Reality for Dreams

Reality for Dreams
By Derrick Ferree
When Your Mind Takes You on the Ride of Your Life
I’m a spy unlike any other, gifted with supernatural, psychic abilities and able to connect telepathically with the most beautiful woman this world has seen. I’m destined to, at least in part, prepare the world for End Times. Not only is there prophetic cosmic danger in the near future for all of us, but there has to be a group in control setting such a course in motion; a group that doesn’t like me and my dashing wife-to-be. Luckily, I’ve set up a network to connect us all (those of us working against the evil) who understand my coded language. They are connected to Hollywood, independent news sources and the music industry. Much of what these would-be strangers, celebrities and news anchors are saying fits the code. Clearly, they are understanding my calls for help as my estranged female fantasy and I desperately wait for them to organize so that our mutual superpowers may combine to fight evil and fulfill the prophecy.
You know, I did work in TV in LA, and I did talk to some people when I was an activist on the streets. And, it is prophetic, and I am smart, too smart to be wrong. So clearly, I’m right. I’ve tested it out this time. I’ve been direct with the trustworthy people on the internet who find these bipolar adventures believable. I’ve kept it secret from family and friends because they would get caught in the crosshairs, not because they would calmly explain to me that I’m on a path leading back to the ward. 
But I’ve been good. I’ve held down steady, productive work, and I’m fine. Never mind the binge drinking that would allow these delusions a resting place in my mind and silence the voice of reason. I’d find news to validate my visions, and it would be real; as real as possible so that I wouldn’t have to accept that I’m not a character in X-Men or a prominent character in End Times lore. But some of my visions have come to pass. I must warn the people and save the girl!
(Sigh) Yikes. I can’t believe that was/is me sometimes.
The problem is/was/will be that life to those of us with these, kind of, enjoyable bipolar delusions are going to crave them again. Especially in the aftermath of an episode where everything one has worked for, typically, is ruined, and the path back to that decent place in society is seemingly blocked. Usually, with such a bleak future carved out, the old delusions must be the solution, and we’ll try to make it that. It comes from a lack of respect for what is good. Having lost a lot, I’m here to say, don’t give up on what minor joys come from self-sustainability and productivity. There is no better feeling than independence, and all of us who’ve been in a ward for more than a week know that is true. Never forget the alternative, and never make the alternative an escape from the beauty of a simple healthy life.
Unfortunately, those of us with Bipolar I get the joys of schizophrenia with long-term ups and downs. It feels like a never-ending roller coaster ride, and the trouble, when not treated properly, is actually enjoying the ride. Now, life in general is a bit of a roller coaster, but I’ve begun to feel like those without mental illness fail to realize that they were born in a seat with functioning seat belts. We’re not broken. We’re just in a bad seat, but there are ways, thankfully, in today’s world, to make that seat more comfortable. And there are times we should realize that the ride is serenely steady. It’s fine to be just getting through the day.
There’s a reason why superheroes remain fiction. It’s because they can’t sustain what we see on film. No one can. Remember that. There’s a reason we don’t have superpowers, because if we did, it would never stop. Some of us know how terrifying that is when the delusion spirals into paranoia—and it will. Realize that everyone, not just the mentally ill, has problems navigating life’s more tedious times. Patience and care will balance and guide you.
A few days of adventure are not worth trading a few years separated from the life you should be living. This mantra helps me now, and maybe it can help you on your journey. So, buckle up.

My Mystic Bipolar Autobiography

My Mystic Bipolar Autobiography

By David Dalton

How I Reconciled My Mystical with My Mental Health Experiences

In this article I claim that my mood cycles have been affected by lunar and solar cycles, and that I am similar to some past major pagan and non-pagan religious figures.

In 1986 at age 22, during a low year of the 11-year sunspot cycle, I suffered a long mild depression. It was treated first with desipramine, which didn't work and had too many side effects, and then with nortriptylene, which eventually worked but did cause my only epileptic seizure that December.

Early in September of 1991, while organizing orientation week activities at the University of British Columbia Graduate Student Centre, (having been inspired by musician-songwriter Sarah McLachlan and some others, and having experienced shaktipat from my yoga teacher), I went into my first manic episode. It began with a shower of ideas early on September 1^st, and culminated in a naked sun stare, thorn hill climb, and blue rose vision on September 5^th and 6^th.

Just before my manic episode started, I witnessed some clear sky lightning, which I relate to an M-class solar flare that took place two days prior. This manic episode occurred during a waning crescent moon in a high year of the 11-year sunspot cycle. During the sun stare, I observed a curved tunnel effect, like a divine horn of oil with its wide mouth toward me, and then giant butterfly wings of space folding in on me. Then I blacked out and fell into the water.

After this experience, I remained at a mental health ward for five weeks while my lithium level was adjusted. In May of 1992, during a waxing gibbous moon, I smoked a marijuana joint on Wreck Beach intending to relax. Instead, I went into a mixed/psychotic episode resulting in a week-long hospitalization. I emerged from this stint on 5mg of haloperidol per day, in addition to the lithium. In early July 1992, during an early waxing moon, I had a suicidal period which ceased when my psychiatrist told me to come off haloperidol. After that, I would only use haloperidol as needed and on rare occasions.

In the next two and a half years I experienced three more waxing gibbous moon trials, triggered by alcohol use, and three waning crescent hypomanias with onset 5.5 lunar months after each waxing gibbous moon trial onset. Based on the first two 5.5 lunar month separations, I predicted the late August/early September 1994 high.

After the March 1994 trial I gave up drinking alcohol during the week before a full moon but continued to drink at other phases with no ill effects. I had one more waning crescent high in early July 1994 that did not have a waxing gibbous moon trial precursor, but like the others had an M-class solar flare two days prior. Similar to the September 1991 high, my June 1993 high and August-September 1994 high had clear sky lightning at their onsets. The early January 1994 high occurred during highly variable weather. The highs were pleasant and characterized by playfulness and creativity accompanied by a feeling of mystical connectedness within nature. The trials were unpleasant and characterized by a feeling of the world turning sour around me.

Beginning early in 1996, I entered into low years. They were low in terms of creativity, at times in terms of mild depression and anxiety, and at other times in terms of delusion and even paranoia. For some past figures such low years seem to have lasted seven years, but for me they have lasted 18.5 years (as of July 29, 2014). So far, I think since I have had modern medicines, and since lifespans are longer today on average, it could be that my low years will not last much longer than 18 years (7 years plus an 11 year sunspot cycle). I hope to come out of them soon after this writing date, which is August 20, 2014. But on my current medication regimen, 1250 mg divalproex sodium and 10 mg olanzapine nightly, the low years are not very low except in terms of creativity.

