EPISODE 2-EXISTENTIAL THOUGHT LOOPS & AKATHISIA (THE WORST!)

(WRITTEN IN 2024)

After floating and being depressed for 3 years, it finally all came to a head.

(WRITTEN IN 2020)

EPISODE NUMBER 2-

I was working at a safe factory sanding safes. People find out I went to BYU and studied business, and ask, why are you working here? I tell them I have brain problems.

I'm so tired, of life, and struggling to find success in life. After working at the safe factory for 4 months, a weird existential thought drops in my mind in Jan., I can’t shake it, my mind is very tired. I’m tired, I’m really sad, and I’m really angry. Anxiety and the existential thought start to gain momentum.

I see shrinks and a psychiatrist, they don’t really understand whats going on. Winter becomes summer time. During the summer, I’m going to my car during lunch, and this awful feeling of dread overcomes me, its so heavy, I feel like I’m doomed and falling into a depressive oblivion, its hard to explain. I fall apart, the dread, the thoughts, momentum is building, I have to quit my job at the safe factory.

I go see another psychiatrist. A well meaning psychiatrist gives me Risperidone.

Unbeknown to me, a side effect starts to occur, called "Akathisia", and its the devil, it is pure hell.  Akathisia is a side effect cause by antipsychotic meds sometimes, and even from other meds. Its not an overly common occurrence, but it happens more than you might think, and its pure evil agony.

Mild akathisia starts

She gives me a higher dose

Medium Akathisia

She Give me a very high dose of the medicine, thinking I’m just not getting better but worse 

Acute Akathisia

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwe!!!! I want to die!!! That is what severe Akathisia feels like. It’s like being deep fried alive, from the inside out. Its is a panic, an anxiety, so severe, so debilitating, I literally have no way to explain it, I could not believe what was happening. To make matters worse, if you sit still, the anxiety builds and builds, so you constantly have to be pacing, constantly moving. Akathisia is hell, it is HELL!!!! What needs to be understood, is I had no idea when Akathisia was occurring, that A) I was experiencing something called Akathisia and B) It was a side effect to the anti psychotic medication I was taking. So imagine being in hell, and not knowing how you got there, and if it will ever end. I’m like this for 2 or 3 weeks. Imagine being deep fried for weeks at a time, straight. Literally enduring second to second, moment to moment. 

Anyway, I flip out in the living room, I tell my dad I’m going to blow my head off. I go to the emergency room. The intake nurse at the in patient crisis facility, she is an angel, she saved my life, I can not even put into words, how grateful I am for my NP. She was the baking powder on my internal grease fire, might sound funny, but she was, that woman saved my life. 

To this day, I talk to family practice doctors when medicine side effects come up, to peers who are therapists, and I mention Akathisia, and they A- don’t know what it is, or B- give me this stupid test answer definition of “oh, restlessness,” as casually as if it was a common cold. I wonder, do psych books pair definitions of horrible side effects and disorders with real life stories, because they should. If you haven’t experienced or witnessed Acute Akathisia, you have no clue, I mean no clue, I mean no clue! It's being deep fried with 400 degree oil from the inside out, that’s what it's like. Try to imagine an anxiety and discomfort that bad, literally, that bad. I would rather make love to a wood chipper, no joke. 

So the existential thought and the dread depressed oblivion feeling beat me up pretty bad, and then suffering the Akathisia was like having to run a marathon afterward. 

So after all that, my chemicals were incredibly out of balance, I have no clue what was wrong. I was terrified to be alone. I would wake up feeling scared to death every morning, for no reason, fear inundating my body. I would look at the mountains and feel that scariness in my chest and gut, and it wouldn’t go away, it’s such an agonizing grueling pain and discomfort. I was off, and to this day, I have never been completely right or the same. I'm ok, but anything high adrenaline, creates a floating anxiety, a subtle scared feeling. But not when I play shows, I feel like I'm in heaven when I'm on stage at a show.

During Akathisia, I was in so much agony, and so scared, it took all the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual strength I had, to not take my own life. Suicide was a constant thought. I didn't wan't to kill myself, but I didn't know what was happening, why it was happening, or if it would ever end. I can't even put into words how bad it was. My doctor told me I suffered a very extreme and severe case of Akathisia, but sometimes I wonder if there is any other type of Akathisia. Its one color, one state, HELL!

When I was in the midst of Akathisia, this literally was my thought process, “In hell, Satan's minions and colleagues are organized, planned out, and they execute. It’s hell, but their process of thought and reason must operate, because they're strategizing and executing. I can’t do this in my state, so hell must be better than this, even if it is hell, maybe I should just kill myself and go there.”

