When I first reviewed Robert Whitaker’s book Anatomy of an Epidemic, I was disappointed to find very few reviews or discussions by members of the psychiatric establishment. I was curious about their perspective on Whitaker’s assertions concerning the deleterious long-term effects of psychiatric drugs. It seems that the situation has changed somewhat now. On January 13, Whitaker was invited to speak at the famed “Ether Dome” at Massachusetts General Hospital, but with a catch—he had to consent to be rebutted by one of the members of the faculty there, Dr. Andrew Nierenberg. There’s an excellent article about the debate, along with some fascinating comments. Whitaker also reports on the debate in his blog.
It seems that some leading psychiatrists are taking his arguments seriously, although they still strongly disagree with him. My own perspective is that people need to make informed decisions about their treatment, which means that they should understand the risks of taking drugs, along with the benefits. From a scientific perspective, I hope that Whitaker’s book spurs new research on long-term drug outcomes, studies that are not funded by drugs companies. I agree with Marlene Freeman, an associate professor of psychiatry in the audience: “Well-designed studies to really answer the questions you raise are very expensive, she told Whitaker. If you could take some of your passion to the National Institute of Mental Health and get them to fund some of them, ‘We’d be very grateful.’”
Showing posts with label Schizophrenia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Schizophrenia. Show all posts
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Do Psychiatric Drugs Do More Harm Than Good? A Review of “Anatomy of an Epidemic” by Robert Whitaker
The idea that people with psychiatric disorders should “take their meds”, that these meds control their symptoms, that they’d better off on than off their drugs, is a noncontroversial position today. Decades of advice from doctors, nurses, therapists, academics, and drug company spokesmen have pushed people with disorders such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major depression, and anxiety to take prescribed medications. We think of someone who decides not to take medications as acting in an irrational manner. Patients who are hospitalized don’t have a choice—they must take their medications.
Is this virtually monolithic societal support of the use of psychiatric drugs a group delusion, similar to the delusions that (nonmedicated) schizophrenics experience? Robert Whitaker takes up this question in his book entitled Anatomy of an Epidemic: Magic Bullets, Psychiatric Drugs, and the Astonishing Rise of Mental Illness in America.
Whitaker has two main points in the book. One, is that there has been an epidemic of mental illness in America in the recent past. There is twice the rate of disabled mentally ill in 2007 compared to 1987, and six times the rate compared to 1955. This trend is even more obvious for children, where the number of disabled mentally ill children multiplied thirty-five fold between 1987 and 2007.
Whitaker bases these claims of an epidemic on SSI (Supplementary Security Income) and SSDI (Social Security Disability Insurance) statistics. He compares these figures in 2007 and 1987 to hospitalization figures in 1955 (most disabled mentally ill in the 1950’s were cared for in state and county mental hospitals). These SSI and SSDI figures are not true prevalence figures, of course, since there are people disabled by mental illness not on these programs, and people on these programs who aren’t truly disabled. Since diagnostic criteria for mental illness has changed significantly in the past half century, it’s impossible to arrive at a true prevalence figure. But his general point of a mental illness epidemic is hard to deny, considering that America spent $25 billion in 2007 on antidepressants and antipsychotics. If there was little or no mental illness, why are doctors prescribing so many pills?
Whitaker’s second point is much more controversial. He says that this epidemic of mental illness is, in large part, caused by the very drugs that are being used to treat psychiatric disorders! Whitaker presents evidence in his book that psychiatric drugs do more harm than good when looked at from a long-term perspective. He acknowledges that these drugs make the patient better in the short term, such as the 6 week period in which clinical trials of new drugs occur. But, looked at over the period of years, not weeks, patients do better off drugs than on them.
Whitaker uses several pieces of evidence to craft his argument. One, is that the epidemic of disabling mental illness occurred during the period in which psychiatric drugs were used. During the early phase of psychiatric drugs (mid 1950’s through the mid 1980’s), antipsychotic drugs were used primarily on people with schizophrenia. Anti-anxiety and antidepressant drugs were prescribed for people with anxiety and depression. Lithium was used as a mood stabilizer for people with bipolar disorder. Most of these early drugs (with the exception of the anti-anxiety drugs) had terrible side effects, such as tardive dyskinesia for the typical antipsychotics. These side effects limited the number of people willing to take these drugs. (The anti-anxiety drugs Miltown and Valium were very popular, especially among women, but also very addictive.) Studies showed that those on the drugs, including the anti-anxiety drugs, had worse long-term outcomes than those off the drugs. These studies were never widely publicized, and doctors continued to prescribe the drugs to adults (children rarely were prescribed drugs in this period, with the exception of Ritalin for ADHD).
The second period, beginning with the FDA approval of Prozac for depression in 1987, saw the release and aggressive promotion of “second-generation” psychiatric drugs, which included SSRI antidepressants (e.g. Prozac, Zoloft, and Paxil), and atypical antipsychotics (e.g. Risperdal, Zyprexa, and Seroquel). Drug companies heavily marketed these drugs both to the public and to doctors, with the help of academic leaders in psychiatry. This period also saw a major increase in the diagnosis and drug treatment of pediatric psychiatric disorders.
The second-generation drugs had fewer and less-severe side effects than the older drugs, but weren’t any more effective than these drugs. They still had some serious side effects, however, such as increased risk of suicide for Prozac, and weight gain for Zyprexa. These adverse effects were generally swept under the rug as the pharmaceutical marketing machine (with the aid of drug-money soaked academic psychiatrists) promoted them as miracle drugs.
The release of the psychiatry reference manual DSM-III in 1980 led to a major change in diagnostic criteria, leading to more reliable diagnoses based on symptoms. The DSM-III (followed by the DSM-IV in 1994) made psychiatry appear more scientific and objective, since it dispensed with vague Freudian notions like “neurosis.” But the problem was that it wasn’t accompanied by any breakthroughs in the understanding of the biology of mental illness. The “chemical imbalance” theory, i.e. that schizophrenia was a result of too much dopamine, and depression a result of too little serotonin, was demolished by research findings. But drug companies and psychiatrists continued to tell people that this imbalance theory was true. Whitaker makes a good argument that the drugs actually cause chemical imbalances, not treat them. These iatrogenic (drug-caused) imbalances force people on the drugs to continue taking them, as they get terrible withdrawal symptoms if they try to stop. Getting children addicted to these drugs was a pharmaceutical marketing home run, as the kids would be hooked for life, a reliable long-term source of income.
It was during these last 25 years of widespread prescription of psychiatric drugs that the disability numbers soared. These drugs didn’t seem to be helping people over the long term, or else why would they be forced to go on disability? Large numbers of children started becoming disabled. According to Whitaker, the second-generation drugs had as dismal a long-term effect on patients as the first-generation drugs. The problem for society was that many times more people were taking them than took the earlier drugs. The few academic psychiatrists who questioned the efficacy of drugs were stripped of their positions and funding, and marginalized. Millions of dollars in drug money flowed to virtually all the academic leaders in psychiatry.
