Neuroplasticity Study

In September, I participated in a study at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) measuring brain plasticity in people with Asperger's (the full name of the study is 'Stabilizing Neuroplasticity in Adults with Asperger Disorder Using Repetitive Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation: A pilot study'). I had first heard about rTMS on a news segment describing its use in treating treatment-resistant depression. I asked my doctor about it, hoping that I could get into a clinical study going on at CAMH. I was excluded due to a family history of epilepsy (very disappointing), but I was offered the chance to get in on a similar study aimed at those on the spectrum. In July I went to Toronto for the screening process, which was basically just an IQ test.

The objective of the study is to compare brain cortical plasticity between neurotypical adults and adults with Asperger's. The theory, as I understand it, is that Aspies have hyperplastic brains, and with rTMS certain areas thought to be responsible for the perceived negative symptoms can be toned-down.

For three weeks in September I travelled to Toronto, for a total of four sessions. For the first session, we started with finding the right spot in my motor cortex to make my thumb (hooked up to electrodes) twitch 5 times out of 10 when hit with theta burst stimulation (TBS) to get my baseline. The TBS was delivered via a paddle with a figure-8 coil pressed onto my head. It made a CLACK! sound (like hockey sticks slapping together) when it fired, and made me blink, the muscle under my left eye twitch, and my jaw to move up and to the left, making my teeth smash together (along with the thumb twitch). After biting my lip during one of the bursts, I held my mouth open for all the following hits. After finding the right spot and marking my scalp with a bright pink marker, Dr. Desarkar, the head investigator, used either intermittent TBS or continuous TBS (I don't remember) to activate my motor cortex. This made my jaw move up and down rapid fire. I must have looked quite silly sitting there with my mouth open, chewing on nothing but air. The last part of this session involved the application of 10 hits of TBS in 5-minute intervals, up to 105 minutes after the activation. The reaction in my thumb was recorded on a computer. From what I could tell, the reactions were bigger, tapering off until eventually going back to the baseline we took at the beginning.

The second session, the following week, was fairly similar to the first, except that instead of activating, the TBS was used to inhibit. Again, from what I could tell from the computer screen, and the doctor's reactions, my thumb twitches were smaller, and gradually worked their way back up to the baseline.

The third session, the week after that, I received sham rTMS. I was both disappointed and relieved. Disappointed in that I was curious what it would do to me, if anything. I was relieved because I was afraid that if it did improve my social skills, it would so at the cost of my intelligence or memory. This would almost definitely not happen, especially after only one session, but I worried about it anyway. Even though I wasn't receiving rTMS, I still had to come in, lie down, and have the magnetic coil placed on my head (just at a 90 degree angle so the burst shot away from my brain) for a little over an hour, the machine clicking the whole time. No measurements were taken. Quite boring. I had trouble staying awake.

The final session occurred the next day. It was a repeat of the first session: activation (chosen at random).

It was all very interesting, though I've forgotten a bit, and probably got a number of things mixed up; too many acronyms. But it was worth the anxiety of travelling to Toronto by bus (2 things I dislike), and not just because I got paid for my participation, and had my travel expenses covered. I may do another similar study in November or December.

I'm alive. Still trying to live life. Where does one find a hypnotist? Your Ex-Lover Is Dead  by Stars is running through my head...I've been reading Blackwood Farm by Anne Rice; it makes me want to love, makes me want to learn. I need to be always learning; I don't know why I'm not. I've moved back in with my mother. I've been thinking that eventually the cats will die, and it brings me to tears. I think about all the annoying things Mom does, and how once she's gone, I'll look back on them fondly. Winter is so beautiful: the ice, the snow, the cold. I love this country; I wouldn't trade its terrible winters for the world.

These earplugs in my head make it difficult to type...

I'll write a real post soon.

New Plan

I get crazy ideas. I plan too big, too far into the future. This has not worked well with regards to combating my depression. So now I'm trying a new track, making tiny goals, before building up to larger ones. All I'm focusing on is getting up in the morning, showering, and getting out of the house. Each day.

I'm also quite impatient, and so this new plan is killing me. I want to be in school. I want to not have to say the same pathetic thing every time someone asks me what I'm doing with life. I want to be accomplished enough to be worthy of another's love -of my own love.

Sigh.

Onward!

Recap of the Past Year

Last March, I moved out and lived on my own for the first time. I had been doing fairly well, wasn't on any medications. It felt like something I had to do. My first apartment (a one-bedroom) was in an old, 15-unit building. It was quite large for the amount of rent I paid. There was coin laundry in the basement.

At first, I was anxious, worrying that I had made the wrong decision, but I started to feel more comfortable the more I figured out which things go where. The anxiety didn't go away, though, and my mood started to sink. The stress of trying to survive on my own, loneliness, and a multitude of other problems, like my neighbour constantly yelling at her dog, was really getting to me. I started on a new medication and made plans to move.

I now rent a room in the gorgeous 1920's house of a member from my mother's church. Having other people to say "hello" to at least, has been nice. My mood had been improving on the new meds, to the point that I attempted taking a chemistry course. The drug's effects seem to be wearing off, though, and my mood has plummeted again. I dropped out of the course and am now generally miserable. I feel useless and have started to hate myself (something I've never experienced before). I've been having suicidal thoughts; I worry I may act on them. I promised myself I'd never attempt suicide again...

Somniphobia?

