Withdrawal – Part 5: Med-Free Bipolar

At long last, we come to the final post in this series. As I promised in the previous post, I will be explaining about the supplements that have been critical to my recovery and stability in the aftermath of coming off all my medications and living med-free long term. So lets begin.

If you’ve followed the previous posts in this series, then you already know why I decided to ween off my medications, as well as the pretty major pitfalls I encountered doing so (if you haven’t read them, please do check them out! You can find Part 1 here.) If you had asked me 5 years ago whether it was possible for someone with Type 1 Bipolar Disorder to live a happy, stable life without any pharmaceutical medications, I’d have told you a very emphatic “No way!” I’d have said you’d be crazy to even try it—after all, the life threatening dangers of psychotic mania and suicidal depression are all too real. And yet, as I write this post, I have passed the 1 year mark of living a completely medication free existence. How is this possible?

For the record, I’m in no way affiliated with the company I’m about to point you toward. I’m not getting any perks for promoting them. Their products have just worked so incredibly well for me that I can’t not point them out to other people to try.

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The company is called Truehope. As a side note, I have to share a funny detail with you all. A few years back, before I started this blog, and before I had even the slightest notion I would ever be coming off my meds, I had the idea come to me in prayer that I ought to write a book about journeying through the spiritual life with mental illness, and entitle it Finding Hope. The title came to me so clearly and emphatically that I wrote it down at the front of my journal and kept it there. While I haven’t dismissed the idea of writing a book, I later decided to start this blog first as a more immediately doable option. I just have to say I find it ironic that years in advance I was prompted to “find hope,” only to discover the eventual solution to my mental illness problems in a company called Truehope.

So what is this company? Well, here is their mission statement in their own words:

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And because the story of how they all started is so compelling, I will quote it in full, as it’s described on their website:

The Truehope Story

The Stephan Family

Before Truehope… the beginning

Ten children were left motherless the cold January day that Debbie took her own life. She had been suffering the pains of Bipolar Affective Disorder (BAD) for years and finally succumbed to the dark and irrational side of the disease. Somehow, out of the sheer agony and crushing pain of her loss came a determination for Anthony her husband. He began a prayerful and desperate search to find hope and health for their children who were also ravaged by the disease. At the time of her death, two of Debbie’s children had also been diagnosed with BAD. As a desperate father, and after exhausting all known medical routes, Anthony sought the help of a friend. Together these two men established a program of nutritional supplementation that would eventually lead to the recovery of Anthony’s children and the formation of The Synergy Group of Canada Inc. – a non medical research group dedicated to researching and overcoming the disorders of the central nervous system. Debbie’s tragic death had initiated that series of events which would change the grim picture of mental illness forever.

Joseph’s Story

Joseph Stephan exhibited signs of attention deficit disorder as a child. By the time he entered puberty, the symptoms were escalating into panic attacks, delusions and violent fits of rage. Ultimately, he was diagnosed with BAD shortly after Debbie’s death.

Joseph was first treated with lithium, an element used to make batteries, which caused severe side effects. When he refused to take it, he lapsed into severe mania and panic within a couple of days.

Then, on January 20, 1996, Joseph started using the nutritional supplementation program created by his father. The results were dramatic and immediate. Within four days he was off the lithium; within two weeks, his mood and emotional control improved immensely. In the years since, he has maintained his well being and has had no recurring symptoms of BAD.

Autumn’s Story

Autumn Stringam’s recovery is, if anything, more dramatic than her brother’s. At 12, she showed signs of suffering from Bipolar Disorder, a condition which deteriorated throughout her teens. She married Dana, had a child at 20, and was subsequently diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder I with rapid cycles; a daily seesaw of mania and depression. Those eventually gave way to regular visual and aural hallucinations and the belief her husband and other family members were conspiring to kill her. These visions often led her to act out violently.

Following a particularly terrifying episode, Autumn was admitted to a psychiatric ward. After many adjustments to her medications, she was released a few weeks later. Drugged and with her cognition impaired, she “broke through” her medications frequently and was extremely unstable.

After threatening suicide, she was again hospitalized. Upon release, she was taking a pharmaceutical cocktail of Haldol, Rivotril, Ativan, Epival and Cogentin, a combination that failed to control her psychosis. She continued to rapid cycle.

Told Autumn would require round-the-clock adult supervision, Dana took her to her father to begin the alternative treatment, which had helped Joseph. Within four days she was forced to eliminate Haldol and Rivotril because of the drastically increasing side effects. Ativan was no longer required when hallucinations ceased. After one week on the program, she returned home to her husband. Less than a month later, she reduced, then eliminated, the mood stabilizer Epival. Her only “medication” now was the nutrient supplement which would become Empowerplus.