I have also done comparisons of my cycles to those of past figures. The three figures I have the most evidence that I am similar to are Gwion (Taliesin), the Turquoise Bee, and Jesus (the heavens opening and wings descending during Jesus' baptism I liken to my sun stare experience which I described earlier). For more detail on my comparisons to them and several other past figures, and on my mystic bipolar autobiographical details, please do a web search for Salmon on the Thorns.

Bipolar, With a Side Order of Psychosis

Bipolar, With a Side Order of Psychosis

By Jason Matlack, CPS

How My Illness Was a Blessing In Disguise

It's amazing how sometimes the worst things in our lives can become our greatest assets. It isn't the cards we're dealt but the way we play our hand. Who would have thought having mental illness would become the exact thing that has made my life worthwhile.

I never did well in school. When I was young they didn't have all of these diagnoses and tests to discover what was what. Maybe that was a good thing. Even though I always felt like I was failing at a lot of things in my life I never seemed to give up. Without a diagnosis I did not have an excuse to give up.

Growing up I experienced sexual abuse at an early age. I don't know how much of that played a part in my mental illness. That experience and my inability to keep up with my peers in school always made me feel inadequate. Sometimes I would fail tests that I would have passed because I didn't meet the time frame.

I discovered alcohol and marijuana at an early age. When I drank and got high all those feelings of inadequacy went away. In fact, with a little alcohol I became self-confident, or so I thought. I never drank like regular folks from the start. I drank too much and too often.

When not drinking, my self-hatred surfaced and I would say horrible things to myself in the mirror. Sometimes I would do things to hurt myself. I thought about suicide often. Drinking to oblivion was my only release.

I began to drink to the point of blacking out and became violent when drinking. At 19-years-old my verbal abuse turned into an attempt to beat up my girlfriend. I finally sought help in a 12-step program. I was raised in a loving family and thought female abusers were the bottom of the barrel. I moved out on my own, partially blaming my unhappiness.

I couldn't remain sober because of the secrets of the abuse and dysfunction in my childhood. I ended up in rehab and stayed sober for eight years with the help my involvement in a 12-step program. Even then I still didn't fit in. I was able to curb the anger and dealt with my childhood by finding peace and self-forgiveness. But the bipolar mood swings were a constant battle. While in my mid to late twenties I began to experience psychotic episodes. After indulging in the instant gratification of mania, I would then experience great guilt.

Once the psychotic episodes began, I would go super spiritual and hear a voice I thought was God. The business that I had started and ran for fourteen years began to fall apart due to my inability to cope. My wife couldn't take it and we ended up divorcing.

I started drinking again every now and then since my episodes isolated me. But I did not drink much. Instead, I would smoke marijuana. I didn't realize it, but the smoking prevented my psychotic episodes from occurring. Unlike alcohol, marijuana did not cause me to black out or become violent.

By my mid-thirties I lost my business. I went through some sales and management jobs, but manic episodes only caused more compulsive decisions.

When the economy crashed, the time share company I worked for as a marketing manager laid off 50% of the work force. I went into a psychosis that lasted about a year, thinking I was the second coming of Jesus Christ.

When the psychosis broke, I admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital. That was where I was diagnosed and started to receive proper medical care. It is also where I had my “Patch Adams” moment. I knew I wanted to get into the mental health field and help others like myself.

I had a difficult time coming to terms with the guilt from the damage I had caused others with my manic episodes and psychosis. I experienced a lot of anger about being born with this condition and became angry with God. Thoughts of suicide continued to plague me regularly.

I continued in sales, which I hated, but it was the only skill I knew would earn me enough money to survive. After getting laid off from a job selling cars, my therapist told me about a Certified Peer Specialist job, which is someone with a mental health diagnosis who helps others recover from their mental illness and create a better life for themselves.

I have been a Certified Peer Specialist for almost a year now. It is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I thrive on the personal satisfaction of helping others and witnessing their progress. This job is what I was looking for my entire life but was unaware of it. Every day I go to my job with great enthusiasm. If I wouldn't have gone through hell, I would have not found heaven.

All I can say is that to those of you who think you can't, you have to know that you can. To those who are our supporters, do not sell us short. It is through your support and encouragement that we will soar to new heights.

The common threads to those that find a quality life are those that have support, whether it is family, friends or professionals. No one can do this alone. If you do not belong to a support group please find one. There are some that meet in person. If that isn't possible, there are tons of them on the internet. I belong to a few myself. There are also support groups for our supporters. I love you all and good luck on your journey!

The Right Perspective is Everything

The Right Perspective is Everything

By Allan

I Enjoy My Senior Years By Helping Others

At the age of forty, job related stress brought on my first episode of major depression. Since 1980, I had been diagnosed with bipolar 1 and have had seven breakdowns requiring electro-convulsive therapy.

My last event was four years ago, and today I am in full recovery, not cured, but able to fully function. I attend support group meetings at NAMI and Recovery International. I believe my acquired coping skills and new positive attitude allows me to not dwell on the past, which is subject to interpretation, nor the future, which is unknown, and to focus on the present.

For thirty years, I was able to work on Wall Street. I've been married 51 years, have two grown children and four grandchildren, despite my recurrent illness. Bipolar has made me sensitive to the plight of others, more understanding and appreciative of the people in my life.

When I am well, I think back to the darkest days of my life, and when I am ill, I remember how I overcame the nightmare that is mental illness seven times. If my dark days return, I know that with treatment I can survive.

My recovery has been reinforced by my advocacy efforts. As a member of JAC NYC (Jails Action Coalition), I fight to end solitary confinement, especially for those with mental illness, and I am active with RIPPD (Rights for Imprisoned People With Psychiatric Disabilities), which fights for Community Crisis Intervention Teams.

In 1990, after 30 years of employment at a major firm, I was downsized and told that my position was being eliminated due to the recession in the economy. When I responded that I had seniority and they were keeping younger people on the job with less seniority than I, they said seniority only applies to union workers. So much for loyalty in the capitalistic system. I sued under the Employment Disability Laws and was eventually given long term disability and Social Security Disability.

