From Madness to Mindfulness

I would like to preface this article by stating that I do not enjoy writing about myself. I've tried it before, and I always feel embarrassed, as if I am imposing on the reader. But I have been invited to write an article for the newsletter, so I will try. What you are about to read is of a very personal and unpleasant nature, and although I am repulsed at the thought of writing about myself, I write this in the hopes that this article may one day help someone.

I was born in Baltimore County in 1968. My biological parents were too young to raise a child on their own, so they put me up for adoption. At 3 months of age, the most loving and self-sacrificing parents I could have hoped for adopted me. Despite all the comforts and security of being raised by a devoted family and in a middle-class home, I had grown up a fearful and mentally ill child, culminating in a stay of almost a year in a Washington, D.C. psychiatric hospital, and then almost 4 more years living in an institution for the mentally ill and developmentally disabled.

From the beginning, my parents could tell something was wrong with me. At the age of four, I started to spin around in circles, and perform compulsive dance-like rituals throughout the day. These "rituals" were baffling to my parents as well as to myself. There was no purpose to them, I just felt "better" if I did them. This went on until I was about 8 years old. At that time, my mind began to be assaulted by intrusive, horrific visual images of loved ones being tortured and killed. My mind also tormented me with images of myself being transformed into an evil, filthy person. These intrusive thoughts tormented me night and day. They occurred almost one after the other. I didn't know why they were happening or from where they were coming. They just intruded into my consciousness with no warning. They never seemed to stop. I was living in a state of terror around the clock. I became so frightened by these thoughts that sometimes my body would tremble. I was always exhausted and crying, and frightened - not understanding what was happening to me. The invasive thoughts and images played in my head like a never-ending videotape. Intellectually, I knew they were just thoughts and weren't true in reality, but emotionally the fear was just too overwhelming, and I grew to believe that they were true. Eventually, I began to experience commanding thoughts. Here's an example of how it would work:

As I would be performing some daily task like walking through a doorway, or brushing my teeth, or turning on a light switch, the mind would be invading my pre-pubescent consciousness with the usual harrowing imagery, as it did throughout the day. As I would approach the doorway leading out of my room, a thought would pop into my head and tell me that if I walked through the doorway with my left foot first, the images I saw in my mind would come true: "Mom will die if you go through the doorway left-foot-first." So I would switch my feet, interrupting my gait in mid-stride, and hop through the door with my right foot first. I had no power to control myself. The obsessive violent imagery would evoke such fear and panic in me, that I would obey.

Eventually, the obsessions and compulsions started to take place during other physical actions besides walking through a doorway, such as eating, lifting or putting down a fork, opening my eyes, swallowing, etc. It eventually started interrupting every physical movement I would make. In the morning, I would wake up and lay in bed for a long time trying to find a way to open my eyes, or move my limbs, even though doing so would mean someone dying, being raped, or me being changed into a "bad" person. These "rituals" all had a commanding thought, wielding its power over me by the fear arising from the graphic and terrifying imagery I was experiencing. In school, people would see me standing still with my fingers pointed to the floor while in the grip of some ritual. I was withdrawn and fearful. I would often appear confused and disoriented with a far away look on my face. I was just so preoccupied and concentrating so hard in fighting these thoughts that I appeared as such. My classmates could see that something was wrong. Surprisingly, very few ever said or did cruel things to me as kids do in such situations. I learned later that my behavior was so bizarre, that it frightened, rather than amused them.

Finally, it got to the point where I couldn't function. I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't go to school. I remember standing in the upstairs hallway at night for hours on one foot, because the thoughts told me if I put my right foot on the floor that something bad would happen. I just stood there and cried, tears and mucus running down my face, until my Father picked me up and put me in bed. I literally spent every waking moment subjected to these thoughts and using every ounce of energy fighting them throughout the day. So, at about 10 or 11 years of age, I was hospitalized at a psychiatric institution in Washington, D.C. The name has changed, but it is still there on Macarthur Boulevard. I was relieved when the psychiatrist told me I needed hospitalization. I thought that finally some relief was on the way.

In the hospital, I was diagnosed as suffering from a deficiency of a certain brain chemical, Brain cells (neurons) communicate with each other through electricity and chemicals (neurotransmitters). I was lacking a certain neurotransmitter, so certain areas of the brain were malfunctioning, resulting in the symptomatology described above. Treatment consisted of experimental cognitive therapy, behavior modification, and psychotropic drugs (none of which had any effect, other than to give me a gran-mal seizure, dizzy spells, constipation, nausea, etc.). I was also used in part of a research program conducted by the National Institutes of Mental Health in the early 1980's. I was shuttled over there about three times a week for eeg's, cat scans, pet scans, I.Q tests, and all sorts of other physical and mental tests. They were gathering data. I was in a group of 13 people from around the country that were first diagnosed with this disease. I am sure that as long as there have been humans, there have been those suffering from the exact disease I had. But modern psychiatry is only 100 years old, and they are still classifying various brain syndromes and their psychological manifestations. It was here, at the first hospital, that I learned my first lesson in mindfulness.

