Mad in America: The Elusive Emotional Wounds of Omission That Our Culture Inflicts On Us – and the Healing Balm of Love That Can Heal Them

Hi All,

My new article on Mad in America about the price we all pay for our universal and core needs for empathy, compassion and love not being met in our wasteland culture.

Best wishes,

Michael

Day 12: Michael Cornwall on Being Present to “Madness” | Psychology Today

Hi All,
In this Psychology Today interview I share about how the work of Jung and Laing helped me through extreme states and still informs my therapy work with others.
Best wishes,
Michael

Mad in America: Is an Ominous New Era of Diagnosing Psychosis by Biotype on the Horizon?

Hi All,

In this new article I sound the alarm on an ominous shift in how psychosis is diagnosed, that will use a system of bio-marker tests to label people in extreme states as being in a psychosis biotype group.

Michael

Interview: The Dr. Peter Breggin Radio Hour – 12/30/2015

Hi All,

Tomorrow, Wednesday, December 30 at 1:00 PM PST, Peter Breggin and I will talk about those major and minor turning points in life, when overcoming our ambivalence or fear can send us down new paths that have deeper meaning and purpose – that have more soul.

Please join us live or listen to the archive of the program.

Best wishes,

Michael

Mad in America: For Me, Self-Love Requires Both Mercy and Defiance

Hi All,

This is a very brief and personal sharing about needing and being able to find self-love. Please click on the Mad in America location of the article if you wish to see the comments and take part in the discussion.

Best wishes,

Michael

This entry first appeared at Mad In America on December 6, 2015.

This is my 31st article on MIA and the most personal. It’s about being tender and loving with myself when I’m suffering, and how for me that means being merciful and defiant at the same time.

As a boy who was abandoned by my parents at an early age, I’ve always felt vulnerable to the disapproval and judgments of others, afraid of being shunned, forgotten and rejected.

Especially when I was in madness, I felt freakish and alien – an outsider, as if looking in on the warm world of others from outside a window pane, the window condensed with moisture on the inside from delicious food cooking – with me unseen standing out there in the fading light of evening – while happy lives of family occurred inside the houses with the safety and warmth, and warm dinner food and love – of them all together, in a vision that broke my terrified and isolated heart.

But I somehow realized that love can be portable. That I could carry it in me like a little flame in a secret chamber of my heart.

So even when I was homeless sleeping in the rain under a tree with bugs crawling all over me or sleeping in the dugout of the high school baseball field, I could hold that loving grace through the night.

People who knew me then looked at me strangely, I know – the pre-med Michael now an unwashed wild-eyed denizen to be dodged on the street – them crossing to the other sidewalk side when they saw me approaching.

But I held my heart light closer then to balance the pain of those chance encounters.

So when I figured some of it out, I realized I’d never digested the poison pill completely – the one marked “unworthy of love.”

I refused. I said fuck that – I deserve the mercy they’d give a dog. I’ll give it to myself. I’ll love myself if no one else will.

And I did. And I still do.

I’m almost 70 now but I had a dream recently that proved to me how much my defiance has always helped me embrace love.

I was being led along a mountain hillside with a rope around my neck in a procession of captured slaves by mounted horsemen with long spears or pikes – the mounted King’s men.

For some reason, unbidden the words welled up inside of me…

“There’s one thing I’ve always wanted to say… ”

And then I shouted at the top of my lungs knowing it would bring my certain death…

“FUCK THE KING!”

“FUCK THE KING!”

At once to my left a huge mushroom about 10 feet tall erupted from the hillside. It was full of numinous vibrant energy and the sky over it became a mosaic of thousands of small shimmering patterns of ecstatically beautiful circular energy, as a huge chorus of voices intermingled in sustained notes of sacred release all brought about by my treasonous and blasphemous defiant cry against the tyranny of the king.

I can still hear that long sustained note of a thousand souls in my head.

Love is my birthright – and I believe it’s yours too. Please don’t let them tell you otherwise.

There’s a love that doesn’t wait to be claimed, received.

There’s a love that doesn’t wait and long to be returned.

There’s a humble love that just is, is.

A hidden flame that just burns, burns.