Not working was a shock for me. Having a schedule each day, putting on a nice suit, white shirt and tie, working alongside fellow workers, engaging them in conversation about sports, current events , their children involved in Little League baseball, was no longer available. I had to find other dreams and outlets that provided me with involvement.

I am now a speaker for MHA and last month I made a presentation at Bellevue for consumers such as myself. My biggest happiness is seeing other consumers who have struggled to cope with their new life eventually helping others in the support groups I attend. They help, not with advice, but by relating how under similar circumstances they found out that "eventually every problem has a solution."

I’ve Been Here Before

I’ve Been Here Before

By A.J. Johnson

The desire to be understood; the angst when you’re not

I'm sitting at my desk, bawling my eyes out over everything and anything going on in my life. I'm hyperventilating at all of the possible outcomes of my situation, thinking the worst. My mind is racing from here to there to everywhere and back again, trying to figure things out, and it's not getting anywhere. I've been here before.

I’d like to think I’m different. Certainly, many people I meet think I’m unique, or even special. They can’t quite put a finger on it. But I can. And so can many others around the world who live with the same issues I live with. People treat us differently, sometimes with empathy. Most of the time, it’s with contempt, hostility, anger and fear. They don’t understand what it’s like to live with a mental illness, and they probably never will. It’s difficult to get people to understand something you can barely understand or control yourself. I’ve been here before.

I ache all over from the sheer loneliness I feel, even after I've reached out to friends and family, telling them I need to talk, and no one responds. I'm usually so open and verbal about myself, that when I need a lifeline from time to time to talk privately about things, and no one responds, I feel like a shit heel because I'm bugging people too much. And no one wants to hear about my problems anymore. There's always something wrong with A.J. I've been here before.

I'm bargaining and arguing with my loved ones, bawling, weeping, sniffling, begging and pleading with them to just listen to me. They tell me to "get over it," "quit the crying," and to "go get a job." When I tell them I can't because my doctors highly recommend that I don't and I actually agree with the decision. It isn't because I want to be lazy, it's because I don't want to go to jail for killing someone. I don't want to end up on the news as my kid finds me after school one day once I’ve taken a handful of pills. They end the conversation because they don't want to hear what I have to say, because they’ve heard it before and they’ve got their own ideas about my situation. I've been here before.

I struggle with my daily grind, trying to put my best foot forward. But it's difficult at best, excruciatingly painful at the worst. I try to do things that will help me feel better about myself so I can change my mental state and attitude. Sometimes it works. For the times it doesn't work, I'm left feeling flat, hollow and cold. I've been here before.

I try to do other things to make myself feel better. Safe things. Things that I don't have to pay money for, things I can do at home, because heaven forbid I do something like get out of the house. That would be expensive and I can't afford it right now. I've been there before too.

Point is: I've been here before. I keep coming back and I don't like it here. But it's one place I know better than I know anything else. It's not a happy or fun or sunny place. But it's more familiar to me than the lines on my own face. I want to change it in the most desperate ways possible and most of the ways I can think of are morbid, sad and heartbreaking.

It makes me seem selfish, inconsiderate, conceited even. But I'm not. I honestly wonder whether or not my life in any way possible means anything to anyone other than my immediate family. Why should I care? Because I'm one of those types of people; I care about others and I do care what others think of me, to a point. I think about those people whose lives I've touched, if at all, when I try to bring myself out of these doldrums. It brings me to a place where I think I can handle this mess of mental illness swirling through my brain. It helps me calm myself and think that I can move forward, even though I know, deep down inside, I'm really not.

I've been here before.

I Can See the Light by Andrea

I Can See the Light

By Andrea

I am 45 and I have been “sick” for the past 12 years of my life. I have bipolar II, an illness that I would not wish on anyone. I grew up very loved and very happy, but eventually my world was shattered.

My first marriage left me abused and broken. I tried, and succeeded for a while, to put that part of my life in the very back of my mind. Some things just can’t stay buried forever. Flashes of the past came back to haunt me, and major depression set in. I went into a very dark place, and it has taken me 12 years to even slightly pull out.

My days have been empty, and everything has seemed so dark. The darkness is frightening. It is lonely, filled with self-loathing, disgust and pain. Lots of pain. The kind that starts in your soul and seeps through your veins until it has taken over your body. I keep my doors shut and my curtains drawn. I don’t answer the phone or the door. I keep everyone and everything locked out. I don’t even open the mail. Every time I see a glimpse of the light I retreat. The darkness is now what I know. It has become too familiar. It seems that the scariest place I’ve ever been has turned into the only place where I want to be.

I spend my days and nights alone. At this point I wouldn’t have it any other way. Isolation has become my best friend, or so it seems. The anxiety added to the sadness has been an awful curse. Then you add the voices to that and it makes life almost unbearable. The voices are loud, and at times unrelenting. They tell me I’m worthless, ugly, a failure. I’m not sure why, but I always believe what they say. They tell me to hurt myself. They tell me to cut. Between the voices, and the sadness, and the anxiety, sometimes I do what they say. Cutting always seems like a good idea. It always seems like it will make me feel better, but it never does. Sometimes I do it hoping to bleed the illness out of me. Sometimes I do it just to be in control of something. I can’t control the darkness, but I can control the blade.

I’ve attempted suicide four different times, and obviously lived to tell about it. I would be so angry at whomever had rescued me. My family and the ER. I mean seriously! Why couldn’t they get it? I would be better off dead! People don’t understand and they can’t understand unless they’ve walked this road themselves. I would always hear, “what will your children do without you?” What could they do with me? My wanting to die had nothing to do with them or anyone else, it was only about me. Well, that’s selfish you might say. I don’t think so. It’s the direct result of an all-consuming illness. It’s something that I could not control.

I’ve been hospitalized over 15 times at several different hospitals. A couple of times for only 3 or 4 days, but mostly at least a week, and many times as long as a month. I’ve met and I’ve observed lots of people. Some looked like me. They looked like they didn’t belong there. At other times, some looked like me when the darkness had taken over. The hospital started out as a scary place that I wanted to get out of, but it has turned into a safe haven. It’s a place where I could feel and act exactly the way that I felt. I didn’t have to worry about putting on a face and pretending that everything is okay. It’s sad to say, but the hospital became such a safe place that sometimes at night when I can’t sleep because my anxiety and fear is running high, I will pretend that I am there. That is sick I know, but honest.