The doctors didn't call it mindfulness (they called it "response prevention", or something like that). They asked me to try to disobey the commanding thoughts, and then to see how long I could put up with the overwhelming fear that would follow, without going back and doing the ritual over to comply with the command. They asked me to just try to "float on that sea of fear" for as long as I could without reattempting to go through the doorway, or flicking the light switch the "right" way like the thoughts commanded me to do. At first I could only resist for a few seconds. The fear and panic and the threat of someone being tortured or killed was just too overwhelming. I would walk through doorways and try to ignore the thoughts as long as possible. I left the room and sat down to play cards with others, all the time feeling the intense fear under the threats of the mind. After many, many attempts, I was able to force myself to put up with the dread for longer and longer intervals. First for seconds, then for minutes. Although I would be sitting in the common room, or sitting in a therapy group, or watching other patients playing games in the gym (all the lines on the basketball court floor were tantamount to being so many thresholds of doorways for me), I was all the time watching my mind and the fear sensations in my body. I felt dissociated from the people and activities around me as I practiced this technique. I even started to become dissociated from the fear. I was able to objectively watch the body and thoughts and fear sensations. It took a tremendous effort (but I was desperate, facing the possibility of life institutionalization). A wave of calm would begin to wash over my body the longer I was able to maintain my composure and not run back to the doorway, or light switch. I started to notice that I was growing calmer, and that the fear would start to taper off the longer I could control myself. This allowed me to start participating in more regular activities. I could eat more easily. I could read books without the thoughts always making me stop for fear that if I read the next word something terrible would happen. I began to feel more relaxed and relieved. I had finally found some relief. But I always had to be mindful and alert. Most times I couldn't control myself for very long, and most rituals I could not resist, but what little I was able to do was helping alot.

About a year later, I was released to a lower security institution in Pennsylvania. It was a beautiful campus with about 5 residential buildings and a large school complex. Patients were confined to the campus under staff supervision, but had the freedom to move about without having someone to unlock doors for them every 20 feet like the locked facility in D.C. While I was there, the most important thing I learned was something called "bio-feedback". There was a kindly doctor (Dr. Painting) who was interested in bio-feedback and, for whatever reason, he invited me up to his office to try it out a few times a week. He would hook up electrodes to different areas of my body, These lead to a machine that would display muscular tension through light displays and static sound. If I wrinkled up my forehead, the machine would make static noise, and a scale of lights would light up. When I relaxed the muscles of my body, the sound of the static would fade, and the lights would dwindle. With this feedback, I could monitor my bodily states of tension and learn to systematically relax my body. Dr. Painting taught me to relax my body, progressively, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. He would leave the room, and for about 45 minutes a day, I would close my eyes, lay back and use my awareness to "watch" all the sensations in my body (a lot like vippassana). I enjoyed this a tremendously. But sometimes I would get too relaxed and fall asleep. I basically, used these two techniques to learn to live with the diseased mind I had. If I couldn't control the thoughts and visuals from intruding on my mind, at least I could begin to live with the fear. These techniques enabled me to function on a limited level, and have some quality of life. Shortly after my 15^th birthday, I was released and returned to home life.

Isurumuniya was built in the 3rd century B.C. as a part of a monastic complex. At the southern end of the Royal Pleasure Gardens, that comprises some 400 acres on the shores of Tissa Weva, sits the famous Isurumuniya Rock temple. Built around two enormous rocks, this temple complex is the home of the most famous rock carving in the region. The carving itself, popularly known as "the 6th century, and the style is of Indian origin. The figures depicted are believed to be that of Saliya, the son of King Dutugamunu, and the low caste maiden whom he loved.

I was not cured, but had been trained to cope with this miserable disease. Every day was a battle. But I was well enough to attend the last two years of High School and graduate. Albeit in a toned down "level 4" curriculum (which I needed and was grateful for). Since first onset, the disorder has never ceased. Some days the intrusive thoughts and images happen to me once every 5 minutes. Other days they occur continuously, like a movie being played in my head. The trick is in learning not to succumb to the fear and panic. I have briefly been hospitalized 2 times since my release at age 15 (not a bad record as I am, at this moment, about 18 minutes away from being 34 years old.) Although new medicines are produced every few years, none of them seem to work. If I get too sick, I have to take benzodiazephines which take away the fear, but not the visions and thoughts. I cannot take the pills for long because they cause me to be unproductively drowsy.