Alors, it is nearly 3:00 am, and the keen observer will note that I am not asleep. I've dealt with insomnia for many years, though of late I have developed what I can only describe as a "dread" of going to sleep. When this occurs, I do try to force myself to sleep, though it does not always work, such as right now. I've been using my time awake researching various sleep disorders.

Somniphobia seems to be the best candidate. Of course, as with most of the medical "merde" I experience, it's either unexplainable, or only partially describes an accepted diagnosis, to the point of confusion. I've found a wonderful blog post on this particular disorder, with ample comments from fellow sufferers( http://disorder-sleep.blogspot.com/2006/07/somniphobia-fear-of-sleep.html ).

The most common reasons for the "dread" seem to be a fear of dying whilst asleep or having nightmares. I don't fear dying in my sleep -none of that Greek 'Sleep and his twin brother Death', I'm afraid; it would be the best way to go, anyway. I quite enjoy dreaming, and am disappointed when I cannot recall any dreams from the previous night. I don't mind nightmares, either; they may be terrifying at the time, but I find them simply interesting afterwards. Fervently not wanting to sleep contradicts my desire to dream (which is much easier to do while asleep). Some posters also mention a fear of "not being able to sleep", which seems the least logical, and therefore, "logically", it should be the reason for my dread *grins*. Nope. I have to be even more special! *rolls eyes*

Anxiety and depression (both of which I deal with) can also be factors, though the links are not so clear. It is true that some nights, my mind refuses to shut up (in a talking to me kind of way, how I assume "normal" people think; on average, my thoughts seem to be more like...well I don't exactly know how to define it), but this just gives me all the more reason to wish for unconsciousness.

One issue that a few people mention is the paranormal. This may be the root of my phobia, even though this is far from my thoughts during nights like this...As a child I experienced a great deal of the paranormal, which was frightening, to say the least (I'll make a post on the subject later). It just seems odd that something which occurred so long ago could be having an effect now.

Conversely, at times I often dread being awake when I get up in the morning...

The Dark Ages

I think I would like to talk about the darkest chapter in my life. I've written much about it in journals, but I burned all those to lessen the number of reminders in my environment. This blog, however, is for my friends, to better understand who I am.

First, a little back story. My depression began in grade 7, the reason, if any, unclear to me to this day. For 2 years I struggled with it, until admitting that I needed help. I began to see a counsellor, who was of great help. It was only temporary, as she was a student gaining experience, and had to return to school. My family physician put me on Fluoxetine, which made me incredibly restless and jittery. I started to see a psychiatrist. We tried a number of meds, which did little, if anything (most meds have no effect on me, and the ones that do wear off quickly).

Enter A-, my first love. I met her in grade 10 Latin. I asked her out, and though she declined, we became friends and talked often. I had been having suicidal thoughts every once in a while for the past year, and when I discovered she had a boyfriend, I decided to attempt suicide. While my Mom was out, I took a knife and cut the backs of my hands to test how much it would take to slit my wrists. Fortunately, I "chickened out" and called my Mom. We met with my shrink and I agreed to check myself into the psyche ward, called CAIP (Child and Adolescent Inpatient Program).

I spent two weeks there. It's insane, but I've never felt more safe or comfortable than in that wing of the hospital up on the 9th floor. I would sit on the window sill of my room and watch the clouds roll over the vast view of the city. I even loved the food! These days I use Axe Snake Peel body wash because it smells like CAIP. I met a number of girls there, who were all discharged before me. I cried when they were gone (I'm almost never that emotional).

After my first stay, the staff at CAIP suggested that I be placed in the Young Adult Program (YAP), which involved academics in the mornings and therapy in the afternoons. I was loath to go, but it was actually really good for me, not because of my assigned counsellor (I thought she was pretty useless), but because I met my best friend there. We were quite the mischief makers, and one time the staff took us aside and literally told us to stop communicating telepathically (we just had to look at one another to share something funny those around us did not perceive)! I was admitted to the hospital a couple more times while at YAP during times when I didn't trust myself to be safe.

After a year I returned to regular high school. I continued to pursue A-. I feel terrible about this. She was very confused as to why I found her so special. One day, I confessed my love for her. After we parted ways, awkwardly, I left school and went home. I had it in my mind that she should know my true feelings before I was gone. This was the worst moment of my life. I'm a bit ashamed, even if it wasn't truly me in control. I waited for Mom to go to Toronto and then took about half a bottle of Tylenol (~50 pills). The whole ordeal was very confusing, my mind going back and forth. I called friends (no answer) and the help line a couple times. They sent an ambulance. For the longest time I lay there, waiting for unconsciousness (which of course did not happen; turns out Tylenol won't kill you, but can mess up your liver in the long run). The paramedics weren't allowed to enter the house until the police arrived. I got tired of waiting and just let them take me to the hospital. The police never came (good thing, you know, I wasn't actually dying!)

In Emerge, I had to drink a bottle of charcoal, and proceeded to vomit it back up again and again until I was just vomiting bile. I spent the night waking up nearly every hour to vomit some more. I was admitted once again to CAIP the next day. I tend to calm down not long after being in the hospital (waiting in Emergency for hours seems to bore the suicidal feeling out of me), making the week or so in the psych ward rather pointless. After being released, I did not go back to school. Eventually, Mr. R-, my Latin teacher and an incredible person, began to tutor me at my home!

A- moved to another city, and I went on to go back to school for a 5th year. I still struggle with my depression (which I've named Courtney, as most of the people I've known with that name were awful), but I vowed to myself that I would never sink so low again.