Tardive Dyskinesia (TD) is a condition of involuntary, repetitive movements of the jaw, tongue or other body movements. It frequently is a side effect of the long-term use of antipsychotic drugs used to treat schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. It is almost always permanent. I’ve been told Vitamin E might help a bit. Benzodiazepines have also been used with mixed results on a short-term basis.
Some examples of these types of involuntary movements include:
Grimacing
Tongue movements
Lip smacking
Lip puckering
Pursing of the lips
Excessive eye blinking
(Wikipedia)
I recently was diagnosed as having TD after the use of Zyprexa. My version is my lower jaw moves from side-to-side, unless I concentrate on not doing it. I quickly revert to this involuntary movement when I’m not aware of it. I recently saw a video of myself (with my family) and sure enough there I was, doing the ‘jaw thing.’ It was very obvious. It was also very embarrassing. (I have the ‘lithium jitters’— where my hands always shake, but TD is different.)
There are a couple of things I might mention:
1) I’ve discovered that there is a real social isolation with this TD stuff. To be doing this in public is “not acceptable.” I have had people come up to me wanting to know what’s my problem. Since I can’t control the movement I just say, “It’s my meds— they affect me this way.” In a way it’s like wearing a neon sign saying, “I’m a fruit cake.” Having a mental illness is stigma enough, but the TD just puts a new edge on it.
2) As a natural introvert the isolation has only deepened. (I avoid crowds and most social engagements.) I guess if the truth be told, I’m uncomfortable when others look at me strangely or whisper to each other. My standard ‘paranoia level’ has taken a new twist. I feel I’m compelled to explain. I guess I’m embarrassed when others are embarrassed.
3) I settle myself down in my faith to cope. I know I’m not alone in this– the Lord Jesus is always with me. He holds me tight through all these twists and turns. Since I isolate myself so much, I savor the connection I have with a few friends who have become inured to my condition. Social media helps out— Facebook is a big help, as well as my two blogs.
4) One of the things I try to remember are the issues of selfishness and pride. I keep reminding myself it’s not about me all the time. One of the significant areas mentally ill people deal with is self-absorbed thinking. It seems it comes with the illness.
5) I try to keep a sense of humor everyday. It breaks down the mental pain to tolerable levels. We can take ourselves too seriously sometimes. Be more patient with yourself. I know I have to.
I ask that you remember me in prayer from time-to-time. I’m in ‘uncharted waters’ (it seems) and I sometimes feel all alone with my mental illness and all its tangents. I want good to come out of this. (An instantaneous healing would be o.k. But, I’m not too finicky.) Sorry for so much.
If you can’t pray, don’t feel at all impinged upon.
“My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.”
― Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel
This quote rings deep within this heart of mine. It echoes and sings with a confidence that is not logical or reasonable by any stretch of the imagination. But I’m learning that I need to consciously aware of his solid and steadfast love that he has for me. I sometimes forget, and when I finally remember I shake my head, and look around in kind of a stunned silence.
He loves me!
But I’m not the only one who is deeply loved. There are millions of others who are walking in this outrageous love. None are worthy; all have sinned. Those who are following are those who have renounced their feeble efforts at self-righteousness. It simply doesn’t work. (But sometimes it takes a while to work this out.)
I ask myself, “What if I got what I deserve?”
And when I follow this ‘line-of-thought’ I get a gnawing sense of doom– sort of a panicky fear. To get what I really deserve would be the most terrible thing I could ever know. For “I am the chief of sinners.” I believe my past sin would destroy most people.
“But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.”
Romans 5:8
My mental health can be fairly disruptive to my spiritual health. My depression poisons everything. I suppose that at times I can be quite ‘trying’ to those closest to me. It can be frustrating but I have discovered that His grace is more than enough to hold me tight, and protect others as well.
And Jesus accepts me, receives me, loves me even if others can’t or won’t. I may be ‘defective’ to some, outcast by others, but I am never, ever alone. Jesus loves me– not for what I can do or how I function. He loves me unconditionally.
“See how very much our Father loves us, for he calls us his children, and that is what we are! But the people who belong to this world don’t recognize that we are God’s children because they don’t know him”
“Afterward Jesus returned to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish holy days.2 Inside the city, near the Sheep Gate, was the pool of Bethesda, with five covered porches.3 Crowds of sick people—blind, lame, or paralyzed—lay on the porches.5 One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years.6 When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him,“Would you like to get well?”
7 “I can’t, sir,” the sick man said, “for I have no one to put me into the pool when the water bubbles up. Someone else always gets there ahead of me.”
8 Jesus told him, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!”
9 Instantly, the man was healed! He rolled up his sleeping mat and began walking! But this miracle happened on the Sabbath,
John 5:1-9, NLT
We were following Jesus and He led us to the pool of Bethesda. A crowd gathered quickly, but I jostled myself right up front. We stood waiting, we pretty much knew something big was going to happen. And it did. I can never be the same, after what I saw. This is my simple story.
