Xenu and Xanax

Before you read on, I apologize if anyone is offended. I am a huge supporter of religious freedom.I am not discrediting Scientology, however, I am bitching about the extremist potential that the church tends to hold…at least, in my own personal experience. Yes, a lot of what Scientology has taught me has been of use in my life. This particular recollection is nothing more than a narrative on a bad trip I had in the church (in regards to psychiatric help).

Of course, you are free to make your own evaluations.

I had been introduced to Scientology about ten years ago. This came about after my family had put me in the care of a pediatric psychologist after a bad state of psychosis, which I will inevitably disclose later on, don’t you worry. My brother had considered himself to be a Scientologist for quite some time. So, he freaked the fuck out.

In a quick definition :
a religious system based on the seeking of self-knowledge and spiritual fulfillment through graded courses of study and training. It was founded by American science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard (1911–86) in 1955.

Being that Scientology is all about spiritual fulfillment, usually via the worship of monetary security (excuse the animosity), you can imagine that their arch nemesis is indeed general psychiatry. In layman’s terms, my brother was not about to let me go see a shrink when I could go see a perfectly competent auditor- a term for spiritual counselor. Certainly the Co$ (Church of Scientology) could resuscitate my sanity!

For years I received auditing and even training in the church. Ten years. YEARS. So, for those of you well-seasoned Scios, no. I’m not an ignorant person that happened to stumble into a random Church in Pasadena after falling victim-er- participating in a free street Stress Test (say that 5 times fast!) I lived and breathed Scientology. I even signed my life away to the Sea Organization. I know what I’m talking about.

Remember this, years. I had made these people my family. As you can probably guess, I was not cured. Like I said, there are certain tools that helped me. But, overall, I was still just as bad if not worse by now.

After my aforementioned 5150 hold, I had been struggling immensely with adaptation to the “normal world.” I was unstable, still, and was in need of great help. I turned to my loyal Scientology family. I was denied help of any kind. I was seen as a liability to the Church and was deemed as an unfavorable client. Before I was “allowed” to re-enter my spiritual therapy, I was instructed to immediately stop taking my meds. RX: Lithium, Ativan. In my desperate effort to have somebody listen to me for Christ’s sake, I stopped taking my medication and promptly fell into an even worse depression.

(Again, addressing the Scios, I know what you’re thinking. I don’t give two fucks, though).

In my logic, if someone needs help, specifically help stabilizing, as a mental health practitioner your sole duty is to provide that help. ESPECIALLY if your client is waving a razor blade around with a bottle of Quualudes. Ah, well this is where my frustration sets in.

Let’s delve a bit deeper, shall we? After I had come off of the medication, I had to make amends to the church for even going on them in the first place.

By the way, I am not condoning cure all fantasy pills. I do believe that America is over-drugged. I think we are too quick to get our hands on scripts and are painfully unable to confront to the real problems that cause us grief. However, there are some people who need help. For some of us, it’s medication or death. I know, morbid, right? But seriously.

Back to amends. I mean, I had to really make amends. I scrubbed the church I belonged to. I ran errands for the staff. I begged and pleaded for their forgiveness. They forgave me, alright. One month, a weak body and mind, and $45,000 later, I was able to rejoin the group. Oh, what’s that? Did you notice that dollar amount up there?

This is just a glimpse into the wonderful experience I endured. I’m happy to be back in the hands of mental health professionals. For the love of Christ, I need help.

-SJ

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