Whitaker weaves in anecdotes along with his research findings, enhancing the readability of his book. Some of the stories are haunting, such as the case of “Jasmine,” a girl prescribed an antidepressant for bed wetting in fifth grade. The agitation she got from this drug led psychiatrists to put her on a drug cocktail that included Zyprexa. She was hospitalized in high school, and the drug merry-go-round to which she was subjected fried her brain, leaving her perpetually psychotic and mute. Of course, Jasmine is an exception, and most children and adults on drugs have much more positive outcomes, but the reader is left to wonder, “what would have happened if she never got on drugs the first place?”
Whitaker provides examples of how drugs used to treat one condition (e.g. Ritalin for ADHD) led to some children developing manic symptoms, which led them to be diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which led them to receive drug “cocktails” including powerful and harmful antipsychotics. They end up on a long-term trajectory of serious physical and mental problems, an outcome which probably would have been much more benign if they hadn’t been prescribed any drugs in the first place.
My own experience with psychiatric drugs was generally a positive one. I didn’t start on drugs until I was 27. I had many years of dysfunctional behavior, of cognitive and emotional problems. Virtually any intellectual activity at all (e.g. reading or writing) would trigger horrible “states” that would last for days. These “states” would include severe obsessions, difficulty concentrating, emotional suppression, and tics. Although I had a job, I was working well below my ability, and had little social life. It was under these conditions that I decided to try Anafranil, a drug used to treat OCD, and it did help improve my functioning for a while. I tried combining Anafranil with many other drugs that were less helpful, although I usually never took more than two at a time. Being very sensitive to side effects, I stuck to low or moderate dosages. After ten years of Anafranil, I felt that it was no longer needed, and convinced my psychiatrist to allow me to stop taking it. I followed up with 3 years of low doses of Xanax, then got off medication completely. I’ve been basically medication-free for 3 years. I think the late onset of starting with drugs, the small number and doses of drugs, and the eventual getting off drugs made me one of the few long-term medication success stories.
Whitaker is not anti-drug, and acknowledges that “there is a place for the drugs in psychiatry’s toolbox” (p. 333). But he wants psychiatrists to “think about the medications in a scientifically honest way and to speak honestly about them to the public” (p. 333). Certainly the vast majority of drug prescriptions are unnecessary and possibly harmful. After reading this book, (although Whitaker doesn’t suggest this) I think that a strong case can be made to outlaw prescribing psychiatric drugs for children. If they cause more harm than good in the long run, then it is children who have the most to lose by taking these drugs. Exceptions can be made for children already on drugs, and for the few children who are completely out of control, and whose behavior cannot be managed by any other means. Psychiatrists would howl about any such legislation, but let them (and their drug company masters) put forward studies that show children benefit long-term from drugs. If Whitaker is right, and there are no such studies, then let’s ban the prescribing of drugs for children.
I found this book to be one of the most powerful and thought-provoking books I’ve read in years. I recommend it to anyone concerned with the mental illness epidemic that plagues our country.
Is this virtually monolithic societal support of the use of psychiatric drugs a group delusion, similar to the delusions that (nonmedicated) schizophrenics experience? Robert Whitaker takes up this question in his book entitled Anatomy of an Epidemic: Magic Bullets, Psychiatric Drugs, and the Astonishing Rise of Mental Illness in America.
Whitaker has two main points in the book. One, is that there has been an epidemic of mental illness in America in the recent past. There is twice the rate of disabled mentally ill in 2007 compared to 1987, and six times the rate compared to 1955. This trend is even more obvious for children, where the number of disabled mentally ill children multiplied thirty-five fold between 1987 and 2007.
Whitaker bases these claims of an epidemic on SSI (Supplementary Security Income) and SSDI (Social Security Disability Insurance) statistics. He compares these figures in 2007 and 1987 to hospitalization figures in 1955 (most disabled mentally ill in the 1950’s were cared for in state and county mental hospitals). These SSI and SSDI figures are not true prevalence figures, of course, since there are people disabled by mental illness not on these programs, and people on these programs who aren’t truly disabled. Since diagnostic criteria for mental illness has changed significantly in the past half century, it’s impossible to arrive at a true prevalence figure. But his general point of a mental illness epidemic is hard to deny, considering that America spent $25 billion in 2007 on antidepressants and antipsychotics. If there was little or no mental illness, why are doctors prescribing so many pills?
Whitaker’s second point is much more controversial. He says that this epidemic of mental illness is, in large part, caused by the very drugs that are being used to treat psychiatric disorders! Whitaker presents evidence in his book that psychiatric drugs do more harm than good when looked at from a long-term perspective. He acknowledges that these drugs make the patient better in the short term, such as the 6 week period in which clinical trials of new drugs occur. But, looked at over the period of years, not weeks, patients do better off drugs than on them.
Whitaker uses several pieces of evidence to craft his argument. One, is that the epidemic of disabling mental illness occurred during the period in which psychiatric drugs were used. During the early phase of psychiatric drugs (mid 1950’s through the mid 1980’s), antipsychotic drugs were used primarily on people with schizophrenia. Anti-anxiety and antidepressant drugs were prescribed for people with anxiety and depression. Lithium was used as a mood stabilizer for people with bipolar disorder. Most of these early drugs (with the exception of the anti-anxiety drugs) had terrible side effects, such as tardive dyskinesia for the typical antipsychotics. These side effects limited the number of people willing to take these drugs. (The anti-anxiety drugs Miltown and Valium were very popular, especially among women, but also very addictive.) Studies showed that those on the drugs, including the anti-anxiety drugs, had worse long-term outcomes than those off the drugs. These studies were never widely publicized, and doctors continued to prescribe the drugs to adults (children rarely were prescribed drugs in this period, with the exception of Ritalin for ADHD).
The second period, beginning with the FDA approval of Prozac for depression in 1987, saw the release and aggressive promotion of “second-generation” psychiatric drugs, which included SSRI antidepressants (e.g. Prozac, Zoloft, and Paxil), and atypical antipsychotics (e.g. Risperdal, Zyprexa, and Seroquel). Drug companies heavily marketed these drugs both to the public and to doctors, with the help of academic leaders in psychiatry. This period also saw a major increase in the diagnosis and drug treatment of pediatric psychiatric disorders.
The second-generation drugs had fewer and less-severe side effects than the older drugs, but weren’t any more effective than these drugs. They still had some serious side effects, however, such as increased risk of suicide for Prozac, and weight gain for Zyprexa. These adverse effects were generally swept under the rug as the pharmaceutical marketing machine (with the aid of drug-money soaked academic psychiatrists) promoted them as miracle drugs.
