Mental Illness

God, glass, LSD

After dropping six hits of acid, my brother had his first psychotic episode.

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God, glass, LSD

My brother saw the face of God. You never recover from a trauma like that. He was 14, on LSD, shouting for help in the darkness of his room in our new suburban home. I was 10. I stood watching from his doorway, still, eyes cinched up tight as seams, trying to make out his writhing shape. I saw for myself. I didn’t see God, of course, but I saw my brother seeing God; I saw how petrified he was, how convinced. I knew, still know, that he saw, in some form, His or Her or Its face. It was in the window, a part of the night, shimmering over our neighborhood of new construction sites — clear plastic stapled to boards and waving in the night breeze, tire-tracked mud, portable toilets.

God in the lives of men is nothing new. It’s a story that unfurls backward through the history of thought, meaning, reason. I’ve spent a lot of time tracing it, reading it over and over, in a hundred different ways. Characters change. Theres a new setting, a twist in this plot that wasn’t in that one. But it is an old, old story, as old as Story itself. I compare my brother with other narratives involving God. He, She, It is the common language between us. That’s how I place Michael, make sense of him, re-imagine him — alongside saints and martyrs, lunatics and heretics, those who have fallen, shaken and supplicant, pleading, palms aimed heavenward, at the thought of God, His voice, the sweet, terrible whisper in their ear.

Jesus. Abraham, Jacob, Paul. St. Mark, Matthew, John. Joan of Arc, Hildegaard, John Brown. Charles Manson, Jim Jones, David Koresh.

Blake saw angels in trees. Thoreau imagined the possibility of divinity, the sublime, in a knothole. Whitman saw God in the salivating mouth of a soldier’s bullet hole. Mother Teresa knew the force of God lived even in the fecal rivers of Asian cities, the venereal fever of a beaten whore. I used to watch a man who lived on the streets of Richmond, Va., who spent hours shouting “Jesus” while in paroxysms, drooling, his fly open. But they didn’t see Him. None of them. Not like my brother.

So I dwell; I obsess; I remember in unmoored chunks, half-scenes, things that have to be pieced together, arranged.

That night, when I was 10, I couldn’t move. The feeling of immobility, of being trapped, sticks in my mind. I stood in his doorway, a night-light golden behind me, wearing pajamas, fat-faced and freckled, looking at my brother while he screamed, all open mouth and high-pitched wail. His face was contorted like a snake handler’s, like a strychnine drinkers in the documentaries I would watch years later, late at night, with a VCR remote in my hand.

I stood, squinting into darkness. The memory is a series of fragments. Maybe, at 10, with my eyes barely open, I saw the future. Maybe I saw in the dark of the room, heard in the screams, that one day soon he would be living on the streets, hungry; that he would be diagnosed as an acute paranoid schizophrenic; that he would leap from a van going 45 miles per hour to avoid institutionalization; that he would frighten women, children, neighbors, us; that he would be raped; that he would admit to a murder he didn’t commit; that his face would be on the front page of local newspapers, the killer, the rapist; that he would attempt suicide for the first time by drinking Drano, the second time by hanging himself; that he would dismantle the fire alarms in my parents’ home and light it on fire, ultimately ending up in a Virginia maximum-security prison, praying and crying, by then all but dead to me, locked away in a place I would never visit, a brother — same curve of flesh, angle of jaw, color of eyes — who had become a few cryptic letters full of biblical quotes, who I don’t think would recognize me.

I go over and over this. My memory is a scratched record: There I am, watching, cautious, afraid of him, afraid to step into the room, because of his early propensity for petty cruelties: charley horses and wedgies, dirt clods and airplane spins, skinned knees and bloody lips and mean laughter. The stuff of early childhood, of brothers, but from him: different, darker, done with an eerie pleasure.

He ripped a poster from his wall, knocked over a red lava lamp, the only source of light within the room, spreading glass, a viscous gel.

My father built this house in the suburbs, most of it by himself. He could still barely afford it, had to sign half his life away to a bank. But we were away from blacks and crime and bad neighbors and people as poor as we were. We were pretending, for the sake of appearances, that we had money, though the old rusty Ford Rambler in our driveway must have given us away. Our pretending was in the scent of new wood, the chemical stench of fresh, shaggy carpets; it was in the long blades of light through our new windows from the streetlight outside, in the feeling in my memory of cotton pajamas with feet in them, in my brothers screams. Our pretending was in the black-light posters, the ones that glowed sharply in my brother’s room — Bruce Lee, Hendrix, Foghat, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zeppelin, comic-book covers from “Conan the Barbarian” and “Heavy Metal” and the animated film “American Pop.” Our pretending was everything we did and had. Our pretending is how we survived, how we hovered just slightly above our actual lives, which, over the years with Michael, felt increasingly unreal.

It seemed plausible to me then that God could be in our window. I sometimes felt a cool tingle, like the breath of a navigable congregant, during the hymns at church. Electricity surged through life during sermons — the stained glass, the pastor’s booming voice, the organ notes in my stomach and testicles. It was wonderful and frightening, the best and worst feeling. I’ve spent my life, starting from this moment in my brother’s room, at once doubting and believing, fearing and embracing God; or at the very least, the thought of God in me, in others. I’m all atheist and a true believer. I value reason and hope for transcendence. I value the four strange and very repetitive Gospels of Jesus as much as any books I’ve read, but I can’t imagine attending a church now, listening to simple aphorisms and affirmations, having become acutely suspect of all proclamations.

But I believed God was there for Michael that night, hovering in the window. I don’t mean a hallucination; I’m not speaking figuratively; I mean that what was in the window that night for Michael was as real as the skin on his face. He’d stepped outside of our tenuous collective reality and into alternate space, a space where God was a shape, a newly decipherable language.

He had been at an Ozzy Osbourne concert at the Coliseum. It was 1980. He’d dropped six hits of acid. In his room he was having his first psychotic break. It came in the form of crippling guilt, ruthless introspection. He was Jesus being scolded by an angry Father. He wore sin, all sin, heavy as lead shackles. God made him look at himself, and he was a stone with a miniscule heart.

He flailed. He cut his feet on the glass from the lava lamp. He turned and pleaded to and then punched a neon, growing Bruce Lee. God was torturing him with the things he had inside himself, with his own feelings and memories. His thoughts were razor-sharp. He started breaking everything he touched. A piggybank in the shape of a football, spreading coins across the floor; his stereo case; a picture frame containing a family picture, each of us smiling under a blue sky against a blue, blue ocean.

