Psychotropic Medication: Salvation or Damnation?

Deborah M.

Often the reason for readmission to a psychiatric hospital is med-related. The "revolving door" syndrome is caused by  discontinuing all medication. Years ago I asked people I knew who had been in and out of hospitals repeatedly "Why would you stop taking your meds when they’re helping you?"  In retrospect I see I was ignorant.  I became educated by my own experience 2 years ago.

I was doing well by clinical standards. I had abstained from self-mutilation for a year; I had been out of the hospital for 2 years, and I had a job. Everything looked fine …on the surface.

At age 24 I was on just about every drug on the market, particularly sedating anti-psychotics, because I was a "problem child". In my teens sedation really didn’t bother me. In fact the constant state of lethargy helped me to cope with being restricted to a locked unit.  When chaos erupted around me I could pop a pill and sleep it all away.  I could be found laying in a corner somewhere face down in a puddle of my own drool.  In my world this was not only expected, but accepted.

By 1996 my situation was different.  For the first time since I was 13 I had to function. The medication I was taking was supposed to make me sane, so that I could function in society.  But I came to believe that heavily sedating medication helps you to function only in certain environments (i.e. hospitals and day programs) not in the "real world".  In a work environment you cannot take afternoon naps. There are expectations an employer will have of you at any job. On all these meds I felt I could not meet these expectations.

I took a long, hard look at my situation and what I had become.  I tipped the scale at 230 pounds, a 70 pound increase since going on the "wonder" drug, Clozaril.  I was struggling to function on 10 hours of sleep and my attention span and concentration were shot.  Worse, I still had symptoms. I was still filled with rage. I still had suicidal ideations and I was still filled with a loathing for myself and life. All of my pain was repressed by the drugs and I was simply too tired to act on any of my impulses. I saw the medication as a hindrance to success and a quality life. I have always suffered from a poor self image, and the weight I had amassed over the years perpetuated my disgust.

I knew that I had exhausted all other possible avenues in way of medications. I had tried many drugs in the past and they all led me to Clozaril. The drug worked for awhile but then stopped working. I was subjected to weight gain and a constant state of debilitating sedation. I’m a lively person by nature. That person was disappearing.

So I decided to "play doctor" and I took myself off meds. At first I felt better, more alive. For the first time I could remember I actually felt normal. I didn’t need medication. I was fine, at least for a little while. Then I wasn’t sleeping. But that was okay, I didn’t need it. I could sleep for 3 or 4 hours and be full of energy. What a joy it was to wake up before my alarm went off in the morning. Then the old me began returning. The symptomatic me, the sick me, what I then felt to be the real me. I started to become hyper again.  Like I always am when I’m not doped up.  I thought that it was the lesser of two evils. But it wasn’t just that. I wasn’t just hyper. I began getting irritable, agitated and explosive. It was all so scary. Most of all I scared myself. I didn’t want to die. But I also couldn’t withstand all of this suffering, just to be sane. I began debating back and forth about suicide and about taking, or not taking my meds. I found myself praying to a God I didn’t really believe in, begging him to make me normal or just take me away.

I wound up being taken away. "God" came to me in the form of the New Rochelle police and I was admitted to an acute care unit. I refused to be put back on Clozaril, demanding instead to be prescribed Olanzapine. Upon admission I had already lost twenty pounds and the weight loss continued. I knew in my heart that I "wasn’t right". My thoughts were racing and my speech was pressured. But I couldn’t admit defeat. I swore I would never go back to Clozaril. I was discharged in a little over a month.

It didn’t take long for things to fall apart for me again. I contacted my doctor and agreed to comply with the set treatment plan, even if it meant taking Clozaril. I was readmitted after only 2 short weeks. I stayed in-patient this time for about 4 months and was discharged to an intensive day program specializing in my illness. This program, in combination with my meds at a substantially lower dose, gave me the help I have sought out for years. My stint as my own doctor concluded with a happy ending: I was finally able to receive the proper therapy and I was able to attack the illness at it’s core, rather than just scratching the surface.

Psychotropic medication is often used as a Band-Aid. A Band-Aid itself doesn’t heal a wound, but it can prevent it from festering. Commonly used psychotropics like anti-psychotics do not cure mental illness, but can suppress the more visible of symptoms. All too often troublesome patients are heavily medicated to prevent outbursts and violent behavior both to themselves and others. "Acting out" is seen as a behavioral problem. The destructive acts are addressed while the real problem, the antecedent to the behavior, goes ignored. Even the term "acting out" has a negative connotation that implies the behavior, be it self-destructive or outwardly violent in nature, is an "act" or a ploy for attention.