The release of the psychiatry reference manual DSM-III in 1980 led to a major change in diagnostic criteria, leading to more reliable diagnoses based on symptoms. The DSM-III (followed by the DSM-IV in 1994) made psychiatry appear more scientific and objective, since it dispensed with vague Freudian notions like “neurosis.” But the problem was that it wasn’t accompanied by any breakthroughs in the understanding of the biology of mental illness. The “chemical imbalance” theory, i.e. that schizophrenia was a result of too much dopamine, and depression a result of too little serotonin, was demolished by research findings. But drug companies and psychiatrists continued to tell people that this imbalance theory was true. Whitaker makes a good argument that the drugs actually cause chemical imbalances, not treat them. These iatrogenic (drug-caused) imbalances force people on the drugs to continue taking them, as they get terrible withdrawal symptoms if they try to stop. Getting children addicted to these drugs was a pharmaceutical marketing home run, as the kids would be hooked for life, a reliable long-term source of income.
It was during these last 25 years of widespread prescription of psychiatric drugs that the disability numbers soared. These drugs didn’t seem to be helping people over the long term, or else why would they be forced to go on disability? Large numbers of children started becoming disabled. According to Whitaker, the second-generation drugs had as dismal a long-term effect on patients as the first-generation drugs. The problem for society was that many times more people were taking them than took the earlier drugs. The few academic psychiatrists who questioned the efficacy of drugs were stripped of their positions and funding, and marginalized. Millions of dollars in drug money flowed to virtually all the academic leaders in psychiatry.
Whitaker weaves in anecdotes along with his research findings, enhancing the readability of his book. Some of the stories are haunting, such as the case of “Jasmine,” a girl prescribed an antidepressant for bed wetting in fifth grade. The agitation she got from this drug led psychiatrists to put her on a drug cocktail that included Zyprexa. She was hospitalized in high school, and the drug merry-go-round to which she was subjected fried her brain, leaving her perpetually psychotic and mute. Of course, Jasmine is an exception, and most children and adults on drugs have much more positive outcomes, but the reader is left to wonder, “what would have happened if she never got on drugs the first place?”
Whitaker provides examples of how drugs used to treat one condition (e.g. Ritalin for ADHD) led to some children developing manic symptoms, which led them to be diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which led them to receive drug “cocktails” including powerful and harmful antipsychotics. They end up on a long-term trajectory of serious physical and mental problems, an outcome which probably would have been much more benign if they hadn’t been prescribed any drugs in the first place.
My own experience with psychiatric drugs was generally a positive one. I didn’t start on drugs until I was 27. I had many years of dysfunctional behavior, of cognitive and emotional problems. Virtually any intellectual activity at all (e.g. reading or writing) would trigger horrible “states” that would last for days. These “states” would include severe obsessions, difficulty concentrating, emotional suppression, and tics. Although I had a job, I was working well below my ability, and had little social life. It was under these conditions that I decided to try Anafranil, a drug used to treat OCD, and it did help improve my functioning for a while. I tried combining Anafranil with many other drugs that were less helpful, although I usually never took more than two at a time. Being very sensitive to side effects, I stuck to low or moderate dosages. After ten years of Anafranil, I felt that it was no longer needed, and convinced my psychiatrist to allow me to stop taking it. I followed up with 3 years of low doses of Xanax, then got off medication completely. I’ve been basically medication-free for 3 years. I think the late onset of starting with drugs, the small number and doses of drugs, and the eventual getting off drugs made me one of the few long-term medication success stories.
Whitaker is not anti-drug, and acknowledges that “there is a place for the drugs in psychiatry’s toolbox” (p. 333). But he wants psychiatrists to “think about the medications in a scientifically honest way and to speak honestly about them to the public” (p. 333). Certainly the vast majority of drug prescriptions are unnecessary and possibly harmful. After reading this book, (although Whitaker doesn’t suggest this) I think that a strong case can be made to outlaw prescribing psychiatric drugs for children. If they cause more harm than good in the long run, then it is children who have the most to lose by taking these drugs. Exceptions can be made for children already on drugs, and for the few children who are completely out of control, and whose behavior cannot be managed by any other means. Psychiatrists would howl about any such legislation, but let them (and their drug company masters) put forward studies that show children benefit long-term from drugs. If Whitaker is right, and there are no such studies, then let’s ban the prescribing of drugs for children.
I found this book to be one of the most powerful and thought-provoking books I’ve read in years. I recommend it to anyone concerned with the mental illness epidemic that plagues our country.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Is Astrology Scientifically Verifiable? A Review of “Astrology: Science or Superstition” by Eysenck and Nias
Hans Eysenck and David Nias take on the contentious issue of whether or not astrological ideas can be scientifically verified in their book Astrology: Science or Superstition. This book, published in 1982, goes over a lot of research, both of traditional astrology and of a newer quasi-astrology called “cosmobiology.” While the book is almost 30 years old, I decided to read it because I admire and enjoy reading the works of Hans Eysenck.
Hans Eysenck (1916-1997) is my favorite 20th century psychologist. While not as well known or influential as Freud or Skinner, I think that Eysenck was on the right track in his research and theories. During the mid-twentieth century, when unproved psychoanalytical theories were predominant, Eysenck was a fervent critic. Eysenck did groundbreaking work in personality theory, backed by extensive empirical research. He’s most famous for his theory breaking personality down into three fundamental categories: extraversion, introversion, and psychoticism. He was a pioneer in the study of the biological basis of personality, intelligence, and mental health. Not one to shy from controversy, his view that racial differences in IQ are (partially) genetically determined got him punched in the face during a talk.
Most scientists avoid studying astrology, considering research in the field to be a waste of time and resources, kind of like studying psychic phenomena or human magnetoreception. But what if there is something to it, something that we don’t understand very well at present, but may lead to a new understanding of human behavior? It must be remembered that not long ago, the idea that some psychiatric disorders have a genetic component would have been laughed off as ridiculous. The same with the idea that taking pills would treat symptoms of depression or schizophrenia. What about splitting the atom, landing a man on the moon, or video conferencing with someone halfway around the world? Things that are common knowledge or obvious now weren’t always so.
Eysenck and Nias begin their book by discussing how mainstream scientists are irrationally hostile to anything connected to astrology. They then describe astrology, and delve into the research on the subject. They don’t find much research support for traditional astrology, e.g. whether birth charts and sun signs have any connection to personality, occupation, or personal destiny. Any studies that seemed to show a positive result either had methodological or statistical problems, or failed in replication. While many astrologers are sincere and mean well, any advice they give people isn’t based on research or science.