After high school, I lead a rather carefree lifestyle. Being a musician, I had no interest in school or career plans outside of music. I just existed. Living with roommates and playing music and wrestling with the thoughts every day. Despite the mental illness, I enjoyed my life. Eventually, I was exposed to Chinese music and culture, and I saw many Buddha statues. When I gazed upon Buddha's blissful features, I was instantly filled with a feeling of relief, calm, peace, and happiness. I always wondered why the Buddha looked so peaceful. I wished I could feel that way.

Later, I remembered seeing a book in a local bookstore entitled: "The Compassionate Teachings of the Buddha", or "The Teaching of the Compassionate Buddha"- something to that effect (it is still in publication as of this writing). It described the basic tenets of Buddhism (Four Noble Truths) and had a few suttas rendered in English translation. As I read the first chapter about the Four Noble Truths, I felt as if I would faint. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was in shock. It explained everything. That simple sentence: " Life is Dukkha", is what affected me so deeply. Of course I already knew that life is "hard to bear", but for some reason, reading it had a more powerful effect on me than just knowing this fact through my own common sense. Up to that point in my life, I had never heard it professed by someone else. In the United States, we aspire to overcome the human condition, but through all the wrong means. We don't admit that life is painful. We don't want to accept it. We always try to make it pleasant, when it cannot be so. Reading this powerful statement by the Buddha made something "fall away" from me. I felt as if I was in direct touch with reality, agreeing and accepting the ultimate truth that life is hard to bear. I was stripped of all my presumptions about life. Things felt simple, and clear.

Those were the days before the internet, and I had no idea where to go to learn more. Many years lapsed before I found a Tibetan temple, where a very kind monk ( Lama Gyursam) helped me study. I learned a lot, but wanted to know exactly what it was that the Buddha said. I contacted some Asian Studies professors, and they informed me that the closest historical proof of what Buddha actually taught was only found in the Pali Canon, preserved by the Theravada tradition found in Sri Lanka, Thailand, Myanmar, Vietnam, Cambodia, etc. In 1997, I paid my first visit to the Washington Buddhist Vihara. For the first few years, I was shy and didn't approach the monks. I received basic meditation instructions from Bhante Kondanna, but didn't come to meditation classes regularly, and seldom practiced at home. A lot of it had to do with my illness sabotaging my efforts (it still tries). However, I did take the three refuges and five precepts every day. I also started reading the Tipitaka on my own, and always felt that same peace and happiness and calm I felt when I first read about the Four Noble Truths. Gradually, I started becoming more involved in reading and coming to the Vihara. In 2000, I started regularly attending retreats at the Bhavana Society in West Virginia, where I learned about Dependent Origination, Four Foundations of Mindfulness, Meditation on Death, etc. I got tapes of lectures by the monks regarding the wanting mind and the Five Aggregates of Clinging, and Kamma. Bhante Rahula and Bhante Jagaradhammo were very kind to spend time with me and advise me about how to deal with the difficulty I had been going through. In 2001, I started coming to the Washington Vihara every week for meditation classes. I began to take the Buddha's teachings to heart and apply them to my daily life.

Sandakada Pahana. This moonstone found in Anuradhapuara is one of the finest materpeices of Sri Lankan Art of the ancient times. Moonstone A stone door step, mostly in the shape of a semicircle and decorated with finest carvings.

I started to see that I was unimportant. I started to notice the sufferings of others, and stopped being so concerned with myself. I started appreciating the good things in my life, realizing how fortunate I had been to have only a few catastrophes in this life besides this illness. Many others have suffered a lot more than I have in this life. Hundreds are murdered each day. Many children are forced to endure years of sexual abuse at the hands of their own parents as well as others. Many people are separated from loved ones due to wars, etc. Millions starve. Many are subjected to unfair treatment by corrupt governments. Others act cruelly to themselves and others, laying the groundwork for more suffering ahead. Reflecting on the many kindnesses done to me in my time of need and how powerful even the smallest kindness could be, I started helping others wherever I could: people, insects, animals. My friends at work thought I was crazy when I would catch insects and take them outside to set them free instead of just killing them and throwing them in the trash, like everyone else does. But I remembered from my experience that even the smallest kindness can make all the difference in a being's life. Having experienced such kindnesses myself, I felt it my duty to do the same for others. I felt like I was betraying myself if I didn't.