But memory fades, tricks, becomes convenient, reshapes itself. It’s been 19 years. I remember my mother and father there now, as if conjured from air or simple need, standing at the threshold of Michael’s room. Glass scattered everywhere, shining like quartz.

My father hesitated. He wasn’t much bigger than Michael, 5 foot 8 inches, 160 pounds. And Michael was swinging, the LSD pumping panic through his blood. My father knew. He wasn’t surprised. He knew about the drugs and the heavy metal and the bad friends and the skipping school. Michael was a problem kid. Always had been. Foul-mouthed. Willing to experiment with anything. My father knew and wanted to change things, to make it better, but the kid was out of control, sometimes violent. He knew how simultaneously sophisticated and irresponsible kids were these days. They knew more than they could handle knowing. They’d granted themselves a dangerous, cynical sort of freedom. Sex at 12, 13. Drinking, drugs, even earlier. He knew. He even, if he had thought hard enough about it, knew that mental illness was our family’s sickness. His mother had been institutionalized twice. His own father, who was dead, had lived in a terminal funk, carrying the weight of a world that he knew cared nothing for him. His grandfather in North Carolina had clenched the barrel of a 12-gauge between his teeth, spreading chunks of hair and bone along the wall, while his nine children were downstairs playing. Before this, my great grandfather, as Michael would soon, had taken to quoting scripture at length, mixing dogma with threats and expletives.

If my father had thought about it while watching Michael that night, he’d have realized that the chances of his son seeing the face of God, in some form, were not so astronomical, even without the acid.

I looked up at him — he seemed like a giant — wondering what was required of me. He wore sweatpants and a night-league softball shirt with “Three Dog Night” stenciled across the chest. He had big sideburns and wavy auburn hair, was only six or seven years older than I am now, with the massive hands of a worker. He was barefoot. It was after midnight, and the stars out the window were more ground glass.

What do I remember about my mother? She was composed. She was withdrawn. She must have been crying. She’s always been given to quick, private tears. Yes, she was foundering. She knew Michael better than anyone, is perhaps the only person who has ever really known him, even though he hid things from her, was secretive to the extreme. In fact, this was the last straw in an ongoing line of last straws that spread out in front of us like taillights on a highway. This was the last straw like taking him back in the house after kicking him out will be the last straw, the last straw like picking him up from jail will be, the last straw, really, until the next last straw, and then the next. She was motionless, out in the hall, cast in shadow from the low-wattage night-light.

These days she got calls from school, from neighbors, from the parents of girls her 14-year-old may have slept with. She got headaches she blamed on the stress of Michael. She prayed for Michael. She locked her bedroom door at night when my father wasn’t home.

My father, I remember, clicked on the light. That simple move seemed dangerous, bold, courageous. The room felt charged, alive. Shards of broken glass the size of human teeth spread over the floor. The lava lamp’s snot glistened on the new carpet. Michael calmed. The window had now become a mirror. Instead of the accusatory face of God, the angry father, he saw only himself, a pallid face and tears and eyes black as coal. His feet bled, were completely red with blood. I remember glass sticking out of them in different directions like sharks’ teeth. My mother called for an ambulance. My father went to him, walking over the glass, not even considering the glass, and pulled him to his chest.

And I remember my father — who died one month before Michael went to prison in 1993 — sitting on the bed, holding Michael, this big kid in an Ozzy Osbourne T-shirt sprawled awkwardly on his lap. They were rocking back and forth. Michael was slack, almost a corpse. He looked empty, drained of all life, of any former self.

I can see us all in my memory, even myself, the kid, the character, the narrator. It’s quiet now. I smell the chemical newness of our home. I’m floating over my past, catching fragments of our lives, to make it into a story. I have an aerial view: I see myself seeing the first evidence of my brother’s blossoming insanity; I hear my first fragmented thoughts of God, feel my first real spiritual dread; I see my mother rummaging through the bathroom medicine cabinet for Mercurochrome, Band-Aids; and I see my father — I see this clearly — holding Michael, probably for the last time, holding him like an infant, shushing him, rubbing his hands through his sweaty hair. Their feet drip blood into a small puddle as if from one vein.

My father is whispering. I lean in, listen. He is telling us it will all be fine.

Greg Bottoms is the author of "Sentimental, Heartbroken Rednecks: Stories," from which this story is excerpted. It will be published in September. His previous book was "Angelhead: A Memoir," which will be released in paperback in September.

My friend is losing his mind

I wish I could help, but he's moved away and won't communicate

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My friend is losing his mind (Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon)

Cary,

A close friend is losing his mind. We’ve known each other since early childhood and might as well be family by now.

He is an artist, and lives up to many of the stereotypes. He is unrealistic and impractical. He is immensely gifted in a small number of areas and deficient in many more. He is self-absorbed.

These things have always been true, and more than tolerable, because he used to be a joy to be around.

Now he is depressed, paranoid and disturbingly misogynistic.

Two years ago he lost his job in the video game industry. The circumstances, as he relayed them, were cloudy. Given his great talents, he was surprised to find himself jobless.

He never really recovered. He became depressed, and his natural inclination toward isolation worsened considerably.

Although we were lucky enough to find ourselves in the same city after years of separation, by the time I moved there, he had retreated to his apartment. I could only find him there or at a particular coffee shop.

His dependence on weed and alcohol grew.

Along with all of this, he has become an ardent misogynist. That would bother me anyway, but I am gay and many of my closest friends are women.

It’s hard to say exactly where the misogyny comes from. It’s also hard to say what relation, if any, it has to his loss of employment. But his depression, paranoia and misogyny have all worsened at about the same rate, and become especially noticeable after his termination.

I’ve tried to be a good friend to him. I’ve been patient with hateful emails excoriating myself and other friends for mostly imagined crimes, as well as many links to anti-woman garbage he’s found on the Internet. I try to calmly brush that stuff aside while still providing some kind of interaction. He’s closed his Facebook account and will not answer phone calls, so we primarily communicate through email.

He has also moved back home, leaving the city we both love.

So there is a lot going on.

At times I’ve been worried he might harm himself. When his emails grew particularly grim and vile, I called his mother and expressed my concerns. She assures me he is doing “much better” and further that he is seeing a therapist on a regular basis.

And yet, he has declined to see me or anyone else over the holidays. He has not answered phone calls, emails or texts. And based on our most recent exchanges, I would say he is not better at all.

I no longer know what to do. He is at home under the care of his parents. He is (I think) seeing a therapist. It is out of my hands but I feel strongly that he is not better and may pose a risk to himself, a risk that his parents do not see.

I am at a loss.