The authors then turn to what they call “cosmobiology”, or the scientific study of how extra-terrestrial factors influence living organisms. Much of the research in this field consists of initial studies that have not been replicated, and thus can’t be considered to be proven. I’ll omit these studies and focus on the few findings that have been replicated and that Eysenck and Nias consider to be solid. One is that eminent people are born more often between the winter solstice and spring equinox. (“Eminent people” are those who have accomplished enough to be listed in one or more encyclopedias). One study showed 36 eminent people born per day during the peak in February, compared to 27 people per day at the trough in June. There’s a similar trend for schizophrenia. A 1998 study confirmed this excess of winter births for schizophrenia, and also for bipolar and unipolar depression. Eysenck’s book on creativity explains that psychosis and creativity are biologically linked, and the seasonal of birth data support his hypothesis.
One possible explanation for the season of birth data is that the parents of eminent or mentally ill children have a greater tendency for conceiving a child in the spring than the average parent. Why this is the case isn’t clear. Another explanation for the greater prevalence of mentally ill winter births is that babies born during the winter are more susceptible to infections, and these infections cause their mental illness. There’s been no definitive link, however, between any known kind of infection and schizophrenia or mood disorder. This viral hypothesis doesn’t explain why eminent people should be born more often in the winter.
Eysenck and Nias take up the question of whether the sunspot cycle correlates with biological or historical cycles, but don’t find any solid evidence in favor of this. In his later book on creativity, however, Eysenck mentions Ertel’s research. Ertel found a correlation between the sunspot cycle and creative achievement in the arts and sciences. There’s more worldwide creative achievement in the nadir of the solar cycle as compared to the peak. There were also worldwide bursts of creativity during periods in which there were few or no sunspots, such as the Maunder Minimum (1620 – 1710). To my knowledge, Ertel’s research has not been replicated, so this isn’t solid evidence by Eysenck’s and Nias’ standards. Eysenck, however, thought it significant enough in his creativity book to devote 7 pages in explaining it.
The most solid evidence Eysenck and Nias come up with, to which they devote an entire chapter, is the research done by Michel Gauquelin (1928 – 1991), i.e. the Mars Effect. Gauquelin researched the connection between planetary position at time of birth and eminence. From the perspective of the rotating earth, planets rise and set, as do the sun and the moon. Gauquelin divided each planets’ path into 12 sectors, similar to, but not identical with, astrological houses. Gauquelin studied birth records of eminent doctors, artists, scientists, and athletes. He found that eminent scientists tend to be born more often just after the rise (i.e. when the planet first appears on the horizon) or upper culmination (i.e. the highest point) of Saturn, while eminent artists are less likely to be born during these times. He found that eminent doctors are more likely to be born with Mars or Saturn in the sectors following the rise or upper culmination. He found that for eminent military leaders and for “iron willed” athletes, Mars was more likely to be in the sector following the rise or upper culmination (remember that Mars is the ancient god of war).
Eysenck and Nias consider the Mars Effect to be successfully replicated. Since the book is 30 years old, I checked out more recent sources. A 2005 article describes the history of the controversy. To summarize, the jury is still out whether or not this effect is a statistical artifact or not. The previously mentioned Ertel became involved in the controversy, claiming that the Mars Effect did exist in the replications, if one focuses only on eminent people. For example, only highly successful athletes show this effect, not average ones.
Notice how eminence is an important factor in the Mars Effect, as it is in Ertel’s sunspot cycle research, and as it is in the season of birth research. Perhaps eminent people have some type of capability that others don’t have. This capability may be related to the magnetic sense, as the geomagnetic field is known to be influenced by sunspots and other extraterrestrial factors.
I can see a similarity between the controversy about the Mars Effect, and the controversy about Robin Baker’s human magnetoreception research. In both cases, one side argues that the replications were successful, and the other side argues that they weren’t. The key questions are methodological and statistical in nature. Mainstream science is not convinced, and the research project becomes abandoned.
My own opinion about the Mars Effect, echoing that of many scientists, is “so what?” Even if the Mars Effect exists, it can’t be used to predict anything. It’s an interesting correlation, showing that birth times may be connected to extraterrestrial events, but doesn’t really tell much about human psychology or human behavior. Eysenck would probably argue that it’s difficult in general to make predictions in the social sciences. There are so many influences and factors involved in human behavior, that correlational research is often the only method that can be used. The size of the correlations in the Mars Effect is as high as in other mainstream social science research. So why dismiss the Mars Effect, solely on the grounds that we don’t understand how it can work?
Eysenck and Nias make the analogy to Newton’s Law of Gravity. Newton didn’t understand how gravity worked, but was able to construct a successful theory of gravitation. We don’t understand how cosmobiology works, but why can’t we take it seriously, do the necessary research, and come up with a theory? In their concluding chapter, the authors make the connection between cosmobiology and geomagnetism. It’s likely that any extraterrestrial effects are mediated by the geomagnetic field. Research in animal and human magnetoreception is directly relevant to cosmobiology.
I would like to see more research in cosmobiology, but would like to see us move away from the correlational in favor of the experimental. Robin Baker did experimental research on human magnetoreception, but the effect sizes were so small and difficult to reproduce that he was unable to convince other scientists. My human magnetoreception hypothesis points the way to another research paradigm that may have more successful results. I (and some others) have a limited functionality GPS. While this GPS doesn’t provide a great deal of navigational information, the limited information it does provide can be used as the basis for experimental tests. I have the ability to distinguish between being north or south of magnetic home. This ability can be tested in a double-blind manner, by driving me around in a bus with a sunroof and covered or blocked windows. If my sleeping behavior is experimentally controlled as I describe in my research paper, I will be near-perfect in my ability to distinguish between being north or south of home. The effect won’t be masked by statistical noise, as it was in Baker’s experiments and in the various correlational research studies mentioned in this book.
In conclusion, I recommend this book as an accessible, well-written discussion of astrological research.
Hans Eysenck (1916-1997) is my favorite 20th century psychologist. While not as well known or influential as Freud or Skinner, I think that Eysenck was on the right track in his research and theories. During the mid-twentieth century, when unproved psychoanalytical theories were predominant, Eysenck was a fervent critic. Eysenck did groundbreaking work in personality theory, backed by extensive empirical research. He’s most famous for his theory breaking personality down into three fundamental categories: extraversion, introversion, and psychoticism. He was a pioneer in the study of the biological basis of personality, intelligence, and mental health. Not one to shy from controversy, his view that racial differences in IQ are (partially) genetically determined got him punched in the face during a talk.
Most scientists avoid studying astrology, considering research in the field to be a waste of time and resources, kind of like studying psychic phenomena or human magnetoreception. But what if there is something to it, something that we don’t understand very well at present, but may lead to a new understanding of human behavior? It must be remembered that not long ago, the idea that some psychiatric disorders have a genetic component would have been laughed off as ridiculous. The same with the idea that taking pills would treat symptoms of depression or schizophrenia. What about splitting the atom, landing a man on the moon, or video conferencing with someone halfway around the world? Things that are common knowledge or obvious now weren’t always so.