Autumn’s recovery exceeded the expectations of her psychiatrist, doctor and family. The woman who was expected to remain a prisoner of BAD, confined by a medley of psychotropic drugs and pursued by thoughts of suicide for the rest of her life, continues to be healthy and stable to this day.

But perhaps even more compelling is how Autumn, once counseled to be sterilized after the birth of her son, gave birth in 1999 to a happy, healthy daughter, and again in 2001 and 2003 to two more healthy daughters!

“My life is a miracle and an example for all who suffer,” she says now. “There is hope, healing and ultimately, health for all who seek it; there is an alternative to despair.” Autumn spends her time raising her four wonderful children, remains happily married to Dana, her beloved husband and volunteers for her church and community. Hers is a parable of hope to those who follow her footsteps.

Click here to read more about Autumn’s story, as well as video interviews, magazine articles and especially Autumn,s book, “A Promise of Hope”!

Reflections of Faith and Hope

Anthony Stephan, in reflecting on the marvelous recovery of his children, said; “Truly God has answered my pleadings and intense prayers with a great blessing.” Hundreds of participants have borne that same witness and acknowledged the hand of God in bringing restoration to their life or that of a loved one. Hence, we have named this web site “TRUEHOPE” because we believe that true hope can only be found in the healing sustenance that God has provided for us. No man or company or science can ever replicate or replace that which our Creator has provided for us. In seeking to treat the symptom, we have all ignored the Source.

My mother (a pharmacist) had been pointed in the direction of this company back in 2017, however since I didn’t seem to be having any major problems at that time, she didn’t bother looking into it. After my psycho-manic episode and hospitalization in early 2018, she began searching for solutions for me, since despite having succeeded in coming off all my meds, I was far from stable and only just barely getting through my daily life. She found Truehope again in the spring and got in touch with the branch of the company which operates in southern Alberta. The lady she spoke with, Teresa, has since kept in regular contact with us. She was able to give mom very helpful advice and reassurance. They sent us a number of supplements, most importantly the EMPowerplus Advanced micronutrient formula.

I noticed immediate, dramatic results within a day or two of starting the EMPowerplus supplement. Previously, I’d been dealing with high levels of anxiety and panic attacks (the result of my ongoing mania and some mild PTSD from the trauma surrounding my hospitalization), not to mention agitation and racing thoughts. The EMPowerplus completely halted the anxiety and panic attacks, reduced my agitation and slowed my thoughts to something approaching normalcy. This is not to say it made me groggy–I felt none of the fatigue, drowsiness or befuddlement that I was used to living with when taking antipsychotic medication.  I was simply beginning to feel normal again.

I first began taking the supplements in April. By May,  the mania had dissipated almost completely, leaving me with only mild hypomania. Then, as I mentioned, following my exam, I crashed into depression. From my understanding of it, this supplement is more effective for treating mania than depression, but it helps with depression too. However, my body needed to go through a healing process after being on various psychiatric med combinations for close to 6 years. Teresa stayed in touch with me, suggesting supplement tweaks, and promising me hope that yes, the depressive episode would end and I would be stable in the future.

To be honest, I didn’t believe her. But I kept on taking the supplements because there was no way I would ever go back on pharmaceutical medications again. And slowly, the depression eased. The “greyness” lingered, the sense of anhedonia and lack of any creative drive, clung on for months. Then suddenly, in December 2018, it began to lift. My creative drive began to slowly come back to life. My sense of joy and pleasure at life returned. And by January, 2019, I felt completely back to normal.

We’re now partway into March. My stability has remained rock solid in a way it never did when I was on psych meds. The few times I’ve thought maybe I was getting more energetic, and my old fears about mania reared their head, I simply increased the dose of my supplement and added in some Choline for a day or two, and the anxiety and hints of hypomania vanish without a trace. It’s so much more effective than my old medications that it makes the thought of them laughable.

Teresa told me that as long as I’m on these supplements, I won’t ever have a relapse of mania. I didn’t believe her initially, but I do now. I’m back to a place where I don’t even think about my disorder much anymore. I’m still careful with my sleep schedule and I take my supplements consistently. But I’ve stopped worrying about having episodes. Despite having experienced several major former triggers (various stressful, emotionally difficult situations that would have formerly sent me swinging up or down with a certainty) I’ve remained completely stable.

Lastly, did I mention there are no unpleasant side effects with any of these supplements? None. Zero. In fact, I’ve noticed a number of positive side effects: my hair is way healthier, I don’t feel tired, and I find stress way easier to manage than I ever have before. I only wish I could have found these supplements before I started coming off my medications because they would have made the whole process much easier and I probably wouldn’t have ended up hospitalized at the end of it for mania.