Yours,

A Friend

Dear Friend,

You would like to do something but do not know what. There are a few simple facts that it helps to keep in mind. One of them is that you have no power to fix this person’s mind. It is wise to remain vigilant and to keep in touch, so that if he makes a suicide attempt or begins to make threats to others, you can take action. But right now, you are in the unenviable position of standing by and watching.

As an advocate, you can watch and if he leaves therapy you can urge him to continue. If he is on medication you can urge him to continue the medication. You can advocate for stability and long-term commitment to treatment. You can be a voice for sticking with it and weathering the storms. You can advocate politically for more mental health services. You can donate to places the provide such services. And you can get support for yourself through groups that help family members and friends of the mentally ill.

I am convinced that some of our tragedies, in a statistical way, would be averted if public policy favored more public mental health services. It wouldn’t stop all the terrible things that people in violent, unbalanced mental states commit, but every now and then, if more mental health services were available in more towns and neighborhoods and if more individuals found it easy to say, you know, it looks like you’re having some mental health issues and here is a good place to go for help, every now and then some awful and unnecessary tragedy would be averted. Every now and then, some prison cell would not be filled; some car would not turn over; some judge and some lawyer and some public defender and some families would not have to go through the tedious and grinding administration of justice that follows an act of violent madness. Every now and then the money we spend on greater availability of mental health services would pay off.

And likely nobody would notice because nothing would have happened. Life would go on as it had been, and now one would look up and say, gee, nobody’s shot up the Carl’s Jr. here in, like, 10 years. Isn’t that nice? Nobody would say, gee, there are fewer depressed people and fewer living on the edge and fewer threats being made to the mayor. Nobody would notice except researchers who keep records of such things and correlate them with public health policy.

So that is one side of it. My opinion is that as a society we are very lucky to have the mental health services we have, but we could have more, and we could be more open about mental health and mental illness, and we could treat it more like other illnesses of the body. For instance, there are certain acts that are just out of bounds and if you perform one of these acts the state will act precipitously. For instance, if you steal something. Acts against property or against a person’s body get the attention. But in this other realm, the realm of the mind or the spirit, acts against our own spirit or the spirits of others do not get the same attention. And in certain ways that is a good thing. I am a bit of an absolutist about free speech and creative speech. At the same time, there is a kind of violence to the spirit that does not get the attention of the courts until it manifests in a shooting or a stabbing, and that is sad and unfortunate.

So how do we as individuals respond when we see someone slipping into madness? What can we do? Most of us, as individuals, aren’t equipped to heal mental illness. And even if we are mental health professionals, we can’t just randomly shoot people with sanity guns. We can’t force them to pursue the courageous and difficult path of therapy, lifestyle change, deep personal reflection, meditation and/or drugs that may lead to a better life. We can’t reach out and cure people.

We can’t inoculate them. Although in a way we can. I mean, for certain people who are already not doing well, a precipitating event such as job loss might be met, in an enlightened, generous and wealthy society, by elaborate and vigorous mental health intervention. It might. And we might thereby be spared a certain amount of social madness and its sometimes tragic results. Maybe.

So there is a lot you can do, but there is also a limit to what you can do.

In the end, there is just you, seeking peace and serenity in a turbulent world, wishing and perhaps praying that your friend gets better, keeping vigilant watch, advocating for consistent care, and marveling at the beauty that remains.

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Cary Tennis

Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.

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Therapists revolt against psychiatry’s bible

Mental health professionals say new diagnoses will lead to overmedication

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Therapists revolt against psychiatry's bibleYour mental illness defined here

Anyone who’s ever tried to get reimbursed by a health insurance company after seeing a psychiatrist or psychotherapist, or taking a child or teenager to one, has no doubt noticed the incomprehensible numbers that appear on the clinician’s statement, perhaps preceding some slightly less imponderable phrase.

Maybe you are a 296.22 (major depressive disorder, single episode, mild) or a 300.00 (anxiety disorder NOS–not otherwise specified). Hopefully, you are not a 301.83 (borderline personality disorder). Your kid might be a 313.81 (oppositional defiant disorder) or, more likely, a 314.01 (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, predominantly hyperactive-impulsive type).

Since 1952, a tome called the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, better known as the DSM, has been reducing to a few digits the psychological malady said to afflict a patient. This bible of mental health treatment, published by the American Psychiatric Association (APA), provides a list and description of every mental health condition known to—or invented by—psychiatry, from histrionic personality disorder (301.50) to transvestic fetishism (302.3).

Over the decades, the manual, adapted from a guide for mental diseases developed by Army and Navy psychiatrists, has ballooned. The number of listed disorders tripled to nearly 300. A few have been discredited and dumped along the way. Most famous were battles over the inclusion of homosexuality. Successive iterations of the manual listed homosexuality as a “sociopathic personality disturbance,” then modified that to describe a more limited “sexual orientation disturbance” among people who were “in conflict with” their attraction to people of the same sex. That was later replaced by a disorder called “ego-dystonic homosexuality,” applied to those whose homosexual arousal was a source of distress. That item was dropped in the DSM-III-R, published in 1987.

The great book’s coming edition, the DSM-5, is slated for publication in May 2013. As the task force producing it has posted drafts on its website, an undercurrent of dissatisfaction has exploded into a full-scale revolt by members of U.S. and British psychological and counseling organizations. The chief complaint is that the newest version will lower the criteria needed to diagnose some conditions, creating “subthreshold” disorders, and generally making it easier for healthcare professionals to label a person with a psychiatric disorder and medicate him or her.

The latest rebellion against the DSM-5 began with a salvo from across the Atlantic. In June, a special committee of the British Psychological Society complained in a letter to the APA that “clients and the general public are negatively affected by the continued and continuous medicalisation of their natural and normal responses to their experiences.” The committee criticized the proposed creation of an “attenuated psychosis syndrome”—a sort of poor-man’s psychosis with less severe symptoms—“as an opportunity to stigmatize eccentric people.” They also objected to a proposed reduction in the number of symptoms needed to diagnose adolescents with attention deficit disorder (ADD) because it might increase diagnoses and the use of meds.

Then David Elkins, professor emeritus at Pepperdine University and president of the Society for Humanistic Psychology, a division of the American Psychological Association, formed a committee to discuss similar objections and draft a petition enumerating them. In October, he posted the petition online. “I figured we’d get a couple hundred signatures,’’ Elkins said.