Eysenck and Nias begin their book by discussing how mainstream scientists are irrationally hostile to anything connected to astrology. They then describe astrology, and delve into the research on the subject. They don’t find much research support for traditional astrology, e.g. whether birth charts and sun signs have any connection to personality, occupation, or personal destiny. Any studies that seemed to show a positive result either had methodological or statistical problems, or failed in replication. While many astrologers are sincere and mean well, any advice they give people isn’t based on research or science.
The authors then turn to what they call “cosmobiology”, or the scientific study of how extra-terrestrial factors influence living organisms. Much of the research in this field consists of initial studies that have not been replicated, and thus can’t be considered to be proven. I’ll omit these studies and focus on the few findings that have been replicated and that Eysenck and Nias consider to be solid. One is that eminent people are born more often between the winter solstice and spring equinox. (“Eminent people” are those who have accomplished enough to be listed in one or more encyclopedias). One study showed 36 eminent people born per day during the peak in February, compared to 27 people per day at the trough in June. There’s a similar trend for schizophrenia. A 1998 study confirmed this excess of winter births for schizophrenia, and also for bipolar and unipolar depression. Eysenck’s book on creativity explains that psychosis and creativity are biologically linked, and the seasonal of birth data support his hypothesis.
One possible explanation for the season of birth data is that the parents of eminent or mentally ill children have a greater tendency for conceiving a child in the spring than the average parent. Why this is the case isn’t clear. Another explanation for the greater prevalence of mentally ill winter births is that babies born during the winter are more susceptible to infections, and these infections cause their mental illness. There’s been no definitive link, however, between any known kind of infection and schizophrenia or mood disorder. This viral hypothesis doesn’t explain why eminent people should be born more often in the winter.
Eysenck and Nias take up the question of whether the sunspot cycle correlates with biological or historical cycles, but don’t find any solid evidence in favor of this. In his later book on creativity, however, Eysenck mentions Ertel’s research. Ertel found a correlation between the sunspot cycle and creative achievement in the arts and sciences. There’s more worldwide creative achievement in the nadir of the solar cycle as compared to the peak. There were also worldwide bursts of creativity during periods in which there were few or no sunspots, such as the Maunder Minimum (1620 – 1710). To my knowledge, Ertel’s research has not been replicated, so this isn’t solid evidence by Eysenck’s and Nias’ standards. Eysenck, however, thought it significant enough in his creativity book to devote 7 pages in explaining it.
The most solid evidence Eysenck and Nias come up with, to which they devote an entire chapter, is the research done by Michel Gauquelin (1928 – 1991), i.e. the Mars Effect. Gauquelin researched the connection between planetary position at time of birth and eminence. From the perspective of the rotating earth, planets rise and set, as do the sun and the moon. Gauquelin divided each planets’ path into 12 sectors, similar to, but not identical with, astrological houses. Gauquelin studied birth records of eminent doctors, artists, scientists, and athletes. He found that eminent scientists tend to be born more often just after the rise (i.e. when the planet first appears on the horizon) or upper culmination (i.e. the highest point) of Saturn, while eminent artists are less likely to be born during these times. He found that eminent doctors are more likely to be born with Mars or Saturn in the sectors following the rise or upper culmination. He found that for eminent military leaders and for “iron willed” athletes, Mars was more likely to be in the sector following the rise or upper culmination (remember that Mars is the ancient god of war).
Eysenck and Nias consider the Mars Effect to be successfully replicated. Since the book is 30 years old, I checked out more recent sources. A 2005 article describes the history of the controversy. To summarize, the jury is still out whether or not this effect is a statistical artifact or not. The previously mentioned Ertel became involved in the controversy, claiming that the Mars Effect did exist in the replications, if one focuses only on eminent people. For example, only highly successful athletes show this effect, not average ones.
Notice how eminence is an important factor in the Mars Effect, as it is in Ertel’s sunspot cycle research, and as it is in the season of birth research. Perhaps eminent people have some type of capability that others don’t have. This capability may be related to the magnetic sense, as the geomagnetic field is known to be influenced by sunspots and other extraterrestrial factors.
I can see a similarity between the controversy about the Mars Effect, and the controversy about Robin Baker’s human magnetoreception research. In both cases, one side argues that the replications were successful, and the other side argues that they weren’t. The key questions are methodological and statistical in nature. Mainstream science is not convinced, and the research project becomes abandoned.
My own opinion about the Mars Effect, echoing that of many scientists, is “so what?” Even if the Mars Effect exists, it can’t be used to predict anything. It’s an interesting correlation, showing that birth times may be connected to extraterrestrial events, but doesn’t really tell much about human psychology or human behavior. Eysenck would probably argue that it’s difficult in general to make predictions in the social sciences. There are so many influences and factors involved in human behavior, that correlational research is often the only method that can be used. The size of the correlations in the Mars Effect is as high as in other mainstream social science research. So why dismiss the Mars Effect, solely on the grounds that we don’t understand how it can work?
Eysenck and Nias make the analogy to Newton’s Law of Gravity. Newton didn’t understand how gravity worked, but was able to construct a successful theory of gravitation. We don’t understand how cosmobiology works, but why can’t we take it seriously, do the necessary research, and come up with a theory? In their concluding chapter, the authors make the connection between cosmobiology and geomagnetism. It’s likely that any extraterrestrial effects are mediated by the geomagnetic field. Research in animal and human magnetoreception is directly relevant to cosmobiology.
I would like to see more research in cosmobiology, but would like to see us move away from the correlational in favor of the experimental. Robin Baker did experimental research on human magnetoreception, but the effect sizes were so small and difficult to reproduce that he was unable to convince other scientists. My human magnetoreception hypothesis points the way to another research paradigm that may have more successful results. I (and some others) have a limited functionality GPS. While this GPS doesn’t provide a great deal of navigational information, the limited information it does provide can be used as the basis for experimental tests. I have the ability to distinguish between being north or south of magnetic home. This ability can be tested in a double-blind manner, by driving me around in a bus with a sunroof and covered or blocked windows. If my sleeping behavior is experimentally controlled as I describe in my research paper, I will be near-perfect in my ability to distinguish between being north or south of home. The effect won’t be masked by statistical noise, as it was in Baker’s experiments and in the various correlational research studies mentioned in this book.
In conclusion, I recommend this book as an accessible, well-written discussion of astrological research.
Friday, March 5, 2010
A Beautiful Mind
I just finished reading A Beautiful Mind, the 1998 biography of mathematician John Nash by Sylvia Nasar. It’s an interesting account of a highly intelligent and creative man who suffered from schizophrenia. I’ll discuss information I gleaned from the book in this post. I’m assuming the biography is accurate, although I haven’t done any independent checking.