I have had many ECT treatments. They only worked against, not for, me. I will go back and say, as I did in the beginning, that I have come out of the darkness for a while and for that I’m grateful. It has taken years of therapy, a great psychiatrist and lots of medication, but I’m pulling through. The dark is not always here now. Sometimes I can actually see the light.

Some great Resources in Mental Health in and around NYC

Hello City Voices Readers:

This is the CIO Will Jiang, MLS of New York City Voices letting you know about some exciting, upcoming events as well as a great newsletter archive of a great support group:

Mood Disorders Support Group Newsletter Archive (MDSG):

•  http://www.mdsg.org/newsletters.php

The Return of the  third season of the "Healthy Minds" series is big news

• http://bbrfoundation.org/healthyminds

I like also, the mention of the radio program in the namynycmetro newslettter. 

"TUNE INTO TABOO TALK RADIO DURING

MINORITY MENTAL HEALTH AWARNESS MONTH"

Please show your support and tune in to listen at www.blogtalkradio.com/taboo-talk

 

• July 3: NAMI IOOV presenters: Christina Sparrock and Mrs. Arlene Day 
• July 10: Famous Psychiatrist, Dr. Dolores Malaspina 
• July 17: NAMI IOOV presenters: Lucy Chi and Crispin Jackson 
• July 24: Famous Author/Mental Health Advocate, Deborah Cofer 
• July 31: Famous Psychiatrist and Famous Author, Dr. Sidney Hankerson and Mental Health Advocate, Terrie Williams

If you like any of these resources please leave a comment below. Even if you don't like them, it would be interesting to see your comments, as they may help others.

Happiness At Last

By Stefanie Tomasello

Finding a doctor who listens and the right combination of medicines makes all the difference

I’m bi-polar and stumped; I'm stumped today with what I have to share. What does one with bi-polar even say? My story includes the dramatic highs and lows of the illness, as well as the pestering urge to slit my wrists when I am being emotionally abused. I had asked myself: “When does it get good again?” I remember two summers ago at nightfall, sitting by the pool on a ledge, having a cigarette, just plotting my suicide and precisely how I was going to do it. I didn't really want to kill myself, because somewhere deep down, just waiting to get out, was happiness.

As a teenager, I was on Zoloft and anti-anxiety medication, and I held a job throughout my teens and twenties with a vibrant smile on my face. Nothing could hold me back. It was in my late twenties that I noticed that I had I started to become very manic. My moods were up and down and I was crying all the time. My depression and work pressures had taken a toll on me. I was burnt out and I desperately needed the right medication. The doctors put me on all different kinds of medications that didn't work; and the worst part was that none of them listened to a word I had to say. It was very stressful with all the side effects that I experienced from the medications. It was especially hard having my family see this roller coaster of my illness.

My father has schizophrenia and unfortunately went to prison for murder of another family member. I could not deal with this. It was far too much for a girl like me to handle. I received no support concerning the incident, so I had to learn to survive on my own. This was very hard considering the pressures of being bi-polar as well as there being a death in the family. Later on, I went back to my father’s apartment, lit a candle and said a prayer. I needed closure and I think that this was one thing that I could do for my family member. Just thinking about her, I remembered her smile and the way she always laughed, big and loud. It fit her and her laugh made me happy.

I was hospitalized four times for my illness and due to not being on the right medications. Nothing seemed to work for me. A year ago, I was talking about my father with my counselor and it opened a floodgate of emotion. I was in the state of mind in which I believed that any man would hurt me, rape me or kill me. This led to me thinking about my father; I was very paranoid, thinking there was serious harm coming my way. So I went into the hospital and right away the doctors put me on Ativan which worked wonders, because my anxiety had skyrocketed. It had been spiraling out of control, like a enchanted spider web woven of silk thread. I stayed in the hospital for a week and they also put me on Haldol. A new diagnosis was revealed and I was considered to be bi-polar with hints of schizophrenia. I was able to accept this new diagnosis.

I finally found a new doctor who was heaven-sent for me. I have been with her for the past two years and I’m doing beautifully. I told her right away to put me on Zoloft because I was so depressed and the bi-polar medication was not enough. I needed something else; the combination of medications just didn't feel right to me. So the doctor put me on Zoloft and added Seroquel for my highs and lows which worked wonders. I noticed a huge difference. I had been aware of my highs and lows, and by letting my doctor know, the result was no less than a miracle. She upped the Seroquel a bit and I have been more balanced than I have ever been in my life. I was also put on Haldol which I felt in awe of, from the improvements I experienced. It felt like sunset at nightfall, or a like a colorful rainbow on a gloomy, misty and cloudy day. It just works for me. I haven't relapsed yet and I get a shot of Haldol each month now. The only side effect I experience now is tremors but that’s why I take Cogentin.

I recently began receiving social security; but to tell you the truth I love it! I get to do things that I never did in my teens because of working so much. Now I can sit in a cafe with a good cup of coffee and just enjoy reading a novel with the sun streaming in. I’ve never felt this great before in my life! I'm more creative; painting and writing, reading and getting out more. I'm so blessed. See, I knew there was happiness just waiting to get out – I think it was just waiting for the perfect time. At first it was a lot of work, but happiness gets easier and you learn to love being happy, and re-learn how to love yourself and not to feel sad all the time. It’s not perfect but it gets better and you can be happy. I think we all want to be happy. Like I said happiness just waits for the perfect time to come out. I'm happy, one day at a time, and I hope you, too, can be happy one day at a time.

Book Review: Living for the Moment

Reviewed by Jack M. Freedman

A collection of poetry by Stephen J. Fernbach

I will admit that sometimes I fall victim to procrastination, which is why I am glad that I now have a spare opportunity to review a book of poetry. As a self-published poet myself, I can always appreciate work written by authors who genuinely enjoy the art of poetry. In many cases, we get to see the evolution of the poet as he or she progresses throughout the years and develops an astute maturity. This is the case of Living for the Moment, written by Stephen J. Fernbach.

This is Mr. Fernbach’s third book of poetry. He has written quite a number of personal accounts over the span of his life. Oftentimes, while I read a book of poetry, I randomly turn to a page and read it instead of reading the whole book from cover to cover. While engaging in this process, I found a couple of poems that stuck out.

