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?