I started to understand how transient life is, and that all the suffering I endured wasn't important in the ultimate sense of things. Samsara is just a lot of conditioned phenomena manifesting itself in many different ways. There is no me, there is just a sensation, and then another, and then another, and then a conditioned response, and then more sensations, followed by more habitual responses, each cultivating a pattern of behavior that conditions the next moment, and the next response, continuing through countless lifetimes, manifesting through many re-births, wherever the conditioned path wanders.

As I investigated what the Buddha taught, I started to see how there was no difference between the kind of pain that I felt from the mental illness versus the many physical pains and other sensations we sentient beings encounter in life. It is all just sensations and how we react to them. We can react in conditioned unskillful ways, or try to make a conscious effort to act in skillful ways. Now, no matter how sick I get or how miserable I feel, I just remember that life is short and that no matter how bad life gets for me, this body will be dead soon anyway. This is not a depressing thought, but rather a liberating one to know that all is impermanent. The mind cannot cling to things so strongly and make such a big deal out of everything when there is no permanence on which to base it. So, I realized that must use this life as meaningfully as possible and try to find out why this is happening to me, and try to find a way out of this Dukkha.

As I live through each day, I strive to constantly have Dhamma on the mind, and I apply it to everything experienced by this body (me). During painful times, I reflect on impermanence and the fact that all this is due to the past thoughts, words, and actions committed in the past by this continuance of consciousness. I try to think about what can be done by me at this time and in this lifetime to bring an end to and prevent more of this suffering - and then I do it. I trudge through each week, struggling with the mind until I came to class at the Vihara and bask in the calming presence of Bhante Sobhana, Bhante Dhammasiri and the other monks. I ask questions about the suttas I've read, learn Pali, and get advice about how to act in accordance with the Dhamma concerning not only mental illness, but all other areas of daily living. Inspired and energized, I am ready to go through another week of learning by observing this mind-body complex.

I am still subjected to the constant flow of harrowing imagery from the malfunctioning brain, but instead of being a slave to the fear, and spending my life in institutions, I practice mindfulness throughout the day and watch the mind and the fear sensations, instead of responding to them unskillfully as I had done in the past, which exacerbated the illness. The longer I can maintain this, the more the fear loses its potency and control over me. After exerting much effort and maintaining objective awareness for a long time, I sometimes experience brief periods (seconds only) where I seem to break through the fear and experience moments of clarity and profound calm and I see that the frightening imagery and thoughts are not real, and that nothing bad is going to happen if I don't do the rituals. It is difficult to always maintain mindfulness, and I slip a lot if I'm not alert, or getting too distracted by the activities around me. Some months the illness is more powerful, and some months it is more manageable. But the fear is always a reminder that I'm not being mindful enough and I had better start using what I've been taught very quickly. For if I become too unmindful, I can easily be overwhelmed by the fear and again become an automaton to the rituals. If I am too mentally distraught, I just focus my attention on the body and try to relax it. I can do this anytime : while walking, eating, waiting in lines, etc. All are perfect times to just watch and relax. Later, I will then be able to watch the mind more easily throughout the day.

I always keep the monks in mind as my role models. Always assuring myself that the monks would not listen to the thoughts, and that they would always strive to not do any rituals, knowing that the Truth lies on the other side of delusion. When I meditate, it is very difficult to calm the mind because of its malfunctioning nature. But everyone finds it hard to calm the mind when they meditate. This is the nature of the mind. It likes to cling to things and be entertained by things in the external environment. When we sit down to meditate and shut down the external stimuli, the wanting mind becomes restless and bored and starts creating fantasies with which to keep itself entertained. Whether it is this normal aspect , or the more pathological functioning of the malfunctioning brain, what is important is to keep striving. I always feel cheerful and hopeful when I remember that which Bhante Sobhana told us after one of the meditation classes. He urged us not to get frustrated or discouraged if our practice wasn't going well and we weren't seeing results. He assured us that we are not striving in vain and that our good actions, even if not fruitful in this life, will help us in the next.

Every day, I am thankful for the love of my parents. They sacrificed so much for my benefit, and selflessly pursued the best treatment facilities, and educational resources so that I could get the help I so desperately needed. I cannot to begin to imagine the hardships they endured, or the grief they had to bear in seeing their child debilitated and institutionalized. I hope they have peace in knowing that they are appreciated and that they were key in my recovery and continued happiness.

Every day, I am thankful for the Washington Buddhist Vihara, the Bhavana Society, and the monks who have sacrificed their lives to bring the Buddha's teachings to the west. I always think of the generosity of the Sri Lankan people and all the organizers and supporters of the Washington Buddhist Vihara and Bhavana Society. If they only knew how much good they have done for people like me.

Michael Leven lungimsam@yahoo.com

Michael Leven
lungimsam@yahoo.com