Many of these writings dealt with the Jewish experience. As a person of the Jewish faith, I was able to relate with many of the sentiments expressed in the book. Such poems include “Israel Is My Shambala” and “First the Dinner Bell, Then the Shofar Sounds.”  The first poem expresses a deep love for the land of milk and honey. Such memories expressed include landmarks, such as the Sea of Galilee and the Western Wall. My own memories of staying in a kibbutz for a couple of days and being moved to tears while praying against the oft nicknamed “Wailing Wall” were evoked. The second poem includes some free-floating thoughts on the high holiday of Rosh Hashanah. For those unfamiliar with this holy day, Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish new year and a shofar is a ram’s horn used as a musical instrument to ring in the new year in a somber fashion. I liked the memories expressed, including the Jewish customs and a dissenting message regarding Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad visiting Ground Zero and speaking at Columbia University.

I would make one friendly recommendation though, which is for the author to flesh out his ideas a little bit more. This piece of advice is given for poems that sometimes ended abruptly. It takes a lot of talent to create imagery that inspires people and Mr. Fernbach definitely has that talent. However, in the words of Oliver Twist, “Please Sir, can I have some more?” That is, more complete thoughts that are wrapped up without leaving something to be desired.

Overall, I enjoyed reading this book. I personally hope that Mr. Fernbach writes a fourth book. I would like to see his craft further develop. Please write on, Mr. Fernbach. Keep poetry alive!

Expressing Yourself Through Art Can Save Your Life

By Elisabeth Bailey

Subtitle: Being creative more effective than meds

I have always been a creative person and seen life and the world from different eyes. It was quite apparent just how different I was at a very young age. After turning five years old I first verbalized suicidal ideations. Later the same year I announced I would not believe in a God which allowed so many horrors to occur in this world. Psychiatric appointments have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and every morning and night, rainbows of pills wait to be swallowed.

I wasn’t a happy child and my home environment was anything but stable and safe. I grew up with a bipolar, megalomaniac, abusive father. I feared and reviled him from the start. My mother was submissive, and often seemed blind to his abuse, so I was left to deal with these situations on my own much of the time.

As I grew older, I often lived without any close friends or had a typical social life at all. My depression worsened greatly and I began experiencing irrational fears. I often comforted myself, daydreaming of different ways to end my life, to stop the exhaustion of my existence

As I entered college, things began to look up, but new problems arose. I learned how to make friends and create a social life, but stress leapt upon me with ferocity. I punished myself for failures, and the negative self-talk that had been my shadow for so long grew louder and more powerful.

As mania of my own began to surface more and more, I took drugs, drank more, and soon found myself utterly exhausted and depressed. It was early in my college years that I first spent time in a psychiatric hospital.

After dropping out and starting school again and again through the years, I gave up. My mental health was poor and it controlled my life. Either the pain was so great and endless, or mania and hallucinations warped my logic and self-control. I burned and cut myself on a regular basis, and suicide attempts became almost a schedulable event. Soon, I tried electroconvulsive therapy, and was left in an even worse place than before. I was lost. Lost to my family, my friends, the life I once lead, and most of all, lost to myself.

Through all the insurmountable struggles and disasters, I turned to art and creative pursuits. It was not until about a year ago that I realized that expressing myself creatively helped me more than any medication I had been on, any psychologist or therapist I had seen, and any treatment I had gone through. It had always been a positive part of my life, and it was always there.

I have embraced the life of an artist, and find that being an artist gives my life a sense of purpose. It has always been there for me, and will always be there. Now I know that when things are awry, I have something to turn back to, something to re-direct my focus on. When I am manic, it gives me positive activities to pour my energy into. When I am depressed, it helps distract me. Though I have always loved art, it is only now that I realize I have been an artist all my life.

We each have creativity within us. The hard part is learning to find one’s own way of expressing it, and even harder is embracing that we are each artists each in our own way. You don’t have to earn a living or have works in shows to be creative; in fact it really doesn’t matter who you are and what you do. One needn’t paint the ceilings of a church, write a song that hits the top of the charts, or re-create an image of a can of soup. You are a creative being. Explore that part of you which is hidden. Try different media. Paint, write, dance, sculpt, sing, whatever! It really does not matter what you try, it is the process that counts. Nothing you create has to be seen or judged by others, it is just there for you. Tap into it, and you may find that, just as I have, art may be the best medicine for us all.

City Voices Author Will Jiang, MLS Presents Autobiography A Schizophrenic Will: A Story of Madness, A Story of Hope at MDSG Oct 9th, 2012

Published Author Battles Schizophrenia

By William Jiang, MLS

New York City Voices helped me along the way

New York City Voices was founded by Ken Steele in 1995, 17 years ago. I was recruited by Dan Frey in early 2000, shortly after Ken died and left Dan at the helm of the newspaper. I shared my own personal story of recovery at that point in 2000 with the paper, and now, in 2012, my personal story of recovery continues.

A lot has happened in my life since then. When Dan recruited me I was fresh out of library school with my Masters, and I was excited to work with a newspaperman. The internship at City Voices was a good idea to get some job experience. Dan got me to work as a grant writer, webmaster, advertising manager, and freelance journalist. I parlayed the City Voices experience into my first career position as an adjunct lecturer at Kingsborough Community College as a librarian. The Kingsborough Community College position led to a seven-year position at the prestigious New York State Psychiatric Institute as the chief librarian of their Patient and Family Library. At New York State Psychiatric Institute I wrote my autobiography titled A Schizophrenic Will: A Story of Madness, A Story of Hope, which, recently, has outsold Sylvia Nasar’s A Beautiful Mind on Amazon.com. I am now in the process of returning to university part-time to study German at Hunter College, and to keep myself busy. I am currently tutoring people who seek further knowledge in Spanish, French, math, Photoshop, video editing, and book design.

However, life has not been an easy, straight road. I continue to struggle with clinical depression, physical aches and pains that I have accumulated over the years, as well as the schizophrenia that I have had since 1992. I was lucky to survive 2011 as I had two hospitalizations in November that involved suicidal ideas and urges. In November I welcomed the institutional halls of Columbia Presbyterian in White Plains because in that hospital was a measure of safety. I was afraid of what I might do to myself if let go without a medication regimen that did not work. After the mood stabilizer lithium failed, I was scared that nothing would work. The doctors were going to try Depakote on me. After an empowering conversation with a mental health therapy aide, I convinced my doctors to try me on Saphris or Fanapt as a mood stabilizer. My doctor put me on Saphris as a mild mood stabilizer, and the good news is that in addition to regular exercise, the Saphris seems to be helping me to stabilize my mood.