The response stunned him and his colleagues. The petition attracted more than 6,000 signatures in three weeks; as of mid-December it had topped 9,300 signatories and garnered the endorsement of 35 organizations. On Nov. 8, American Counseling Association president Don Locke jumped in with a letter to the APA objecting to the “incomplete or insufficient empirical evidence” underlying the proposed revisions and expressing “uncertainty about the quality and credibility” of the DSM-5.

“This has become a grassroots movement among mental health professionals, who are saying we already have a national problem with overmedication of children and the elderly, and we don’t want to exacerbate that,” says Elkins.

For many critics, Exhibit A is childhood ADD. As the disorder describing fidgety, easily distracted kids morphed from “hyperkinetic reaction of childhood” to the current “attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,” the number of children given the diagnosis exploded, fueling, by one account, a 700 percent increase in the use of Ritalin and other stimulants in the 1990s. Diagnosis requires checking six of nine boxes from a list of symptoms that include “often does not seem to listen when spoken to directly” and “often fidgets with hands or feet or squirms in seat.” Sound familiar, parents?

Two other newly proposed disorders singled out as problematic in the petition are “mild neurocognitive disorder” in the elderly and “disruptive mood dysregulation disorder” in children and adolescents. Both lack a solid basis in research and may fuel the use of powerful antipsychotic medications, which cause weight gain, diabetes and a host of other metabolic problems, the petition says.

“We are gravely concerned that if this is published as is in 2013, it will create false epidemics where hundreds of thousands of children and the elderly who really are normal will be diagnosed with a mental disorder and given powerful psychiatric medications that have dangerous side effects,” Elkins says. “That is not tolerable.”

David Kupfer, the University of Pittsburgh psychiatrist who chairs the task force overseeing the manual’s preparation, says he expects the final number of disorders included in the DSM-5 to be about the same as in the current book. He says he welcomes the criticism and that nothing is final. The task force has been testing proposed new diagnoses in 2,300 patients at seven adult treatment centers and four adolescent centers that are acting as field-test sites, he says.

“There’s a myth that all the decisions have been made, when in fact, all the decisions haven’t been made,” he says. “Just because [things have] been proposed doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll end up in the DSM-5. If they don’t achieve a level of reliability, clinician acceptability, and utility, it’s unlikely they’ll go forward.”

The most surprising critic of the DSM is a one-time pillar of the psychiatric establishment. Allen Frances, professor emeritus at Duke University, chaired the task force that created the DSM-4. Now he’s railing against both the process and proposed content of the new DSM in blogs on the website for Psychology Today that blast the new revision as “untested” and “unscientific.”

Psychiatric diagnoses are loose enough already, Frances  told me, and that laxity has led to “epidemics of over-diagnosis in child psychiatry” causing huge numbers of children to be unnecessarily labeled with attention deficit disorder and bipolar disorder and treated with medications.

“DSM has to be a safe, reliable and credible guide to current clinical practice,” he says. “It can’t be an untested program for future research.’’

The user revolt against the DSM-5 has emerged as a major challenge to the document, Frances says, and its future is looking unclear. He and Elkins are proposing that an independent committee of experts review the proposed draft and make recommendations.

The fight over the DSM-5 pits some of the greatest minds and biggest egos in the world of psychiatry, but it’s more than a battle among 301.81s (narcissistic personality disorder). For people seeking help for life’s problems who don’t want to be labeled mentally ill or have their treatment limited to medication, and for clinicians who want to help people without reducing them to a category, the stakes are high.

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Rob Waters writes about health, mental health and science from his home in Berkeley, California. His investigative feature in Mother Jones, “Medicating Aliah,” examined pharmaceutical industry influence over prescribing guidelines and won the Casey Award in 2006. His articles have appeared in Bloomberg Businessweek, Mother Jones, Health, Reader’s Digest and other publications.

How PTSD took over America

The diagnosis is now being applied to everything from muggings to childbirth. An expert explains why it's bad news

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How PTSD took over America (Credit: David Royal Hanson nando viciano via Shutterstock)

In the past 30 years, post-traumatic stress disorder has gone from exotic rarity to omnipresent. Once chiefly applied to wartime veterans returning from combat, it is now a much more common diagnosis, still linked to traumatic events but now including those occurring outside the battle zone: the death of a loved one on a hospital bed, a car crash on the highway, an assault in the neighborhood park. Many would argue that this is a good thing: greater recognition of psychologically distressing events will lead to more people seeking treatment and a decrease in the preponderance of PTSD – a win-win.

Stephen Joseph disagrees. In his new book, “What Doesn’t Kill Us,” the professor of psychology, health and social care at the University of Nottingham (in the U.K.) warns that our culture’s acceptance of PTSD has become excessive and has led to an over-medicalization of experiences that should be considered part of ordinary, normal, human experience. This has kept us from proactively working through our grief and anxiety: We’ve become too quick to go to the shrink expecting him to fix us, rather than allowing ourselves the opportunity to grow and find new meaning in our lives as a result of painful, but common, events. Joseph advocates for a push toward post-traumatic growth as therapy to treat the stress of trauma, which he distinguishes as being different from the hokey, blue skies and rainbows, pop psychology that he claims has exploded in our culture in the past decade.

Joseph spoke to Salon over the phone to discuss our misunderstanding of the disorders, the meaning and usefulness of suffering, and if some cultures are more prone to PTSD than others.

How would you define a traumatic event? Is it subjective or are there some basic requirements that must be met?

I see trauma as a psychological rupturing. It’s when something happens to us that ruptures our psychological skin. Or, something which shatters our assumptions about ourselves in the world. That’s what I think of as traumatic, and in a way that can be many things. So, that can include a wider range of experience, and I can understand trauma in that broader way. There are lots of different experiences, such as being in a road traffic collision, or experiencing an illness – those sorts of things can be traumatic to people. It can be experienced as psychologically traumatic. But whether it’s necessary to create a psychiatric diagnostic category to capture those experiences is perhaps not necessary.

Do you believe that PTSD is over-diagnosed?

Well, that’s a really, really tricky question to answer because in a way it’s diagnosed pretty much exactly as it’s described in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM). So whether the definition of PTSD is too broad is a different question, if you see what I mean. When PTSD was first introduced in 1980, it was defined much more tightly. The gatekeeper criterion to the diagnosis was: Have you experienced a traumatic event? In 1980, it was defined in such a way that only people who had experienced an event that was really outside the range of usual human experience, [like] Vietnam or the Holocaust, had experienced the sorts of experiences that were thought to elicit PTSD. So if you experienced something like a car accident or a traumatic birth, then you couldn’t get a diagnosis of PTSD, because, by definition, you hadn’t experienced a traumatic event.