But that wouldn’t have happened, God was there with me, I couldn’t feel him, but he was there. God isn't a punitive OCD God. Mental Illness is a distorted lie, its chemical. People boiling alive that end up committing suicide DO NOT GO TO HELL! HARD STOP! The saviors atonement reaches to the lowest, loneliest, darkest places, I know it does.

Suicide isn’t murder, and it is so unfortunate, but almost always, people who do that are completely off, not themselves, and something is very wrong, and one is sometimes completely absent of agency. To look into your future, and all you can perceive is pain, and you don't know when it will end, or if it will end, you will be terrified, and you will be in despair. I KNOW THIS!

When horribly depressed tormented people commit suicide, they pass through the veil, and the first thing they see, is family that has passed before them, and they give them a loving embrace, and I think they express their deep love and understanding for that individual. They have opportunity to learn of the gospel, through proxy work the work of covenants and ordinances can be done, and I feel certain they will be exalted on high. Often the most angelic souls endure such severe hardships.

My cousins son was one of these souls, who I know Heavenly Father loves so very deeply, he was an angelic person, a pure soul, he really was. I know in my heart, he is being taught the gospel, he is safe, and all those that love him, will see him again, and it won't be very long, because we don't have very long. That kid will grow and learn and have all the opportunity I do to be exalted and live eternally with his Heavenly Father.

Agency is compromised, where knowledge and understanding are absent, and continual pain is all one perceives. It is a very very very scary place to be. I know, because I've been there. I think all that saved me, were past memories of feeling the spirit strongly as a boy, gospel understanding to the degree I was able, the support of my parents, and the two angelic health care professionals that helped me, and still help me today.

In the midst of psychiatric hell, I found myself yearning to be really depressed in high school, or sitting scared in a prison cell, or feeling awful guilt for an awful sin, even just being physically tortured, because that was all real to me, relatable to others, they possessed a mental and emotional direction, even if it was due south, but at least there was reality, at least there was direction, which if you can believe is better than no direction at all.

An example, would you rather be drowning underwater knowing which way was up, or drowning underwater completely disoriented? Anything that was in the realm of that emotional box prior to my psychiatric episodes was better. If an emotional compass existed in the realm of my psychiatric episodes, the compass needle would have been spinning in circles. It’s so scary, so awful, and lasts so long. I know this is hard to grasp and makes little sense, but it’s as bad as it sounds, it is complete and utter hell. All one's preparation, unimportant if you were a ward librarian or a stake president, rich or poor, it all goes out the window, and in that realm, it’s unsure who will come out of it without taking their life. A good comparison would be, who could be burned alive slowly in a vat of acid, with a gun in your hand, and not blow your brains out?

I know that's a disturbing brutal comparison, but that’s an adequate comparison to my psychiatric episodes. All you can use is determination, just a will to suffer it out until hopefully it stops, which is months and months down the road. Again, I can’t convey in words how awful it is, and I am 100 percent not trying to diminish the hardships of others, or earn the sorry or self pity gold medal. It’s just therapeutic to write it out in brutal honesty, how raw and sore the pain is, and it’s frustrating that so very very few people understand it.

The majority of people won’t ever go there, thus how frustrating it is for those who have, to feel understood. I really had no choice but to believe and think of God. Without a belief in deity, I would have killed myself. There were times of intense anger, and doubt that a God could be real in such intense pain. Since my second episode I’ve thought, “He let his own son endure that pain, who he loves more than anyone, and at a degree far far worse than myself or anyone could comprehend, or literally imagine.” 

Going through my episodes, the atonement became incomprehensible to me. It was an intensity only a God could survive. The atonement was the greatest most intense pain ever felt on Earth, by the most pure and clean individual to ever walk it, Christ. I don’t know how the atonement worked. It was above and beyond the laws and comprehension that govern mankind. I’m not sure if time stopped, I have no idea how it occurred. But the savior understands feeling “not understood.”

His apostles fell asleep during the atonement, but wept during his crucifixion, that’s interesting. I feel like those around me are sleeping, because they can’t relate or understand to what happened when I was in that psychiatric hell, but the savior can.

In all honesty, I would have wept intensely while the savior endured the atonement, and would have felt relieved when he was being crucified, and I know that sounds awful. I couldn’t have said that before enduring psychiatric pain either. I only tasted a mortal dose of Gethsemane, a drop, a literal drop, and it was horrific; Christ drank the entire cup.

Films and paintings can not adequately convey how raw, sore, and painful the atonement was, it would be too brutal. But, what does that say about Gods love, that he willingly allowed it, he sacrificed his own son, so mankind could repent.

I’ve become good at warding off my psychiatric thoughts, they still try to come back, but I’ve managed to start other pathways, thought pathways, so the stream is flowing a different direction now. But after my second break, the bottom of my box didn’t heal as well as the first time, it’s loose, and if I become over stressed, over emotional, depressed over a period of time, those psychiatric demons can start to creep back. Thus my trepidation about marriage and kids, could I handle that stress?