So much was happening, and as I watched I realized that so much escapes me. I can’t take it all in. But when I decide to watch Jesus, I quickly become aware of what is important, what is real. It starts to make sense. The chaos of the moment becomes calm. At least it does when He takes charge.
There were hundreds of sick people camped out. They are laying under the roofs, with their thin mats. The smell alone was really bad, all were unwashed and some with putrid and festering sores. Dirty bandages are used over and over, and shared with all.
Finally, all are watching Jesus, they become quiet wondering what He will say. We’re all pretty curious. We see Jesus as He walks directly into this ugly field of suffering people. He doesn’t hesitate or flinch.
It is almost like He is at home in this dreadful place.
Just to have a religious teacher visit Bethesda is rare. They never come. And today is the Sabbath (and a special feast day at that) and that alone makes it impossible. And yet Jesus is here, and that somehow is wonderful.
Jesus stops to talk with a man who is an ‘old-timer’ here in this horrible place of pain. This man had been sitting here for almost 40 years, and that is a long, long time. Jesus speaks. “Doyou want to get well?” Jesus waits quietly.
“Sir, when the water is stirred, I don’t have anybody to put me in the pool. By the time I get there, somebody else is already in.” The man explains. He has an excuse that seems like a reason. Nothing has ever gone right– ‘I always miss out, and I can’t find anyone to help me.’ And I suppose that this is the world of the blind, the crippled, the paralyzed in Israel. They are confined to Bethesda, with the weak hope of finally being healed. I don’t think that this is how it was meant to work.
This man was horribly discouraged. It was then Jesus said, “Get up, take your bedroll, start walking.” And this very crippled man was healed on the spot. No ‘hocus-pocus’, no incantations, no magic dust or rubbing of sacred bones. Nothing.
He was healed by a few spoken words.
I cannot emphasize my own astonishment enough. It shook all of us to the core. We were all stunned, and undone. The crowds, and all the sick and the paralyzed just stopped and stared. There are so few moments in life, just like this. We just looked at each other sort of stunned.
The ramifications of what we all had witnessed were staggering. Shocked, we turned to each other, and a great fear fell on us like a heavy blanket. The crowd did not disperse, we were completely shocked, and pretty much speechless.
For years that sense of awe has never left me.
I don’t really listen to the scorners anymore– they simply have no idea. It completely changed my life. I was never the same after that.
“For the Son of Man came to seekand save those who are lost.”
“For you are all children of the light and of the day; we don’t belong to darkness and night.”
1 Thess. 5:5
This is my personal testimony of the grace of God.
A year before I received Christ as my Savior, I was hospitalized in a U.S. Army psychiatric ward. My uniform was replaced with the distinctive attire of a mental patient. Ironically, I’d been attached to the same hospital working on the pediatric floor.
And to make things only slightly more surreal was that a medic there on the psych ward was someone I bought drugs from!
Previous to this hospitalization, I had dropped two hits of LSD and found myself in an awful mess. It was night out and I was hallucinating badly. I had lost control of my thoughts. I had pretty much flipped out and it entered my drug-saturated brain that the darkness would kill me, that very night!
Utterly convinced I was going to die, my mind seized upon the street lights outside.
If I could stay in that illuminated circle I would escape dying. Somehow I knew that the light would save me. So I remained under that street light for several hours. As I stood I could see very clearly the boundary between the light and the dark. I knew I was safe as long as I didn’t wander, I knew I would stay safe.
But despite that very traumatic experience, the drugs and my mental instability continued to slide.
I was now shooting up cocaine, crossing my “no needle rule.” I also became quite the heavy drinker, with whiskey for breakfast. I had one basic rule though. As a medic who worked in maternal/child health, I had one of the best assignments in the Army. Many people coveted it, and I was not going to endanger it with drugs or alcohol.
I never went on duty loaded. That was my rule. I would be the best medic the Army ever had.
Shortly after my psych ward discharge, I was reassigned to Labor & Delivery on the night shift. One slow time I was pulled from my duty there to go on an ambulance run as the medic in charge. We were called to the officer’s housing where an older man had died in bed. This got me thinking. Back at the hospital, I returned to L&D. But on the way back I took a shortcut through a ward on another floor. That’s when I found it!
On a waiting room table was a small book called,“More Than a Carpenter” by Josh McDowell. I picked it up, reading it right on duty because there was no one in the delivery room. By the end of my shift, I was well on my way to becoming a Christian. It was a book solidly speaking of the light, and of the dark. And I knew beyond a doubt that I couldn’t remain in the dark anymore.
I was honorably discharged from the U.S. Army in June of 1982.
I became a born-again believer shortly after that. I went to Bible College that October. Life has become radically different, and over time, I became a missionary, pastor, and Bible college instructor.
I married my sweetheart and I now have a wonderful family. I attend a great and wonderful church faithfully.
I want to tell you that Jesus is real, He is alive and the Bible is true. I have been lifted from the dark and I am not afraid anymore. Jesus is my light.
“The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined.”
Broken Believers 