In 1994, the definition changed in such a way as to include other, broader experiences. Equally persistent was the person’s subjective experiences of what they thought was traumatic. When that happened, people who had experienced car accidents, traumatic births, what we would have otherwise thought of as more ordinary life events, insofar as they are not statistically unusual, could then be diagnosed as a having PTSD. So now we are in a position where lots of people are able to receive the diagnosis of PTSD. So it’s not that it’s being over-diagnosed in that sense. The difficulty or problem, if there is one, is whether, generally speaking – PTSD would be part of this – the DSM over-medicalizes human experience. Things which are relatively common, relatively normal, are turned into psychiatric disorders.

Can you describe some of the typical symptoms of PTSD?

When people experience trauma, when their assumptions about themselves and the world come crashing down, there’s often a period of avoidance. People just try to block out what happened. Switch off. Turn their attention to other things. That’s quite understandable. Then, over time, that gives rise to memories and emotions that come flooding in as the person sort of begins to try to make sense of what happened, and that can become so powerful and distressing that they have to push that away again and go back into a period of avoidance. So sometimes people go through that, periods of avoidance and intrusion. That seems to me as a healthy and adaptive way of working through something painful, emotionally painful, that has happened to us. So those are the experiences. PTSD is when those experiences become so overwhelming that the person can’t function anymore – at work, or school, or in their social life. It takes over so much. But otherwise the symptoms of PTSD are fairly normal, natural ways of dealing with adaptation.

It’s important to see those experiences as quite normal and natural. They are not symptoms of a disorder by themselves. They’re just the way that people deal with an upsetting event in order to be able to make sense of things and to move on. It’s only when they become so overwhelmingly intense that they might be considered a disorder. I think that’s where we get into the problem with what PTSD is: when people are going through that normal experience, but they see it as having a disorder rather than a normal process of adaptation.

That will diminish over time?

Exactly.

Is the emotional pain overblown in such cases?

The suffering is very real. We’re not saying that people don’t have difficult emotional experiences and aren’t suffering. What we’re saying is this is not necessarily a disorder that people are experiencing, and if people think like that, it can be very disempowering to them.

What is the detrimental effect of over-medicalizing these more common human experiences of grief and pain?

When we think of ourselves as suffering from a disorder in a medical sense, well we go to the doctor and we expect the doctor to prescribe whatever the medical treatment is. We’re not in the driver’s seat. We go along – we tell them [our] symptoms, they listen to us, they diagnose what the problem is, and then they work out what the appropriate treatment is. That’s the mind-set when we’re working within a medical framework and we think of ourselves as suffering from a disorder. We sit down in front of the therapist and we expect the therapist to be like a doctor – to be looking out for what the symptoms are so that they can make the correct diagnosis and prescribe us the right treatment. The language of PTSD invokes those ideas, and I think it’s those ideas that can be quite unhelpful at times. For what we’re talking about here, if it’s a normal, natural process, what’s really important is for the person to be in the driver’s seat for themselves – to make their own choices, their own decisions, because we’re dealing not with a disorder, but a battle within the person to find new meanings and new ways of understanding the world. That’s what they have to do. Nobody else can do that for them.

What is “post-traumatic growth”?

Post-traumatic growth is when people come out of trauma having learned new things about themselves and about the world and about their relationship with the world. People develop new philosophies of life. They develop new priorities in life. People learn an awful lot about themselves: their strengths; what they’re good at; having new respect for themselves. They sort of see their lives as divided into two halves: before the event happened and after the event happened. There is a clear demarcation. And they recognize that something happened to them that sliced their world in half in that way, and things for them are now completely different. How they lead their lives has been transformed – their priorities about life, their relationships.

I think one of the things that captures that the most [starts with] the idea that, sometimes, people lead their lives in a way that is dictated by external forces of status and wealth, which are very much big drivers in our capitalist society. We often, in our everyday lives, forget about the small things that are quite important – our relationships: remembering to nurture them, to look after the people around us, to be giving, to be compassionate. When traumatic events happen, people are often shaken back to reality, and remember what really matters to them. Often it is those other things – remembering somebody’s birthday; nurturing our friendships; looking after our parents, the people around us; really embracing our relationships; and letting go of a more materialistic outlook. People often describe it as getting back to who they really are, or feeling more true to themselves, or being more genuine or more authentic. Somehow the idea of the false self that people create around them is shattered, like Humpty Dumpty falling off a wall. The essence of who they are emerges.

Yes, becoming truer to oneself captures the idea very well. Realizing that life is short and sometimes there isn’t as much time left as we thought to put up facades.

This kind of makes trauma sound like a blessing (you even mention people describing it as a “gift”). Is finding meaning the same thing as condoning the traumatic event? And doesn’t this talk of growth all sound very “kumbaya-ish” and unrealistic?

One of the reasons, sometimes, that post-traumatic growth can be seen unfavorably is that it seems like saying that trauma can lead to greater happiness; that for people who have been through trauma, it’s a good for them – they’re happier. That’s just so not the message. It’s not saying that trauma leads to happiness, in terms of smiling and feeling good and laughing and joy – not that type of happiness. What we’re talking about is how trauma can lead to a deeper, more existentially meaningful and fulfilling life, and that in turn may lead to greater happiness further down the road. But, post-traumatic growth is not about happiness in the sort of yellow, smiley face sense.

In essence, post-traumatic growth is a very simple idea, but it has been overshadowed by this mass of psychiatric literature over the past 30 or 40 years about the overwhelming destructive side of trauma, and about how these lead to medical problems. It’s a very simple idea, but [post-traumatic growth] sits, on the one hand, very uncomfortably within mainstream culture of the world of psychology and psychiatry, and on the other hand it seems to sit very comfortably with some other parts of Western culture, such as positive thinking, but it also clashes with some of that literature which is quite superficial, and not grounded in scientific research, and makes unsupported claims.

So, no, post-traumatic growth] doesn’t mean that [people] value or cherish the bad thing that has happened to them. They just accept that it has happened to them. People will often say they wish it hadn’t happened, or they wish they could go back, but there is a realism that they know they can’t. So it’s accepting that they can’t go back; they can’t change things. The only way forward is to go forward. It’s when people can’t accept that something has happened, and they [try] to go back to how they were before, is when they struggle. Acceptance is just being realistic – not seeing it as a good thing.

And someone not experiencing growth — or experiencing PTSD — is that person always trying to go back?

