Mental Illness is not real… My theory

I’m not saying mental illness does not exist, but that it is a physiological process leading to symptoms that involve our mental health. We are new to the study of genes and what our genes tell us. How we express them, what is important, pathogenic, or completely benign. It’s an ever evolving process. But we don’t know them all, not even close.

Looking through my own DNA, there are multiple alleles of concern that can lead to a host of issues by one tiny tiny change in how my body processes exposures or makes a piece of me. That can then lead to differences in my make up that cause other genes to express that might not have otherwise. All of those little changes can lead to differences in my brain, both organic and inorganic. Both environmental and genetic.

For instance, say I have a mutation in the process that alters how I degrade nitrogen and instead causing me to overload on ammonia. The excess ammonia then alters my brain chemistry leading to symptoms that look like a mental health condition, anxiety, mood disorders, ect. In reality, rather than treat someone with an SSRI which adds more chemicals to the body and alters our chemistry, we fix the root of the problem. Maybe one day, Science will catch up and we’ll understand how all our genes work and be able to quickly scan through our data, find where our process has gone haywire, and then correct the problem, allowing us to function normally, once again. Make sense?

It’s sad, the stigma behind mental illness. It is so misunderstood. But remember when MS (Multiple Sclerosis) was hysteria? When Epilepsy was demon possession or psychosis? So many diseases blamed on mental health until one day, the Science caught up to it and a disease was discovered.  I absolutely believe, that one day, we’ll figure out anxiety, mood disorders, bipolar, ect. One day, we’ll discover the root problem as we begin to fix the overloads or underproduction of our own faulty system and discover ‘the mental health’ aspect was fixed in the process. One day, they’ll realize, it’s not all in our heads. It’s in our DNA.

Just my thoughts….

Hidden

10/28/2014 Dianne MacKay

 

It’s those with type A personalities, the ones who strive for perfection, the ones who hold everything in, that you should worry about.  Not in the sense of being harmful to others, but to themselves.  They hold it in cause if anyone sees them cracking then they lose their pride, their self-image, their self.  They’re the strong ones.  They have been relied upon so much that to stop now spins everything into chaos.  It’s not always realized how much they hold the pieces together both in themselves and with all the lives connected around them.  It’s too late to check themselves out, without fracturing everything so neatly held together.  Narcissistic?  Nope.  Just overly honest.

 

 

She had No Name…..

I was born a sensitive.  In time that was to my detriment.  Hold it in, don’t let them see you affected.  Be strong.  Be tough.  Instead, rather than show it to the world on their sleeves, it instead stays hidden, buried, deep, with a smile on my face.  No longer taking pleasure in what was once my guilty pleasure.  A world apart, my escape…no longer there to sweep me away and allow me to dream…  So I lie? No, I smile and don’t look you in the eye.  I’m fine.

 

Are there Angels out there watching over me?  Do they feel my pain?  Do they see me sinking further and further into despair crying out for sanctuary?  Do they hear my cry?  The physical pain is unbearable at times, yet I press on.  Life goes on right?

 

Where are you?  You see me, but you don’t… You hear me, but you don’t…  You’re here, but you’re really not.  Do you see the invisible tears silently falling down my cheeks??  Do you feel the pain rolling off of me so thick it chokes me?  Do you not feel the difference?  Where are you?  Who are you?

 

The pressure comes at me from every angle.  Pressing on every nerve ending and sending currents of electricity through my mind, exploding into fragmented shards of frustration, leaving me in an exhausted state of morose melancholy.

 

The downward spiral clutching at my aching heart pulling me in all directions.  The dizziness spinning me in circles, not sure where to rest my feet. My body falling apart to the mental anguish tearing me inside out.  Which will break first?  Does it matter in the end?    The fragile pieces of me holding to that one spark that refuses to extinguish.  The music of my soul clinging to the desperately whimsical thread of existence still lingering and burning within.  Crushing, gut wrenching solitude of depression as the walls close down upon me suffocating me into a corner of life where wild flailing of mental anguish seeks to rear its panicked head, pulling me under and drowning me in the depths of it.

 

Oh the tower of my existence, alone and isolated.  No one to catch me when I fall.   No one to take charge as the place was already filled long ago, used up and now useless to anyone else.  A place left for those to stumble in the dark and look for that spark of flame just out of reach.  Sing to myself, sing to my soul.  Pull the darkness down and me out of its tangled clutches.   Burn the pain. Burn it up.  Take it away in a wisp of smoke blown into dust in the wind.