If you or a loved one is on any psychiatric medications, I encourage you to check out the Truehope website for their much healthier alternatives. They don’t just specialize with Bipolar Disorder. They also work with ADHD, Anxiety, Autism, Depression, Fatigue and Stress related problems. I’ve heard they also help people with schizophrenia, even though it’s not listed on their website specifically. At the very least, it can’t hurt you to learn more about the alternatives that are out there.

Until next time, take care and God bless!

Kasani

Withdrawal – Part 3: Joyful People Suffer

It’s been a long time since I posted anything. Or at least, it feels like a long time. Realistically it’s only been a few months, but that might as well have been a lifetime ago. A lot as happened since then.

I’d like to start with the good news: I successfully came off of my last medication (Lamictal/Lamotrigine) mid-December last year. It was, in a way, the most freeing experience of my life. It precipitated a manic episode that ended with me in the hospital, but that’s all right. I learned a lot from it. Christmas 2017 was beautiful for me. So many blessings. I had a strong re-conversion experience in which I gave my life to Jesus again to do with me what he willed. Admittedly, if I’d known doing that would end with me in a hospital, I probably would have hesitated. But God knows our weakness. He hid from me how things were going to turn out. He wanted my complete and unconditional trust, and he was there for me every step of the way. He and His mother, Mary.

I plan to write a blog series explaining what happened. For now, though, I’m still processing everything and picking up the pieces (i.e. catching up on everything I’m behind on after two weeks out-of-commission, and praying to discern God’s will moving forward). I just wanted to send a shout out to my few followers that yes, I am still alive! And I’m doing great. Just decidedly worn out after everything. I look forward to writing more in the future.

Until then, take care and God bless!

Kasani

(Click here for Part 4)

 

 

 

My Story – Part 1: The Diagnosis

When I woke on the morning of December 24, 2011, the sky was cloudy. I could tell this, not because I could see the sky, but because the light coming in through the metal grate over the window was a cold, grey shade. The window looked out on an enclosed courtyard covered by a large dome of honeycombed skylights. A tree stood in the courtyard and some benches.

I can see these things in my mind’s eye now as I write, but they were not what initially captured my attention. What I first noticed, as I raised my head, were the claw marks on the walls. Someone had dug their nails frantically into the drywall over and over, and perhaps had applied their teeth as well. The first question that came into my mind was not why am I in a child psych ward? I recognized that I was, but it didn’t matter in that moment. What I wanted to know, as I eyed the marks with horror, was whether or not I had been the one to make them. In my drugged haze and the scattered confusion of the still prominent mania, I couldn’t remember any of what had taken place.

My memory came back to me in bits and pieces as the mania diminished, but the first few days of my stay at that child psychiatric facility have remained a fuzzy blur to this day. I do remember being profoundly relieved to learn I had not made the marks on the wall. And what little else I remember is both cringe-worthy and amusing. I have a vague memory of being locked in a padded room on the unit–the one saved for unruly patients when they threw fits–not because I’d been violent but because, as a fellow patient later explained to me with great amusement, they hadn’t been able to get me to stop singing. I hope the nurses in Emergency had a similar sense of humour, because I sang Christmas carols at the top of my lungs for the majority of the nine hours that I spent waiting there, my exhausted mother at my side having long since given up the task of quieting me.

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I don’t remember being told I had Bipolar Disorder. I must have been told at some point, because I remember sitting in a room with my parents as the doctor gently explained to them why they assumed I had the condition. Then the doctor took me aside into another room to discuss the matter with me. I have no memory of what he said, but I do distinctly remember asking him why he sounded like Darth Vader and feeling convinced he was breathing oddly just to see if I would react. I remember his laughter and his assurance that he simply had a cold. And I remember remaining convinced that he was lying to me.

Looking back at my level of paranoia during those first few days of treatment is quite comical.

(For an explanation of the symptoms/terminology I use in reference to bipolar disorder, check out my post on the subject)

My parents received my diagnosis with a certain amount of relief. Whatever was going on, they hadn’t lost me forever. It was treatable. And it wasn’t, as my mother had feared, schizophrenia. But none of us really knew what the diagnosis meant. It was close to a year before I began to really understand what I was dealing with. In those first few weeks, all I knew was that I had been through an incredible ordeal and my life would never be the same. If I had known at that point just how true the latter statement would prove to be, I’m not sure I would have survived it. But as humans, we are blessed with not knowing the future. It’s a greater mercy than any of us realize.

But how had I gotten to the extreme point of needing hospitalization in the first place?