I will say, 100 percent, I become my worst, my most angry and depressed, when I hit a wall and loose hope about my ability to become successful in a career, to gain independence and financial security, which seems perpetually out of reach, even after all I’ve tried. I wanna shake my fists to the heavens. I think, if you leave the church, that bar of success, and all that it encompasses, from peers, marriage and family, being old and single in a marriage and family culture, winning over that wife because she knew her man could be successful (which I have heard so many times, from men and women), the successful leaders, my BYU complex, call it upper white middle class angst syndrome, you can just be done with it, just be through with it, and go somewhere, far away from the church, from religion, just be a vagabond drummer, and adopt a hippie lifestyle, and sleep around.

I could just completely take myself out of the equation of society, of caring, off the grid, live on little, live in a hippie friendly country, which would be great for pissed off drummers who could never find peace and happiness and acceptance in their religion, in the professional world. I could go live in a tree on an island off the Mediterranean or Pacific. Would I be happy? Maybe at times.

But there will always be that little boy who felt the Holy Ghost burning in his chest while he was standing there being presented to everyone at his baptism. That kid didn’t know what he signed up for, he had no clue how incredibly cruel and unfair life was going to be. That a social, intellectual, and racial hierarchy permeates through the church just like everywhere else in the world, that was going to make it difficult.

At that time, it was just peace, the burning in the bosom, warm fuzzies, and in all honesty, those feelings are the only reason I have remained active in church, even though I often don’t want to, when everything inside me is just angry. 

My baptism was a rare experience, and I can’t deny it. Children don’t know much, but they’re brutally honest, and I remember my baptism. If I left the church, I would have to answer to that little boy inside me, who felt the Holy Ghost so strongly, word for word as described.

*Back To Episode 2

I started therapy with the most amazing therapist. It was all about exposure therapy, facing all the fear. I was convinced in the midst of all this hell, I could kill myself, spend a thousand years in hell, and be resurrected in the lowest state possible. Again-this was mental illness, not truth. 

As such, I had to write these sentences, pages of them, “Kill myself and spend a thousand years in hell.” My therapist said by writing them down and confronting them, it was an exposure therapy, and my anxieties would lessen. It actually helped, it helped me to calm down.

I had the horrific feeling of fear inundate me, completely chemical, adrenaline, every morning, I didn’t want to leave my bed. Post Akathisia sufferers will sometimes suffer from something called "mono-phobia". Mono-phobia creates a fear or panic when one is alone. You constantly have to be in proximity to somebody. The urge to kill myself dealing with the symptoms of post akathisia were daily, and intense. But I pushed through, and with the support and tremendous sacrifice of my parents and two angelic health care professionals, I didn't take my life. I owe my life to them.

I would have an assignment to do something in the mornings. I would sand the wood handles on the rakes in the garage, or do other tasks, to get my mind off of the fear and to fight it, to face it. When all you want to do lay in your bed scared, you must do the opposite. It was so incredibly difficult. I had to face being alone.

The worst, we’re the walks to the grocery store a few blocks away. I was paranoid, horrified. I felt a bizarre heavy disturbing feeling constantly. I was a grown man, but felt like a vulnerable infant. I had to be close to my father, brother, anybody, I couldn’t be alone, it was terrifying. So my therapist Dan made me take daily walks. I HATED these walks, I loathed these walks! This gives you an understanding of how bad off I was, I was scared to death to walk to the grocery store as a 31 year old man a few blocks away. I did this for a good month, and the walks got easier. Again, this was an exposure therapy, it was very difficult.

I would volunteer at the cannery, it was awful, but I did it. I was also on anti-psychotics, and they would make anything, take immense effort, even getting the mail was difficult. They shut off any excitement in my body.

In all this hell, I was allowed only 3 Ativans a week. Ativan, was so powerful, it would eradicate all these horrific feelings, and give me euphoria, they gave me a much needed break. But my doctor said “They’re addictive, and they’re like a band aid, they cover up the problem temporarily, but they don't fix it, that’s  all you doing your rehabilitation tasks.

I just sucked it up and did it. It was rehabilitate or sink and die. After my Ativan day, the next day I would just fight through the pain, the intense terror feeling of fear, all post Akathisia issues. I would push through my rehabilitation tasks, it was incredibly incredibly difficult.

After doing this 6 months, I was ready to work at Deseret Industries. After working there a year, and there were bad days, I finally felt normal in my skin again.

I’m not sure many people understand enduring agony moment to moment, second to second, exquisite pain months at a time. Being trapped in your own mind, with no escape. Having your body involuntarily react and behave apart from yourself. Having a horror, a hell, a dark surreal agonizing oblivion, become as real as the noon day sun.