Like many people, I first heard of Nash by watching the movie starring Russell Crowe. The movie is true to the basic outline of the biography, but omits or fudges many relevant details. For example, the movie didn’t mention Nash’s travels to Europe or his divorce. From the movie, one would think that Nash’s disorder began at graduate school at Princeton, since that is when he first “sees” his imaginary roommate. This imaginary roommate isn’t mentioned in the book.
Although eccentric and strange, Nash didn’t suffer his first breakdown until age 30, which is relatively late for schizophrenia. If Nash had developed this disorder when he was 20, no one would have heard of him, and there would be no biography to read. It’s important to emphasize this point. For every famous person like Nash, there are thousands of talented people who, due to mental illness, never get a chance to exercise their talents.
What precipitated Nash’s initial breakdown? It could have been his marriage that occurred two years before, along with his wife’s pregnancy. Stress is known to precipitate psychiatric symptoms, and major life changes like getting married and having a child are significant sources of stress. It could have been a European honeymoon trip that Nash and his wife went on about 6 months prior to his breakdown. There’s no way to know for sure.
After his breakdown and initial hospitalization, Nash gave up his tenured position at MIT and headed to Europe, where he would spend the next 9 months, attempting to renounce his U.S. citizenship and become a “world citizen.” This behavior exemplifies that the severe mental illnesses are primarily disorders of instability. Who in his right mind would give up a tenured faculty position at MIT? Most normal people crave stability, and there’s nothing more stable than a tenured position. Mentally ill people crave the opposite; for them the stability of a tenured position is both frightening and undesirable. Nash’s travels are further indications of instability.
After Nash returned to the U.S., he had temporary episodes of sanity alternating with psychotic episodes. With some brief exceptions, he wasn’t able to resume his career until he had a remission in his fifties. This remission occurred after having lived a relatively quiet and stable life at Princeton for over ten years. Nash won the Nobel Prize in economics in 1994.
Nasar’s biography convinces me that schizophrenia is closer to bipolar disorder than Alzheimer’s Disease. Schizophrenia is an episodic disease, characterized by alternating sanity and insanity, of rational thought and delusions. At least in Nash’s case, it doesn’t appear to be degenerative.
There’s no evidence from the biography supporting my hypothesis that schizophrenia is connected to the Earth’s magnetic field. Before he developed schizophrenia, Nash traveled within the U.S., including working for a time at Rand in Santa Monica, California. If Nash were sensitive to the geomagnetic field, he should have developed a breakdown while living in California. The fact that his first breakdown occurred soon after a trip to Europe doesn’t imply that the different geomagnetic in Europe precipitated his schizophrenia.
Whether or not schizophrenia is connected to the geomagnetic field, there’s no question that it is a severely disabling disorder, probably the most disabling psychiatric disorder. That Nash was able to accomplish what he did despite the disorder, and the fact that he was able to achieve remission, is amazing.
Like many people, I first heard of Nash by watching the movie starring Russell Crowe. The movie is true to the basic outline of the biography, but omits or fudges many relevant details. For example, the movie didn’t mention Nash’s travels to Europe or his divorce. From the movie, one would think that Nash’s disorder began at graduate school at Princeton, since that is when he first “sees” his imaginary roommate. This imaginary roommate isn’t mentioned in the book.
Although eccentric and strange, Nash didn’t suffer his first breakdown until age 30, which is relatively late for schizophrenia. If Nash had developed this disorder when he was 20, no one would have heard of him, and there would be no biography to read. It’s important to emphasize this point. For every famous person like Nash, there are thousands of talented people who, due to mental illness, never get a chance to exercise their talents.
What precipitated Nash’s initial breakdown? It could have been his marriage that occurred two years before, along with his wife’s pregnancy. Stress is known to precipitate psychiatric symptoms, and major life changes like getting married and having a child are significant sources of stress. It could have been a European honeymoon trip that Nash and his wife went on about 6 months prior to his breakdown. There’s no way to know for sure.
After his breakdown and initial hospitalization, Nash gave up his tenured position at MIT and headed to Europe, where he would spend the next 9 months, attempting to renounce his U.S. citizenship and become a “world citizen.” This behavior exemplifies that the severe mental illnesses are primarily disorders of instability. Who in his right mind would give up a tenured faculty position at MIT? Most normal people crave stability, and there’s nothing more stable than a tenured position. Mentally ill people crave the opposite; for them the stability of a tenured position is both frightening and undesirable. Nash’s travels are further indications of instability.
After Nash returned to the U.S., he had temporary episodes of sanity alternating with psychotic episodes. With some brief exceptions, he wasn’t able to resume his career until he had a remission in his fifties. This remission occurred after having lived a relatively quiet and stable life at Princeton for over ten years. Nash won the Nobel Prize in economics in 1994.
Nasar’s biography convinces me that schizophrenia is closer to bipolar disorder than Alzheimer’s Disease. Schizophrenia is an episodic disease, characterized by alternating sanity and insanity, of rational thought and delusions. At least in Nash’s case, it doesn’t appear to be degenerative.
There’s no evidence from the biography supporting my hypothesis that schizophrenia is connected to the Earth’s magnetic field. Before he developed schizophrenia, Nash traveled within the U.S., including working for a time at Rand in Santa Monica, California. If Nash were sensitive to the geomagnetic field, he should have developed a breakdown while living in California. The fact that his first breakdown occurred soon after a trip to Europe doesn’t imply that the different geomagnetic in Europe precipitated his schizophrenia.
Whether or not schizophrenia is connected to the geomagnetic field, there’s no question that it is a severely disabling disorder, probably the most disabling psychiatric disorder. That Nash was able to accomplish what he did despite the disorder, and the fact that he was able to achieve remission, is amazing.
Monday, November 16, 2009
A Memoir of How I Developed the Concept of Psychiatric Symptoms as Navigational Tools
Arguably the single most important finding of my human magnetoreception research project is the concept of psychiatric symptoms as navigational tools. Negative symptoms (i.e. depressed mood) tell me that (magnetic) home is south of my current location, and positive symptoms (i.e. tics) tell me that (magnetic) home is north. In my site and research paper, I don’t give many anecdotes related to my development of this idea. I intend to fill in this gap in this post.
One of the strangest things about psychiatric disorders is that although they are considered to be diseases, they don’t share many of the characteristics of diseases. For one thing, there’s no obvious pathophysiology, i.e. physiological changes associated with the disease. This is not the case for some other well-known brain diseases. Multiple Sclerosis is characterized by plaques in the white matter of the brain. Parkinson’s Disease is characterized by loss of dopaminergic neurons in the substantia nigra. Both of these diseases are degenerative—i.e. the patient gets worse over time. Psychiatric disorders, on the other hand, are not degenerative. Take as an example John Nash, the subject of the book and movie “A Beautiful Mind.” His schizophrenia gradually improved over time, so that by his mid-fifties he could function reasonably well.