I think that often that’s what gets people stuck – trying to go back, trying to rebuild their lives exactly as it was before. That can lead people to get very stuck because it just isn’t possible when traumatic events happen and we’re presented with new information about the world, or with losses. It just isn’t possible to go back and make things as they were. We have to somehow accept what has happened to us and move on.

Is post-traumatic growth something completely in opposition to PTSD or post-traumatic stress? Either you have one or the other?

They can sit together. The way I see it, post-traumatic growth mostly arises out of post-traumatic stress. So it’s how people deal with the post-traumatic stress; how they manage to deal with the intrusive thoughts that are plaguing them; and the new sense they make of their experiences. So it’s through the post-traumatic stress, through the struggle of post-traumatic stress that post-traumatic growth arises. So often there’s a period of time in which people will begin to talk about post-traumatic growth but they will still be suffering from post-traumatic stress. They’re not in opposition. In a way, they are opposite sides of a coin.

You make a claim that true happiness is something that in and of itself cannot be pursued, and one is doomed to fail if one tries. How is that?

Well, that’s an idea that some philosophers have put forward. Some of the research seems to suggest that what’s really important to finding happiness is meaning and purpose in life. If we think our road to happiness is through seeking hedonistic pleasures night after night, then that’s not likely to lead to a deep, fulfilling level of happiness. But, if we find ways of finding meaning and purpose, wherever that might be, then we’re not setting out directly aiming for happiness but that’s what we’re going to get. We’re going to find a more fulfilling life. Happiness is a byproduct, but in a sense it’s more guaranteed.

When we think of psychological therapies, and the helping professions in general, they often have been about helping people feel better. [For] people with various problems of depression, anxiety or post-traumatic stress, therapy is about getting the person to have a more positive emotional state. That’s been, really, what the therapy world has been about for 50 years, and yet that’s only half the picture. The other half is about the meaning we put on things, our purpose in life, our sense of ourselves, our sense of autonomy, our relationships. Psychology can also be about those things. I’m not saying that therapists have ignored them altogether; for sure, they haven’t, but those more existential ideas have been overshadowed by trying to feel good. This is the idea between what psychologists call subjective well-being, which is about feeling good, and psychological well-being, which is what you could call “meaning-good,” and it’s just about getting the balance between those two things right.

Are there some cultures that are more prone to post-traumatic growth?

That’s a really good question. I don’t think the research has really documented that yet as to whether it may be more common. What the research has shown, however, is that post-traumatic growth is something observed in pretty much all cultures that have been investigated, though differently defined in slight ways. “Post-traumatic growth” sounds like a very Western idea, but [it’s one that] gets back into history and into all sorts of cultures. It’s an idea that’s very resonant with Buddhist and some Chinese philosophy ideas, as well as ideas in Western religion.

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NPR celebrates crazy forum troll’s decision to practice unlicensed medicine in Libya

A young man with a history of paranoid writings and no combat or medical experience gets an uncritical interview

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 NPR celebrates crazy forum troll's decision to practice unlicensed medicine in LibyaKevin Dawes (Credit: YouTube/Kevin Daws)

NPR’s “Morning Edition” profiles Kevin Dawes, a brave young American who went to Libya as a medical aid worker last summer, but who ended up taking up arms against pro-Gadhafi forces. It’s an inspiring tale of one man’s courage, and also one man’s possible mental illness. Because as numerous NPR commenters have pointed out, Dawes isn’t a “medical aid worker,” he’s an unbalanced Internet forum troll who taught himself rudimentary medicine on YouTube.

Michael Woodward comments, below the story:

Kevin Dawes was not a “medical aide worker” he is a self styled medic who taught himself the “skills” through youtube. He has no firearms training and is suffering severely from delusional and paranoid behavior. He is a danger to himself and others. In other stories about him, it is said even that battle hardened rebels are afraid of him and think he is crazy. This story is not researched and needs to be fact checked. I am sure that if you do search for some of his old screen names (try Caro)you will find some of his postings. Also, check out his blog and youtube channel- you will find he is not what this article portrays him to be.

Dawes has been repeatedly permanently banned from the rowdy Internet forum Something Awful for being not just a troll, but a troll widely assumed to be suffering from a possible severe personality disorder due to his insistence that he was the victim of a far-reaching conspiracy involving the San Diego police acting in league with forum moderators. (Upon one banning, moderators advised him, “seek professional psychiatric help and get back on meds!”)

Regardless of his history of trolling SA, he is still performing medicine — operating on people, according to one YouTube video that he’s since made private — without any sort of professional medical training at all, which shouldn’t be encouraged even when it’s not done by unbalanced war tourists.

This isn’t to say that he wouldn’t make a fascinating subject for an in-depth profile, but … his claims probably shouldn’t just have been taken at face value.

NPR has deleted at least a few comments pointing out Dawes’ online history, though others remain.

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Alex Pareene

Alex Pareene writes about politics for Salon and is the author of "The Rude Guide to Mitt." Email him at apareene@salon.com and follow him on Twitter @pareene

Keira Knightley talks about Freud, Jung, Cronenberg and spanking

The one-time "Pirates" wench explains her new role as Carl Jung's patient -- and kinky S/M sex partner

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Keira Knightley talks about Freud, Jung, Cronenberg and spanking Keira Knightley (Credit: AP/Joel Ryan)

If it seems ludicrous to talk about Keira Knightley moving into a new phase of her career at the ripe old age of 26, it’s nonetheless true. Knightley was thrust into international stardom as an actress, model, cover girl and celebrated beauty at an extraordinarily young age; she was 13 when she played the Decoy Queen to Natalie Portman’s Queen Amidala in “Star Wars: Episode I — The Phantom Menace,” and 17 when she starred in both “Bend It Like Beckham” and the first “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie. Ever since then, Knightley has been a polarizing pop-culture figure, with millions of fans and seemingly just as many detractors. She has been promoted by lad-mags like Maxim or FHM as an object of fantasy and attacked by some feminists and Fleet Street tabloids, for essentially the same reasons: She is skinny and striking, she emanates poshness and upper-class privilege, she became very famous very young for reasons that had little to do with her acting.

But whether or not you believe Knightley was a competent actress at the beginning of her career, she is most definitely one now. Don’t take my word for it; put aside your preconceptions and consider her films since she walked away from the “Pirates” franchise — and, for all practical purposes, from big-budget Hollywood movies — in 2007: “Atonement,” “Silk,” “The Edge of Love,” “The Duchess,” “Last Night” and her heartbreaking performance in last year’s “Never Let Me Go,” which probably deserved an Oscar nomination it didn’t receive. (Her lone nomination came for “Pride & Prejudice” in 2006, and let’s table that debate for another time.) That’s a highly uneven list of movies, and I won’t claim that Knightley has an unerring instinct for picking winners. But she’s trying to carve out a new path in more idiosyncratic fare, and she displays more dramatic reach in each of those roles than in her entire career up to that point.