Another thing that has helped me, over the years, is my power of insight and my ability to fine-tune my medicines, with my doctor’s ok, to keep me out of the hospital and out of trouble. For some odd reason, when I start losing touch with reality, I sense it happening. I am able to take a little more of my antipsychotic, Navane, when this happens, and by using this technique, I have been able to keep myself out of the hospital for many years. This apparent control I have over my medication and neurochemistry has been a blessing for me because I’ve been able to take less of the antipsychotic than otherwise, and I have had the benefit of less sedation than if I were on a consistently higher dose. I feel that I work as a team player with my psychiatrists in my recovery. The game plan is to stay in therapy and keep an eye on my medication so we can beat the unbeatable opponent that is in my head: the schizophrenia. Although, I have not beaten schizophrenia for over 19 years now, neither has my competitor beaten me, and we continue to play the game. I feel I am playing as a worthy opponent against a formidable diagnosis.

My great regret is that I have had few girlfriends over the years and that none of them have stuck. That is the one thing in life that I feel that I am missing right now: a good girlfriend to share the highs and lows, the good times and the bad, in this drama that is life. I know I’ll meet her someday, and the figurative hearth burns with a steady, warm flame.

In the meantime, I work, I hang out with friends, and I study. I salute New York City Voices for their continued role as the oldest, and largest free newspaper for the people of New York City who suffer from the slings and arrows of mental illness.

Note: The author does not suggest that you manage your own medications as he does unless you talk to your psychiatrist and decide together that it is a safe and practical thing to do. As always, the medical advice of your doctor or your pharmacist should be heeded. To contact Will email fishmonger1972@gmail.com.

Ward Stories

A column organized by Jack M. Freedman, Poetry Editor

This edition of Ward Stories features poetry from a couple of sources.  One of those sources is Ted Wainer.  This poem was written during a hospital stay.  Many of us can relate to the sheer boredom that many experience within the confines of a psychiatric ward.  This in turn inspired me to share one of my own pieces.  This is a piece that outlines my current views on the practices of psychiatry.  I have done a lot of self-discovery and now know that personally, I need alternatives in my life for my own treatment.  With that said, I know there may be a lot of people who will not agree with my statements, but I hope that City Voices will outline a wide variety of views on psychiatry as a whole, so with that, I present one of my poems.  I hope you enjoy this edition of Ward Stories, as well as the rest of the paper.

In These Chains of Boredom

by Ted Wainer

To aire, to reap, to sow , to sleep

To sleep within the air so fine.

To leap, to lash between the sheets

To hate the air that glistens through.

Yes glistening through yet not touching it.

Healing hands yet a smile without grace.

Without the grace to heal the hurt

within.

Without the power of empathy to go that last stand.

Yes boredom resides here big time, you know.

And yes Thomas, that’s the way it is.

Today, tomorrow , and possibly in the future it seems.

It leaps, it jumps, it escapes and it hits you.

It kills at times and menaces with the scales

of your mind.

Yet oh those scales so ponder deep.

Pondering deep within the realm of this insane mess.

Yes the insanity keeps me here.

But how sane am I in boredom.

To laugh, to hold, to cajole and to convince.

To try to see the light.

Yes reading away those hours

                         of discontempt.

Holding onto future grains and learning a lot

along the way.

Yes this field of discontempt.

This hallway of horror.

Passing, passing through all this

 nonsense.

As I’m bored , as I sit here writing these passages.

Hoping for salvation, only time heals they say.

I want immediate release, instant gratification.

And so I wait in these chains of boredom.

Prescribe This

by Jack M. Freedman

I'm done with lurking behind

A marmalade bottle

Filled with false miracles

The ties that bind throttle

Therefore it is empirical

To free yourself

From the shackles

And the cackles of doctors

Dictating our treatment

Treating us like children

Kidding us into thinking

The pills we chase with drinking water

Foster recovery.

My discovery

Of myself

Leads me to shelf

All the things I used to know

And let it fall by my feet.

It would defeat me to entreat

Corrupt forces of mind control

Patrolling and enrolling me

Not in the school of hard knocks

But mental cell blocks

With electroshocks forced upon

By pigs carrying glocks.

We want rights without having to demand them

Without day treatment programs

Where brains get programmed like robots,

Reinforcing paranoia

Validating low self-esteem.

We've moved past possessing psyches

Of Phineas,

But can you gauge what the future holds for us?

We've moved past our head structures being analyzed

Past insulin catalyzing seizures

Leisurely knocking us unconscious at will.

The abuse must end

And we must suspend this systemic oppression,

Before all of our rights undergo regression

And receive justice

At the sharp end of the ice pick.
FREUD CAN SUCK THE FAT END OF MY CIGAR!

New York City Voices is Back!

We apologize for the big delay—it’s been at least a year—since we published our last newspaper. There are many reasons why we did not publish. Among them are lack of staff: all of the work falls on the shoulders of one, maybe two people who are also coping with mental health issues; financial problems; and technical difficulties: learning new technologies and coordinating production in a technologically sensible way has always been difficult.

We are back and starting off humbly with a smaller budget and a smaller newspaper. Still, we intend to print on a regular basis while we get our house in order.

Marvin Spieler, Voices’ current general manager, rehired Dan Frey as Editor in Chief. Dan was on hiatus for a while because he had a mental health setback, hospitalizations and so forth. He’s back and in recovery with new wisdom, which is what recovery from relapse can bring to an individual.

Although the economy is having a weak recovery, we hope to raise enough money to continue publication because we know the value of sharing stories and important information within our community. We tried to get information on how our entitlement benefits may be affected considering the status of the economy and the politics in Washington and New York. We all know that mental health is one of the first things to get cut. We plan to continue to seek answers for you and to publish them.

We now have an Internet blog at newyorkcityvoices.blogspot.com and an archive of most of the articles that have ever been published at nycvoices.org. There is a retrospective documentary short that you can see by visiting youtube.com and searching for “videoguynumerouno city voices.”

We are currently seeking a general manager and an advertising director so please write us if you or someone you know would want more information on these positions.

Here’s to a long overdue issue. Thank you for being a loyal reader.

The Eye of the Storm

By Robyn Carrothers

Even tornadoes pass eventually

My life is like a tornado—that strong powerful wind that causes death and destruction. I live in a chaotic situation where my mental illness has taken its toll. It’s a funnel cloud just waiting to touch down and wreak havoc. I just want to be in the eye of the storm.

It was a beautiful day in the city of my mind. I felt the day was peaceful except for the wind. It was a little breezy. Then suddenly, the wind got stronger. “Wow,” said the elderly man. “I never felt wind like this.”

