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. . .
Stan was fascinating to listen to, but towards the end, when he was discussing the trauma of birth, I became quite distressed, feeling dizzy and tearful. Also, my old gut pain returned as I felt the familiar fear of my own birth process mounting inside me. Later I discovered that I wasn't the only one affected. Sarah and Margaret were also somewhat disturbed by some of the subjects raised during the course of the afternoon. Within minutes of arriving home, I threw up. I strongly suspect this was a cathartic response to Stan's highly emotive talk which triggered so much of my own process plus our subsequent private conversation. (At the end of the lecture, I had waited `till Stan Grof was alone, then went up and told him how most of my sessions dealt with birth. When I told him how I was feeling then, he suggested that I do another session as soon as possible. At one point, while still discussing fear, he replied to one of my questions with a very strange answer. Something about some man whose greatest fear was vomiting).
Began my Summer holidays in France with the family. The depression I'd been going through during the past few months now truly came to a head. I was totally unable to cope with anything and many times found myself walking through the streets with tears rolling down my face. I was beyond caring.
During my therapy session with Alan I was so distressed (screaming, abusive, thumping the wall) he suggested I should be in hospital for a while. He contacted Tony who agreed with him.
Went to my own doctor who arranged for me to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I finally arrived there at 2.00pm in an extremely agitated state, and within a few hours they had begun to sedate me.
Began the day by being fiercely abusive towards the senior doctor, but later on, as the medication began to kick in, I apologised for my shocking behaviour.
Was discharged at mid-day on the condition that I return after the week-end if things got bad again. Over the past few days I've started on the anti-depressant, Seroxat (Paxil) 20mg. which I will remain on for the next six months.
As a result of all the medication (tranquillizers, sleeping pills and anti-depressants), I remember very little of my nine-day stay in hospital. Had a few more one-hour therapy sessions with Tony, where, during one of them, I spontaneously went into a very deep regressed state. It was very frightening for both Tony and myself as it took quite a long time for me to come out of it. Whether it was the shock of that experience, or something even more weird, but suddenly I found myself beginning to clearly understand, for the very first time, everything that Tony was explaining to me about the breathwork process. It was as if my brain, by some form of magic, had instantly been jolted awake from its lifelong comatose state. I also felt very hungry. After leaving the premises, I headed straight for the nearest Burger King, where I had a huge oozy burger and chips. My feelings then of total inner peace mirrored those following a really good breathwork session.
Looking back now to last June and July, I think I'm finally beginning to understand why I disintegrated into the broken person I became back then. Both Tony and I agree that I've now reached the stage in my process where something very big is lurking just below the surface waiting to be freed. (For a lot of people some of this "thing" makes its way through and because of the physical and psychological symptoms it presents, it's often very wrongly mistaken for a nervous breakdown). We also agree that, for the time being, I should take a break from breathwork. The frightening and overwhelming state I entered prior to and during my Summer holiday, is in fact referred to by Stan Grof as a "Spiritual Emergency", but sadly as yet, (at time of writing) there is no facility here in Ireland to cope with such a crisis. As a result, that is why, people like myself end up in psychiatric hospitals, being pumped full of pills for simply being in a state of mind that eventually will lead to complete healing. When I think back on the dream I had on holiday in which I was in a long black tunnel, squashed by huge iron claws and feeling the excruciating pain rack every inch of my body, I realise now I was not going crazy, even though my family and I thought it at the time. As soon as I arrived home from France, I knew I had to draw this image, so the following morning, as soon as I woke up, I drew a picture of the dark tunnel, which I named "Birth Tunnel". Terrified, I continue my struggle....
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