parents and to be evaluated. I know it may be difficult but please try not to worry. Worrying increases stress and at this point, you want to focus on stress reduction. Effective treatments exist for virtually every mental health condition. Please do not hesitate to write again if you have any additional questions. I wish you the best of luck.

Dr. Kristina Randle