“Sometimes the wind gets stronger than this,” I said

Then the mailman came along. “It’s starting to rain.”

“Ain’t you supposed to be delivering mail?” asked the old man.

My mind was going crazy as the tornado began to swirl. The mailman and the old man began to argue. I’m on the outside with this F3 tornado in my head. It is getting bigger by the minute. Then at that moment came the rain and thunder. I thought I was losing my mind.

The tornado was getting stronger. The old man and the mailman were still arguing in my head. Then it happened. The damage was beginning: depression, seeing and hearing things. This was a F3 tornado.

Then suddenly, there it was: the eye of the tornado, calm and peaceful.

I saw the mailman and the old man. They were calm, no fighting; the serenity of the eye. It was weird that a wind of 200 miles-per-hour had a calm center.

All of a sudden the twister picked up again. The depression came back, along with seeing and hearing things. I grabbed my head. I wanted this tornado to stop. There the wind suddenly stopped. The damage was done: broken relationships, drama and a lot of chaos. The old man and mailman disappeared. Everything was all in my mind, yet I survived. I was able to pick myself up, and go on with life. I looked back and said, “I will be ok.”

Rainbow Heights Club Helped Restore My Soul

By Julie A. Cipolla

It’s important to have a special place to go

8 ½ years ago my life was very different than it is today. I slept 15 to 18 hours a day and saw no one (I live alone and have no family).

I’d been on Social Security Disability for depression and post-traumatic stress disorder for 7 years already. I was not doing anything with my life. I was merely existing in the haze of semi-suicidality so common to people with my diagnosis and family abuse history.

The one bright spot in my life was a monthly group I started and ran for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) people with disabilities, called “Disabilities Who Need Each Other.” The group was held the second Sunday of the month from 2-4 p.m. at the LGBT Center on 13^th Street in New York City.

One day a nice young man attended the group and told us about a club for LGBT folks with mental illness that he worked at as a peer specialist. I was so intrigued by his description of the Club that I decided to go.

I walked into the building at 25 Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, saw the sign for Rainbow Heights Club and I went to the 4^th Floor. There I met a smiling young man who introduced himself to me as Christian Huygen the current executive director of the Club.

I was given a tour by the peer specialist who had come to my group that Sunday. I was impressed with what I saw. There was a gorgeous, huge kitchen, a cozy, sunny club room with a huge rainbow flag and couches. There was also a computer room with newly installed Internet access as well as a large art room with a real kiln for firing ceramics. All around the room were pieces of artwork made by club members. “Ah!” I thought, “I am home!” Then there was the day room which I was informed was referred to as the “Gay Room,” by members.

I was handed an application for membership and on it was the following question: “What can you offer the Club?” I was floored! Here I was being asked what I could contribute—I was not to simply be a passive recipient of help from higher-ups who were “wellies.”

So I mentioned my Karate skills (I am a first-degree black belt, acquired before I got sick). I also put down my writing skills, and that I was a good listener.

Then I went to the kitchen where Christian was preparing the 4 o’clock dinner. I was encouraged to participate in preparations, so I put some mild spices into the Black Bean Soup and I felt very happy that I was trusted to add the spices and that my input was wanted.

That day I sat in on a group that was constructing a “Code of Conduct” for the Club. I made some suggestions about the wording which the group adopted into the final version.

Next, I sat in the kitchen and talked with a member who seemed to need a listening ear. We talked for an hour before dinner and resumed the conversation afterwards.

When it was time to leave the Club at the end of the day, I felt so happy because I felt I’d helped somebody and I’d contributed in a meaningful way to the Club. That was on January 28, 2003.

I returned to attend such groups as the Assertiveness Group, where I learned strategies for setting boundaries with people, and expressing my needs. There were (and still are) other groups such as Thoughts and Feelings, Lesbian Group, Art Group, etc.

Eventually, I offered to lead various activity groups at the Rainbow Heights Club and in my 8½ years there, I have variously led the Stitch n Bitch Group, the Writing Group and gave a short course in Karate.

I’ve also served on the Community Advisory Board, I’ve prepared taxes for the Club members, cooked at some of the Club barbecues, and I also took a turn working at Rainbow Heights as a peer specialist, which was very rewarding.

Currently, I’m no longer a peer specialist, but instead I’m a regular member. I’m not leading any groups right now. But I do attend several groups every week, including the Alcohol and Substance Abuse Recovery group because I have an eating disorder which is now in remission.

Today, I no longer sleep 18 hours a day, just 8 or 9. I have a whole host of friends at the Club. We support one another. The staff is outstanding and is very responsive to our needs, whatever they may be at any given moment. Just the other day, before Hurricane Irene blew into town, I asked to sit in the director’s office while the director did some paperwork. Just sitting there with her helped to quell my fears about the impending storm.

Rainbow Heights Club is family to me—it’s my second home. It’s where I go to share all of my tragedies and triumphs. It’s a place where I feel heard and loved and I extend this to the other members—we do this for each other. The staff provides an atmosphere of mutual respect and belonging for us members. And we have a heck of a lot of fun, with Bingo and movie nights, karaoke, birthday parties, open houses and barbecues. We also have outings to such places as the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens.

Yes, my life is radically different and better because I belong to Rainbow Heights Club.

What I Learned From the Psych Out 2011 Conference

By Melissa Farrell

Seeking a new vision for mental health care, I attended the Psych Out 2011 conference at the City University of New York (CUNY)’s Graduate Center in Manhattan on June 21, 2011. The conference was sponsored by the PhD Program in Environmental Psychology at the Graduate School and University Center of CUNY. The main organizer of the conference was Lauren Tenney, along with Dally Sanchez and Eva Dech, and many others.

Robert Whitaker, a journalist, spoke about his monumental book, Anatomy of an Epidemic. Whitaker was critical of modern medication treatments for mental illnesses. Whether you’re for medication or against it or whether you have found some kind of middle ground, Whitaker presented valid data about the subject. Whitaker’s first book on mental illness was Mad In America: Bad Science, Bad Medicine, and the Enduring Mistreatment of the Mentally Ill published in 2001. In it, he presented the history of the mentally ill in this country going back to the nation's beginnings. Whitaker argued that society does not have time for moral treatment. It is much cheaper and more time efficient to use medications even though they are not as effective as we would like to think.