If you haven’t seen all those films (and not many people have), just go see Knightley as Sabina Spielrein, the mysterious woman who comes between Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) and Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen) in the “intellectual ménage à trois” of director David Cronenberg’s “A Dangerous Method.” (That movie has its United States premiere this week at the New York Film Festival, and opens in theaters next month.) Working with the meticulous and demanding Canadian filmmaker and two of the most acclaimed male actors of our time was surely its own kind of validation. But Knightley more than holds her own playing the Russian Jewish émigré who was Jung’s first analytic patient, then his mistress and collaborator. She later became a therapist in her own right, and helped shape Freud’s notion of the relationship between Eros, the sexual urge, and Thanatos, the death wish.

Spielrein was also the first prominent masochist in the psychoanalytic literature, and perhaps the first woman in history to articulate a desire to be spanked or beaten as an extension of “normal” sexuality. (One should be cautious about such proclamations; the Marquis de Sade predates her by more than a century.) Knightley’s performance is both ferocious and desperate; Spielrein comes to Jung’s clinic outside Zurich in a state of near-psychotic delirium, convinced that she was possessed by a demonic spirit. But eventually the power dynamic between them begins to shift, and she seduces him into a sadomasochistic sexual relationship, along the way becoming his and Freud’s intellectual peer. Yes, you will indeed see Knightley both spanked and whipped by Michael Fassbender in this film, but Cronenberg presents their encounters more in terms of clinical compulsion than steamy spectacle.

I’ve interviewed Knightley twice, and have found her extremely sharp, in all senses of the word. This conversation occurred in an anonymous hotel meeting room in Toronto, the day after the festival premiere of “A Dangerous Method.” (She admitted to being both hung over and jetlagged.) She’s an intense and focused talker, cordial enough but not especially funny. (I maintain she was miscast in the “Pirates” movies for exactly that reason.) Once she understood that I wasn’t going to ask her questions about her weight — she is undeniably thin but looked healthy to me — or her sex life, she warmed up considerably, and talked fluently about the history of psychoanalysis, Wagner’s Ring Cycle, masturbation and the ethics of filming a spanking scene.

You know, Keira, an hour after I saw the film, it occurred to me that Sabina Spielrein was a legitimate feminist hero. In terms of her intellect, in terms of her sexuality, in terms of what she represented, in every way. She should be on a postage stamp! Did you think about it that way?

Only latterly, actually. I didn’t really think of it from the feminist point of view when I was doing it. I should have. I don’t know why I sort of missed that. I was so busy trying to figure out what the fuck was going on in her head that I didn’t really see it from the outside point of view. But you’re absolutely right. I mean, what she achieved was absolutely extraordinary. And then there’s the fact that she was lost. She was working in a world where, you know — Freud gave her a footnote in one of his papers, but Jung absolutely didn’t.

No mention whatsoever.

Nothing at all. And the papers she wrote were absolutely extraordinary. I think she was the first woman to write a dissertation on schizophrenia. She was an extraordinary feminist hero, as you say. Or she should be. I don’t know whether she would have seen herself in those terms either, to be honest.

Probably not. There’s also the factor that she basically disappeared into the Soviet Union later in life.

She was in the Soviet Union, and then she was killed by the Nazis. So a lot of her work was lost. I’m telling you this now, and I’m probably going to get it wrong, but she opened up these really progressive child psychoanalytic centers — the white nurseries, or something like that — but at a certain point Stalin banned all psychoanalysis and it all stopped anyway. She was living in Rostov and kept on doing it in an underground way, but it had been banned. So a lot of her stuff disappeared because of the Communist period, but then, of course, because she was killed.

Did the Nazis kill her because they knew who she was?

I don’t think so. Again, I’m not completely sure about that, but she was rounded up with a lot of Jews who were living in Rostov and then shot. So I don’t know that it had anything to do with being a psychoanalyst. It’s an absolutely extraordinary story. I mean, a completely tragic one, but also one that I found incredibly inspiring. She was so troubled, so ill. They had totally lost hope, and I think she had lost hope. Before she got to the Bürgholzli institute [Jung's clinic], she’d been thrown out of asylums, because they said, “There’s no way, there’s nothing we can do.” So the idea that you’ve got somebody from that stage, who literally believed that she’d been possessed by a devil, and that through analysis you can pull out that intellectual side of her and stimulate it to the extent that she came up with ideas that influenced Freud and Jung, whether they gave her credit for it or not — it’s an extraordinary thing.

And she ends up getting totally scrubbed out of the picture.

Yeah, absolutely. It’s very much a story of its time. I don’t think women were allowed in higher education in Russia at that time, which was why a lot of them ended up in Germany or Switzerland, because they were being quite progressive about women’s education. So she was given the opportunity to do that, but within that society it was still very rare for women to be taken seriously intellectually. So it’s a fascinating period — and you’re right about that: It is once again the men keeping the women down!

From the first second we see her in the film, it’s pretty intense. She’s carried from a carriage having some kind of seizure, being restrained by two men, howling and grunting. Was all that in the script?

I mean, yes and no. In the script, it said: “Has hysterical fit and is ravaged by tics.” And you kind of go, OK, but what does that mean? So I read an awful lot trying to find descriptions of tics or why they happened. Even in Jung’s case notes for her, he didn’t describe what it was. He said her face was ravaged by them, but didn’t describe what they were. So I spoke to a couple of analysts, trying to figure out what it would be, and they basically said it could have been anything, tics come in all kinds of ways. So I watched a documentary on Tourette’s, to try to get some ideas from that. I asked David, “OK, do you want it in the body so you can shoot around it if it gets too much?” And he said, “No, I definitely want it in the face.”

So then I found an excerpt from her diaries in which she describes herself as a dog or a demon, and I thought, that’s such a fucking horrendous description, you know, to see yourself like that. That’s not in the script, and I thought that was incredibly important, to show that physically in some way. She was going through a shocking internal struggle, so I wanted it to be shocking on the outside too.

That’s what you’re doing with your jaw! That’s exactly it — she’s acting like a dog.

Well, I spoke to a psychoanalyst about what tics were, what they meant. Because she was masturbating a lot, and I wanted to know what the reason for that was, or the kind of compulsive sexuality, what the reason for that was. And this analyst said, “Well, it’s about trying to release energy, trying to get it out in some way.” So I thought that was interesting physically. I sat in front of my mirror for a couple of hours pulling faces at myself. Then I got on Skype with David and said, “OK, I’ve got a couple of options, which one do you like?” Right away he went, “That jaw thing, that’s great!”