To continue with the boat analogy from the Why Catholic…? page, my little boat had been sailing along without too many glitches for most of my childhood. As I grew into my teens, the waters grew rougher, but what teenage-hood isn’t rough at times? As the waves grew higher and the troughs between them grew deeper, I struggled to keep my little vessel from capsizing. I didn’t understand why the moods I was experiencing were so painfully intense, but I chalked it up to hormones. “Moody” and “teenager” go together like “peanut butter” and “honey.”

1915446_212680410920_4665233_nIt was my horseback riding instructor, of all people, who rang the first alarm bell. I had been riding for about 6 years. My ability, once cemented at a slow but steady rate of improvement, had begun to fluctuate from skilled to utterly incompetent, right alongside my moods. It was infuriating and disheartening, and my horse was none too pleased with me either. My instructor was at her wit’s end. How was it possible for a student to excel at challenging manoeuvres one lesson, and fail miserably at even simple warm-up exercises the next? Having worked with horses for over 50 years, she had developed what I can only describe as a sixth sense. She could see what was going on inside me just by looking me in the eyes, and what she saw concerned her. She spoke to my dad about it.

“Have you ever considered that your daughter might have some sort of disability?”

My father was utterly taken aback. How could someone suggest such a thing? I was a high functioning, capable individual. There couldn’t be anything wrong with me.

Things continued along in this way for several years, a storm brewing secretly beneath the veneer of my everyday life. Then in December of 2011, a month shy of my 17th birthday, the storm broke. I had no way of knowing I was in dangerous waters. I didn’t feel normal, but I didn’t feel bad exactly. I began taking on more than I could handle in commitments and failed to feel stressed out by it. I began to feel I could accomplish anything I put my mind to, regardless of the challenge. I was invincible and life was my oyster. Those of us who have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder recognize such feelings of grandiosity as a major warning sign. In type 1 bipolar, when you reach that point, there’s nowhere to go but up. And I kept going up— much, much too high.

My riding lessons began to turn into rodeos. My horse was highly sensitive and intelligent, and whatever it was he sensed going on in me, he was not happy about it. I was unable to get through a lesson without him trying to throw me. My guardian angel was definitely looking out for me because my horse employed nearly every trick in the equine book to get me off: from bucking and crow-hopping, to rearing and bolting. My riding instructor was floored. My horse and I had gone through a lot of ups and downs together in the preceding months, but he’d never behaved anything like this before. Something was wrong. But we didn’t know what.

That was when my ship finally crashed into some rocks.

My parents didn’t initially recognize that I had become delusional, but they were getting concerned by my increasingly erratic behavior and they kept me home. I knew something was wrong with me, and I had crying spells in which I sobbed out all the various things that had bothered me over the years. This alternated with ecstatic excitement over the belief that I was reaching a whole new level of existence. I had numerous bizarre insights into books and other things that my parents couldn’t make any sense of. I exclaimed “Oooh, I get it. I get it!”  with alarming frequency. Finally, one evening, after telling my parents good night, going to bed, closing my eyes for several minutes, and then leaping out of bed and skipping back into their room declaring “Wow, I had such an amazing sleep!” with total sincerity, my parents realized I was no longer living in reality.

They rushed me to the nearest hospital, an hour away from our small town. By the time we arrived, I was conversing amiably with my guardian angel, convinced I was a prophet from God and that I had the cure for cancer. I was also at some level aware that my behavior was not what it should be, and decided it must be because I had a brain tumor. But, of course, I had the cure for cancer, so everything would be okay.

We spent the entire night in Emergency. I had gotten the idea into my head that the key pexels-photo-236380to moving on into a higher level of existence was demonstrating that I was able to breathe correctly. I spent the night making repeated trips to the reception desk to earnestly inform the nurses there that “I can breathe!” and then returning confusedly to my bed after receiving their forced smiles and nods.

Morning arrived without me having slept a wink. My poor mother had spent the night keeping track of me while my father grabbed a bit of rest so as to be fit for driving the next day. We were sent to another hospital in a larger city, another hour away. A nine hour wait in emergency later (during which time I began to hallucinate and my delusions grew even more convoluted) I was finally admitted to the child psychiatric unit. After going for nearly 72 hours without sleeping, the cocktail of medications I was given kicked in and I slept for most of two days. December 25th found me still in the scattered, confused grip of mania, but my delusions and hallucinations had ceased and my parents were able to come and attempt to celebrate Christmas with me, bringing me a number of presents that would make my stay in the hospital more comfortable.

But the largest, most life altering present had already been delivered to me: I was Bipolar.

(Click here for Part 2)