Dr. Philip Sinaikin, through his book, PsychiatryLand provided a raw assessment of the field of psychiatry and recommended that drug therapy be replaced by empathic talk-therapy. He gave us a handout that included the stories of individuals termed “Poor Pete” and “Helpless Bill.” According to Sinaikin, no one tried to get to the root of their problems. Instead they were given medications and sometimes forced to take them against their will. Dr. Sinaikin described PsychiatryLand as a Disney Land, which has been hyped-up as a great place, but in reality is just a hot, overcrowded, noisy and expensive amusement park. Similarly, PsychiatryLand is where millions visit to reap the benefits of a rapidly advancing “brain science” to identify and treat the underlying physical cause of painful emotional conditions. Since we don't know exactly how the brain works, let alone how to fix it, is this not also a case of “image” supplanting “reality?”

I also learned about Soteria House in Alaska, a home-like alternative to hospitalization for people who are newly diagnosed or having their first break. The original Soteria House was created back in the 1970s in California by a psychiatrist named Loren Mosher. He advocated for a home where patients who were suffering from “extreme states” could heal as naturally as possible. The environment was meant to be a safe haven with caring workers who were not trained in the medical model. Research indicated that more patients were able to recover in this model without drugs, though some were not. If a person was not able to recover without drugs, attempts were made to help the person minimize their need for medication. The National Institute for Mental Health (NIMH) eventually withdrew funding for this project possibly because it is cheaper to give someone medication and discharge them then to allow them to heal naturally in this type of setting.

Ann Rider, MSW, CPRP presented and discussed many revolutionary ideas in mental health including the use of “Narrative Therapy.” Narrative Therapy focuses on the stories of people’s lives and is based on the idea that mental health problems arise in social, cultural and political contexts. Each person produces the meaning to their life, so critical for recovery, from the stories that are available in these contexts.

Darby Penney, one of the authors of The Lives They Left Behind: Suitcases From A State Hospital Attic presented a social history of everyday patients in a state hospital and what they went through. It chronicled various individuals’ lives from what their lives were like before and what became of them after being admitted to a state hospital in New York. They were people with careers, ambitions and livelihoods at various points in their lives. These people “fell from grace” as so often happens in the mental health system. I am happy that their stories live on.  

Hopefully, the Psych Out conference will promote the inclusion of alternatives to traditional mental health practice in a realistic and practical way that does more good than harm for patients’ well-being.

Note: Melissa Farrell is an advocate and writer. You can reach her at mfarrell079@aol.com.

Life-Threatening Effects

By Nancy Solomon, Saint Louis University

Mixing supplements, herbs, over-the-counter medications and prescription drugs

People are mixing supplements, herbs and over-the-counter medications and prescription drugs to cure themselves of ills, unaware that they could be making themselves sicker, says George Grossberg, M.D., director of the division of geriatric psychiatry at Saint Louis University.

Dr. Grossberg is about to change all that. He is the co-author of a new book, "The Essential Herb-Drug-Vitamin Interaction Guide," which is a comprehensive listing of what various herbs and supplements do, possible side effects and how they might interact with other medications and foods.

"People think if it doesn't require a prescription, it's got to be safe, and that's not true. There could be life-threatening effects."

Dr. Grossberg first became interested in the topic after a routine six-month visit with a patient he had successfully treated for depression. He had been seeing the patient for four or five years, and asked if the man was dealing with any new health problems.

The patient mentioned that he was scheduled to go in for cystoscopy in a couple weeks because there had been blood in his urine. The procedure involves inserting the pencil-thin tip of a probe through the urethra, up to the bladder to detect the cause of the problem.

The patient had undergone thousands of dollars of MRIs and CAT scans of his lower abdomen and pelvis, which had not revealed the reason for the bleeding, and the test was the next diagnostic step.

Dr. Grossberg asked if the patient had changed anything—perhaps had started taking a new medication.

No new medicine. Then the patient's wife pulled from her purse a vial containing a supplement she had purchased from the health food store to enhance memory. Both husband and wife had started taking the herbal memory enhancer, which largely contained ginkgo biloba

"One of the side effects of ginkgo biloba is an increased risk of bleeding. He had no awareness of this. I told him to stop taking the herb and get rechecked before having cystoscopy. The bleeding stopped, and he didn't need the test."

Dr. Grossberg ticks off other common herbs that people take without realizing their side effects or how they might interact with medications.

St. John's Wort sometimes is taken for anxiety and depression. Those who also are taking antidepressants or anti-anxiety medications, such as Prozac, Zoloft or Paxil, should beware. Mixing St. John's Wort with these medicines can cause serotonin syndrome—with symptoms that may include agitation, rapid heartbeat, flushing and heavy sweating—that may be fatal.

Dong quai, which some women take for menstrual disorders and to ease symptoms of menopause, has been linked to cardiovascular problems, such as irregular heart rhythm and low blood pressure. If a patient takes the herb along with an antihypertensive drug, her blood pressure could plummet, putting her at risk of stroke.

Some people take echinacea, which enhances the immune system, for the common cold. However, those who also take Lipitor, Celebrex and Aleve face an increased risk of liver damage. Echinacea also can be harmful for those who have multiple sclerosis, diabetes, HIV infections or allergies.

Dr. Grossberg and his co-author Barry Fox make it clear that they're not anti-herb or anti-medicine.

"There just are a lot of things people can take that have a lot of bad interactions. And on some level it makes sense for them to think that what they're doing is safe. They associate natural remedies with nature and think if the supplement wasn't safe, they couldn't pick it up without a prescription.

"Hopefully this will get them to think more about it so they look before they leap. People can look up what they're thinking of taking and see if there's efficacy. And they should always talk to their doctor about everything they're taking."

Many doctors don't know much about herbal remedies, which have been used as medications for thousands of years.

"When I trained, there was nothing like this in our medical education," says Dr. Grossberg, who graduated from medical school in 1975. "The younger doctors are more likely to know this than older doctors."

Elderly people, he says, use herbal remedies and don't always tell their doctors and pharmacists. They should.

"A lot of our older patients are buying herbals and botanicals. In addition, while those over 65 represent about 14 percent of the population, they consume 40 percent of over-the-counter medications," he says.

The book, published by Broadway Books, a subsidiary of Random House, is being released in mid-April.

Note: Article adapted by Medical News Today from original press release. Article URL: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/releases/66399.php. Any medical information published is not intended as a substitute for informed medical advice and you should not take any action before consulting with a health care professional.