I honestly wondered whether you had dislocated your jaw. It looks painful.

It looks like that, doesn’t it? It’s just trying to get at that demonic, animalistic thing. And to look as shocking as possible.

It works! Was that a state you could just get into on the set, or did you have to remain in character like that?

I’d sort of been working on it, on the text or the background reading, for about four months beforehand. We didn’t rehearse any of it, just me doing my own stuff. So I’d planned it. You’re playing mad, whatever that means, and the outside world may see it as illogical and totally crazy, but there was complete logic — as much as it’s a terrifying illness on the inside — to the way she behaved. So it was about trying to find that logic, going through the script and finding the trigger words, finding the exact moment when the tics would be triggered. That was quite interesting. So, um, yeah. [Laughter.] What was the question? Have I answered it?

Not yet. What did you do on set to get in character?

Because it was so prepared — there is an amazing thing about David’s sets. They’re so focused. It’s very quiet, it’s very collaborative, it’s incredibly supportive, but it is absolutely focused on the work. We only did one or two takes for absolutely everything, and he’s pretty much edited it in his head, so he didn’t even run the scenes all the way through. He’d go, “I know I’m only going to use the close-up for that bit, so we’re only going to run that bit.” It is an incredibly focused environment, though, so, no, I wasn’t in character the whole time, twitching! But I used music an awful lot, I was constantly listening to music and reading the stuff I’d found that was helpful. Stravinsky was used a lot, and Wagner.

I love the conversations about Wagner in the film! And that’s probably the only time I’m going to say that about a movie this year.

There’s actually very little about that in the film, but she was absolutely obsessed by [the redemptive warrior hero] Siegfried and the Ring Cycle, and it is fascinating reading. She had lots of dreams about it. She saw Jung as Siegfried, or thought Siegfried was going to be the son she would give him. She was really obsessed with it. I did listen to the whole Ring Cycle, that was really interesting, and I went to see some of it in Cologne.

To me, the Wagner stuff is like an aspect of her brilliance and an aspect of her madness, at the same time.

Absolutely, and that’s what I found so interesting about her. It’s so interlinked, the madness and the brilliance, as I think they so often are. Trying to figure out exactly when it turns into something more obsessive, something crazy — I don’t like the word but I don’t have another one — that was really interesting.

So let’s talk about the sex scenes in this movie, if we may. That’s certainly going to get a lot of attention, because you and Michael Fassbender are playing one of the first famous S/M relationships. It’s restrained and not all that salacious, but there’s no denying some people may find it arousing …

Yeah. I don’t know if they will, though. I mean, it’s certainly not shot like that, and that was one of the reasons why I thought I was all right doing that. I didn’t want it to be sexy, in that kind of voyeuristic way. David was very clear about that, it has to be a reflection of that brutality, that side of her. It has to be part of the character, and he wanted it to be clinical. Particularly in the age of the Internet and everything, you have to ask a lot of questions about whether it’s relevant, what the downsides and upsides are of doing something like that. I nearly turned it down because of that, and it wasn’t until I’d spoken to David to ask, “OK, what is this, and how are we doing it?” that I actually went, all right, I can do that as long as it’s not a sexy spanking scene.

At the same time, she was a sexual revolutionary, wasn’t she? To be able to “come out” about such a forbidden desire. It wasn’t something people talked about at all, except in a pornographic context. Certainly not in the context of being a legitimate sexual expression.

No. And part of the reason for hysteria among women — it was declining at that point, I guess — but it was only amongst women, and the thing with her was that nobody had explained the facts of life to her. She was an adult, but nobody quite knows when she was actually told about sex. It could have been after a lot of the analysis with Jung had already happened. She came from a family where any physical feeling among the girls was seen as being a sin, and being the devil taking you over. It’s an insane thing to think about! So yes, absolutely, it was completely revolutionary in that way.

She was very clearly a masochist, but speaking to psychoanalysts, they tell you that sadomasochism is always a circle, so the masochist is always looking for a sadist and will force people into that role, and even become the sadist themselves in order to form that circle. So I thought that was really interesting, the manipulation is strangely powerful. At the same time as she plays the victim, she’s creating these situations and manipulating them. There are these complex things, these opposites at work, which made an interesting dynamic.

Right. Well, there’s a psychological truism in the world of S/M that holds that the person who’s being spanked or tied up or whatever is actually the person in control of the situation. It strikes me that that’s how you guys played it.

Yeah, that’s the decision we took with it, and to me that’s more interesting than the other way around.

It’s never clear whether or not Jung is actually into it, or if she’s kind of dragging him along.

Yeah, it is ambiguous and we thought that was quite important. It was her thing, and not necessarily his. In all the research that I did, I’ve never seen that he was especially into that, although he was a very strong and controlling person, so it could have taken that path.

It seems to me, at least from the film, that he was in love with her but felt ashamed about many aspects of the relationship: the adultery, the S/M stuff, and not least of all the way he betrayed her.

I think there was definitely shame over the way he handled the whole situation and the fact that he denied it. He never mentions her, and beyond that 1913 point, she isn’t anywhere. Let alone any of her work being recognized, he doesn’t mention her at all, which is quite strange in itself, given that she was such a huge part of that period of his life.

Someone asked me an interesting question after we watched the film. On the first day, when she’s howling and seemingly inarticulate, Jung sits down behind her in a chair and starts to ask her questions, and she responds right away. Did that really happen? And how could it have worked so quickly?

I don’t think anybody had ever asked the questions before. That’s literally what happened, it’s all written down. Jung chose her very specifically. They knew she was frighteningly bright and was already interested in medicine and science. He picked her out. But I think you’re right, nobody had ever spoken to her about these things, it was completely revolutionary. So the idea of being asked about these things and not simply being told that you were a lunatic, you were sick, was probably something that would make you go [exhalation of breath]. You speak to people who have been analyzed, and in the same way that interviews can very easily become that kind of confessional thing, it’s a very weird experience when somebody actually asks you your opinion. Very strange things can happen.

It’s like he saw her as a potential intellectual partner — and maybe also as a potential lover — right away.

You know, Freud said that analysis wouldn’t work with stupid people, with people who hadn’t had an education. I don’t think that’s still what people think. But it’s what he said.

“A Dangerous Method” premieres this week at the New York Film Festival and opens Nov. 23 in major cities.

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