While psychiatric disorders are not typical diseases, I don’t agree with Szasz’s infamous 1961 book that mental illness is a myth. As someone who suffered from mental illness for over 20 years, and having seen how mental illness has wrecked lives and destroyed relationships in my own family, I know how dysfunctional it is. It’s just not in the same category as other diseases.
My concept of psychiatric symptoms as navigational tools helps explain this puzzle of mental illness. Psychiatric symptoms are the human equivalent of the animal instinctual response to being north or south of home. Long ago during human evolution, our ancestors probably utilized these symptoms for navigation. Since our primitive ancestors never ventured far from their birthplace, didn’t live very long, and had no exposure to artificial magnetic fields, their symptoms were never too intense. They were strong enough to guide them north or south toward home, but not strong enough to incapacitate them.
At some point, the knowledge of psychiatric symptoms as navigational tools was lost. This probably occurred well before the advent of civilization and written language. Some cultures and tribes considered these symptoms to be the result of evil spirits or demons. Others, like the ancient Greeks, took a more naturalistic approach. Today, the dominant theory is that psychiatric disorders are a result of a chemical imbalance. This imbalance is brought on by a combination of genes and environment. Both the genes causing mental illness and the environment trigger or triggers are unknown (as of 2009).
I accept the premise that genes are part of the cause of mental illness. My human magnetoreception hypothesis explains the environmental trigger. People with psychiatric disorders are unwitting navigators, whose symptoms are guiding them to their (magnetic) home. Since knowledge of the navigational function of psychiatric symptoms has been lost, the navigators (and everyone else) attribute their symptoms to some type of biochemical disease process.
How did I arrive at the startling conclusion that the symptoms of my psychiatric disorder were navigational tools? Before embarking on my geomagnetism research project in late 2007, I had studied psychology, and had gotten a second bachelor’s degree in this subject (my first was in physics). From my study of psychology, I knew about positive and negative symptoms, primarily as they applied to schizophrenia. I thought that I had negative symptoms, in the sense of a chronic mild depression (i.e. dysthymia) and lack of motivation. I also had positive symptoms, in the sense of tics, hypomania, and anxiety. But I had no idea that these symptoms were navigational tools until late 2007, when I began to drive around Utah and surrounding states, paying attention to how I felt differently in different places.
Since many of my readers may not be familiar with the geography of the Western U.S., I’m including a map with some key places I visited coded with letters. Here’s what happened at each of these places.
A) Salt Lake City, Utah (SLC). This was my home during this initial stage of my research project. I used how I felt here as a reference point, to compare to how I felt in the other places.
B) Rock Springs, Wyoming. This was the first place I drove to in search of a geomagnetic explanation of why I felt differently in different places. I drove here on September 20, 2007, because I knew that it was higher in total intensity and inclination than SLC, and I expected that being higher in these two magnetic factors would make me feel better. I stayed in a motel here, and felt in prepeak. I felt more focused and motivated than I did in SLC. At the time, I didn’t know that there was a peak, and that it was only one meter north-south distance. On hindsight, if I had known about the effects of circadian rhythm on peak location, I would have gone to bed an hour later, which would have pushed the peak far south of Rock Springs. I was phase advanced at the time, but didn’t know it.
C) My next trip was to Idaho Falls, Idaho, on September 26, 2007. I wanted to go north to see if even higher total intensity and inclination would make me feel better than I did in Rock Springs. What I found, however, was that in Idaho Falls I felt depressed, unmotivated, and unfocused. These are what I would later call “negative symptoms,” or symptoms of being in the Negative Zone, the area north of magnetic home.
D) Based on the negative symptoms I felt in Idaho Falls, I decided that I needed to drive south, to attempt to feel the way I did in Rock Springs. By using the magnetic model calculator, I found that Twin Falls, Idaho had similar total intensity and inclination to Rock Springs. I drove down to Twin Falls on September 27, but didn’t feel as well as I did as in Rock Springs. I stayed overnight a few nights in Twin Falls, driving to some of the small towns north and northeast of this city. I felt in prepeak in Rupert (about 75 km east/northeast of Twin Falls), but negative symptoms in Minidoka (about 23 km northeast of Rupert). On September 28, I distinguished between a “Northern Effect” and “Southern Effect,” which I would later change to “Negative Zone” and “Positive Zone.” I speculated on the implications of this for bipolar disorder. I also observed that the feelings go away temporarily while I’m driving (something I would later realize was applicable to sleeping near a cardinal bed angle {N-S or E-W}. The feelings don’t go away when driving if I sleep near a 45 degree bed angle).
The next day (September 29) I found the peak near Twin Falls. By making frequent stops while driving, I realized that the prepeak feelings occurred in a narrow north-south distance range, 2 to 3 kilometers.
E) Wanting to find the peak closer to Salt Lake City (A), I drew a line between Rock Springs (B) and Twin Falls (D), and predicted that the peak should be near Bear Lake. This high elevation, relatively undeveloped resort lake near the Utah/Idaho border had inspired me in September 2006 to write a mystery short story set there. See the pictures below.
In early October, 2007, Bear Lake inspired me to further develop my concept of the psychological magnetic map. It was near the Bear Lake Marina that I first walked the peak. I walked too fast, however, missing the most intense part of the peak (see video). At the time I estimated that the peak was between 30 and 60 meters north-south distance (later revised down to one meter). By walking east and west of the peak, and holding a compass, I realized that the peak extended approximately along a line of magnetic east-west.
By stopping in Laketown and Round Valley, two towns just south of the lake, and then stopping in Logan, which is a further distance southwest of the lake, I began to conceptualize the distinction between the Happy Zone and the Positive Zone. Just south of the peak is the Happy Zone, in which I’m largely free of symptoms, but if I go further south I run into the Positive Zone, in which I feel positive symptoms (i.e. tics and involuntary body movements).
I returned to Bear Lake on October 11, eight days after my previous visit. I found that the peak had moved south 0.9 km in the eight days. This was before I controlled for bed angle, and was likely due to a combination of Bed Angle Drift (BAD) and secular change. Much of my later research involved doing quantitative analysis of the various factors that were associated with peak movement north or south.
The above description covers the initial stages of my research project, in which I identified that my symptoms were navigational tools, leading me to magnetic home. I also found that there was a peak, a short distance of intense feeling that was a north-south transition between different symptom clusters. In future posts I’ll discuss some other anecdotes associated with this project.