It’s rough, because I really don’t feel understood by most people around me.  My friends, bandmates, peers, siblings, they don’t understand. I remember being in the psych ward and my sister sent me a card, saying she understood what I was going through, and though I did appreciate it and do love my younger sister, in my mind I said “No you don’t, this is far far beyond your classic depression, even deep depression, it’s beyond anxiety, it’s psychiatric hell.”

People say,"well, you’re not the only one who has dealt with depression and anxiety," and I’m not. But these episodes I’ve had, I wish all they were was depression and anxiety. NO ONE AROUND ME UNDERSTANDS these words “psychotic” “akathisia” “existential ruminations” “Delusions” etc. BECAUSE MOST OF THOSE PEOPLE ARE DEAD, THEY KILLED THEMSELVES, OR THEY'RE ON THE STREET, OR THEY'RE IN MENTAL WARDS!!

This is why psychiatric issues are so difficult, because they’re not overly common. People form judgments based on their own life experiences, from what they perceive looking at you from the outside. The inside looking out, only we can do that as ourselves, but if those around us could do the same, they would hold off on their judgments. To know about one's past, the battles they’ve fought, the pain they’ve endured, to know the storms inside them, to see their scars, how would that change each one of us? If they could do that, maybe they wouldn’t look down at the middle aged man bagging your groceries, or waiting  your table at some diner late at night, and think in their head, “what a loser.” Maybe they would be able to realize the nobility in that individual. Maybe they would realize the profound love God and the savior have for that individual. I have a hard time recognizing that nobility in myself often.

I worked with a couple young 18 to 20 year old girls at the warehouse I’m employed at. One wondered why myself being a man pushing 40 with a business degree was single and working at a warehouse. I said I struggled with OCD and anxiety issues. She said, “Well that’s everybody.” I got rather mad, but didn’t express it. I guess I should have said, “I’ve been a psychotic delusional suicidal mess a few times, and can struggle with maintaining reality when put under to much stress, but I have anti psychotic meds and Ativans in the car, just in.”

Again, people take their personal experiences, what they SEE from the outside at the present, and judge you.

Another girl at my work place just got off a mission, was all of 20 years old or so, I could not stand her! She asked, “Why aren’t you married, what bad decisions did you make in your life?” I am not making this up, this happened, this really happened.

I was mad, I was really really mad. You cross the Sahara, almost die, and at the other side is some judgemental girl right off her mission ready to offer you her ciriticism of your life circumstances. Wow, how Christ like.

It wasn’t worth blowing up and losing my job. I kept my cool, and answered with sarcasm. I felt like saying, “You’re naive, you’ve hardly life, and it doesn’t always unfold on the expected timeline your mission president says it should, and I doubt your mission president understands either.”

But here is the thing, and I have thought about and considered this deeply, my own parents do have an idea. They have both gone through psychotic depression. No, they didn't keeping pushing and pushing in that state, and much of that was due to my environment and thinking as a missionary. They don't understand all my issues, but they have both been to that alternate horrible reality known as psychotic depression, they know that pain. That’s a pretty major blessing in my life. 

So why was I born to them? Why did I as a spirit agree to be born to them? I probably wasn’t fully aware of how hard this was going to be. But I said yes to this life. I said yes to them as my parents. Who was I before I got here, I have no clue, but I was a spirit of some kind, and I believe perhaps I knew God, on a personal level. Or perhaps I was like an elder who flew under the radar and barely knew his mission president. God does reign over billions if not trillions of souls. But did he know me personally? Maybe. I don’t know. But I’m here, this is the life I agreed to.

Nonetheless, I’m out of my intense pain, I am above it, I’m beyond it, and I never ever ever ever ever want to go back.

To a small degree, I have an idea if what I think the pain endured by the savior was like in Gethsemane. A mortal body will bleed from every poor when a god breaks, and enters into what I can only imagine to be a type of psychotic depression, a psychiatric pain, a mental and emotional pain, a spiritual sorrow, at a level only a deity could endure. 

It becomes more evident to me now, how Christ, being so pure and perfect, being so high, yet having to endure a pain so exquisite, to go to a place so low, even lower than anything this world could ever know, paid a price that is infinite, even the price of saving our eternal souls.

So after working at DI, I drove a truck for shingle deliveries. One would think OCD couldn’t affect this job, but it did. Driving a giant truck isn’t easy, and when some of the senior employees got on my case, it triggered the anxiety. Of course I would act like I didn’t care. Like I mentioned earlier, OCD exaggerates. In the mornings I would throw up in the parking lot because I was nervous to drive, this behavior is absurd and rather extreme, it’s called mental illness.

I eventually left this job and worked doing customer service on the phones somewhere.

The miracle is I was a functioning adult on his own, simply driving to and from work. I had endured and overcome Hell for the second time in my life.