One of the strangest things about psychiatric disorders is that although they are considered to be diseases, they don’t share many of the characteristics of diseases. For one thing, there’s no obvious pathophysiology, i.e. physiological changes associated with the disease. This is not the case for some other well-known brain diseases. Multiple Sclerosis is characterized by plaques in the white matter of the brain. Parkinson’s Disease is characterized by loss of dopaminergic neurons in the substantia nigra. Both of these diseases are degenerative—i.e. the patient gets worse over time. Psychiatric disorders, on the other hand, are not degenerative. Take as an example John Nash, the subject of the book and movie “A Beautiful Mind.” His schizophrenia gradually improved over time, so that by his mid-fifties he could function reasonably well.
While psychiatric disorders are not typical diseases, I don’t agree with Szasz’s infamous 1961 book that mental illness is a myth. As someone who suffered from mental illness for over 20 years, and having seen how mental illness has wrecked lives and destroyed relationships in my own family, I know how dysfunctional it is. It’s just not in the same category as other diseases.
My concept of psychiatric symptoms as navigational tools helps explain this puzzle of mental illness. Psychiatric symptoms are the human equivalent of the animal instinctual response to being north or south of home. Long ago during human evolution, our ancestors probably utilized these symptoms for navigation. Since our primitive ancestors never ventured far from their birthplace, didn’t live very long, and had no exposure to artificial magnetic fields, their symptoms were never too intense. They were strong enough to guide them north or south toward home, but not strong enough to incapacitate them.
At some point, the knowledge of psychiatric symptoms as navigational tools was lost. This probably occurred well before the advent of civilization and written language. Some cultures and tribes considered these symptoms to be the result of evil spirits or demons. Others, like the ancient Greeks, took a more naturalistic approach. Today, the dominant theory is that psychiatric disorders are a result of a chemical imbalance. This imbalance is brought on by a combination of genes and environment. Both the genes causing mental illness and the environment trigger or triggers are unknown (as of 2009).
I accept the premise that genes are part of the cause of mental illness. My human magnetoreception hypothesis explains the environmental trigger. People with psychiatric disorders are unwitting navigators, whose symptoms are guiding them to their (magnetic) home. Since knowledge of the navigational function of psychiatric symptoms has been lost, the navigators (and everyone else) attribute their symptoms to some type of biochemical disease process.
How did I arrive at the startling conclusion that the symptoms of my psychiatric disorder were navigational tools? Before embarking on my geomagnetism research project in late 2007, I had studied psychology, and had gotten a second bachelor’s degree in this subject (my first was in physics). From my study of psychology, I knew about positive and negative symptoms, primarily as they applied to schizophrenia. I thought that I had negative symptoms, in the sense of a chronic mild depression (i.e. dysthymia) and lack of motivation. I also had positive symptoms, in the sense of tics, hypomania, and anxiety. But I had no idea that these symptoms were navigational tools until late 2007, when I began to drive around Utah and surrounding states, paying attention to how I felt differently in different places.
Since many of my readers may not be familiar with the geography of the Western U.S., I’m including a map with some key places I visited coded with letters. Here’s what happened at each of these places.
A) Salt Lake City, Utah (SLC). This was my home during this initial stage of my research project. I used how I felt here as a reference point, to compare to how I felt in the other places.
B) Rock Springs, Wyoming. This was the first place I drove to in search of a geomagnetic explanation of why I felt differently in different places. I drove here on September 20, 2007, because I knew that it was higher in total intensity and inclination than SLC, and I expected that being higher in these two magnetic factors would make me feel better. I stayed in a motel here, and felt in prepeak. I felt more focused and motivated than I did in SLC. At the time, I didn’t know that there was a peak, and that it was only one meter north-south distance. On hindsight, if I had known about the effects of circadian rhythm on peak location, I would have gone to bed an hour later, which would have pushed the peak far south of Rock Springs. I was phase advanced at the time, but didn’t know it.
C) My next trip was to Idaho Falls, Idaho, on September 26, 2007. I wanted to go north to see if even higher total intensity and inclination would make me feel better than I did in Rock Springs. What I found, however, was that in Idaho Falls I felt depressed, unmotivated, and unfocused. These are what I would later call “negative symptoms,” or symptoms of being in the Negative Zone, the area north of magnetic home.
D) Based on the negative symptoms I felt in Idaho Falls, I decided that I needed to drive south, to attempt to feel the way I did in Rock Springs. By using the magnetic model calculator, I found that Twin Falls, Idaho had similar total intensity and inclination to Rock Springs. I drove down to Twin Falls on September 27, but didn’t feel as well as I did as in Rock Springs. I stayed overnight a few nights in Twin Falls, driving to some of the small towns north and northeast of this city. I felt in prepeak in Rupert (about 75 km east/northeast of Twin Falls), but negative symptoms in Minidoka (about 23 km northeast of Rupert). On September 28, I distinguished between a “Northern Effect” and “Southern Effect,” which I would later change to “Negative Zone” and “Positive Zone.” I speculated on the implications of this for bipolar disorder. I also observed that the feelings go away temporarily while I’m driving (something I would later realize was applicable to sleeping near a cardinal bed angle {N-S or E-W}. The feelings don’t go away when driving if I sleep near a 45 degree bed angle).
The next day (September 29) I found the peak near Twin Falls. By making frequent stops while driving, I realized that the prepeak feelings occurred in a narrow north-south distance range, 2 to 3 kilometers.
E) Wanting to find the peak closer to Salt Lake City (A), I drew a line between Rock Springs (B) and Twin Falls (D), and predicted that the peak should be near Bear Lake. This high elevation, relatively undeveloped resort lake near the Utah/Idaho border had inspired me in September 2006 to write a mystery short story set there. See the pictures below.
In early October, 2007, Bear Lake inspired me to further develop my concept of the psychological magnetic map. It was near the Bear Lake Marina that I first walked the peak. I walked too fast, however, missing the most intense part of the peak (see video). At the time I estimated that the peak was between 30 and 60 meters north-south distance (later revised down to one meter). By walking east and west of the peak, and holding a compass, I realized that the peak extended approximately along a line of magnetic east-west.
By stopping in Laketown and Round Valley, two towns just south of the lake, and then stopping in Logan, which is a further distance southwest of the lake, I began to conceptualize the distinction between the Happy Zone and the Positive Zone. Just south of the peak is the Happy Zone, in which I’m largely free of symptoms, but if I go further south I run into the Positive Zone, in which I feel positive symptoms (i.e. tics and involuntary body movements).
I returned to Bear Lake on October 11, eight days after my previous visit. I found that the peak had moved south 0.9 km in the eight days. This was before I controlled for bed angle, and was likely due to a combination of Bed Angle Drift (BAD) and secular change. Much of my later research involved doing quantitative analysis of the various factors that were associated with peak movement north or south.
The above description covers the initial stages of my research project, in which I identified that my symptoms were navigational tools, leading me to magnetic home. I also found that there was a peak, a short distance of intense feeling that was a north-south transition between different symptom clusters. In future posts I’ll discuss some other anecdotes associated with this project.
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