highly subjective diagnostic system. Essentially you sit in the office with a physician and you are labeled based on the doctor’s opinion of the symptoms you describe. There are no tests. You can’t pee in a cup or give a drop of blood to be analyzed for a substance that definitely indicates “you have depression” much in the way a blood test can tell you that you have diabetes or are anemic.
Psychiatry is infamous for saying “oops!” It has a long history of abusing patients with pseudoscience-driven treatments and has been sullied by its shameful lack of diagnostic rigor. Consider, for example, the 1949 Nobel Prize winner Egas Moniz, a Portuguese neurologist who introduced invasive surgical techniques to treat people with schizophrenia by cutting connections between their prefrontal region and other parts of the brain (i.e., the prefrontal lobotomy). And then we had the Rosenhan experiment in the 1970s, which exposed how difficult it is for a doctor to distinguish between an “insane patient” and a sane patient acting insane. Today’s prescription pads for psychotropic drugs are, in my belief, just as harmful and absurd as physically destroying critical brain tissue or labeling people as “psychiatric” when really they are anything but.
My fellowship training was in consultation-liaison psychiatry, or “psychosomatic medicine.” I was drawn to this specialization because it seemed to be the only one that acknowledged physical processes and pathologies that could manifest behaviorally. I noticed that psychiatrists in this field appreciated the role of biological actions such as inflammation and the stress response. When I watched fellow psychiatrists consult on surgical patients in the hospital, they talked about these processes much differently from when they saw patients in their Park Avenue offices. They talked about delirium brought on by electrolyte imbalance, symptoms of dementia caused by B12 deficiency, and the onset of psychosis in someone who was recently prescribed antinausea medication. These root causes of mental challenges are far from the “it’s all in your head” banter that typically swirls around conversations about mental illness.
The word psychosomatic is a loaded and stigmatized term that implies “it’s all in your head.” Psychiatry remains the wastebasket for the shortcomings of conventional medicine in terms of diagnosing and treating. If doctors can’t explain your symptoms, or if the treatment doesn’t fix the problem and further testing doesn’t identify a concrete diagnosis, you’ll probably be referred to a psychiatrist or, more likely, be handed a prescription for an antidepressant by your family doctor. If you are very persistent that you still need real help, your doctor might throw an antipsychotic at you as well. Most prescriptions for antidepressants are doled out by family doctors—not psychiatrists, with 7 percent of all visits to a primary-care doctor ending with an antidepressant prescription.13 And almost three-quarters of the prescriptions are written without a specific diagnosis.14 What’s more, when the Department of Mental Health at Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health did its own examination into the prevalence of mental disorders, it found that “Many individuals who are prescribed and use antidepressant medications may not have met criteria for mental disorders. Our data indicate that antidepressants are commonly used in the absence of clear evidence-based indications.”15
I’ll never forget a case I consulted on several years ago that involved “psychosomatic” facial burning in a woman. Her story is insightful. She complained of an intense burning sensation in her face, though there was no explanation for it other than it being “all in her head.” Her symptoms were so disabling that she was barely able to function. I was still prescribing psychotropics at the time, but a voice inside of me knew there was something real going on, and it wasn’t at all in her head. But unfortunately the Western medical model had already labeled her as being a psychosomatic case, which called for psychiatric medication and couldn’t appreciate or even begin to understand the complexity of her condition. Antidepressants and benzodiazepines (tranquilizers including Valium or Xanax) didn’t help her. What ultimately did was dietary change, supplementation, and rebalancing of her bodily flora. Was this all a placebo effect? Clearly she wanted to feel better with such intensity that she would have done anything. But traditional medication didn’t cure her. At the heart of her pain and distress was an immune and inflammatory process that could not be remedied via antidepressants and antianxiety drugs. It was fixed through strategies that got to the core of her problem—that yanked the nail out of her foot and let the injury heal.
The idea that depression and all of its relatives are manifestations of glitches in the immune system and inflammatory pathways—not a neurochemical deficiency disorder—is a topic we will explore at length throughout this book. This fact is not as new as you might think, but it’s probably not something your general doctor or even psychiatrist will talk about when you complain of symptoms and are hurried out of the office with a prescription for an antidepressant. Nearly a century ago, scientific researchers were already exploring a connection between toxic conditions in the gut and mood and brain function. This phenomenon was given the name auto intoxication. But studying such a wild idea fell out of fashion. By mid-century no one was looking into how intestinal health could affect mental health. Instead, the thinking was quickly becoming the reverse—that depression and anxiety influenced the gut. And as the pharmaceutical industry took off in the second half of the twentieth century, gut theories were ignored and the brilliant researchers behind them were forgotten. The gut was regarded as the seat of health in ancient medical practices for centuries; now we can finally appreciate the validity of such old wisdom. Hippocrates, the father of medicine, who lived in the third century BCE, was among the first to say that “all disease begins in the gut.”
A multitude of studies now shows an undeniable link between gut dysfunction and the brain, chiefly by revealing the relationship between the volume of inflammatory markers in the blood (i.e., signs of inflammation) and risk for depression.16 Higher levels of inflammatory markers, which often indicate that the body’s immune system is on high alert, significantly increase the risk of developing depression. And these levels parallel the depth of the depression: higher levels equates with more severe depression. Which ultimately means that depression should be categorized with other inflammatory disorders including heart disease, arthritis, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, cancer, and dementia. And it’s no surprise, at least to me, that depression is far more common in people with other inflammatory and autoimmune issues like irritable bowel syndrome, chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, insulin resistance, and obesity. All of these conditions are characterized by higher levels of inflammation, a topic we’ll get into in Chapter 3.
To really grasp the fact that depression is not a disorder primarily rooted in the brain, look no further than some of the most demonstrative studies. When scientists purposefully trigger inflammation in the bodies of healthy people who exhibit no signs of depression by injecting them with a substance (more on this shortly), they quickly develop classic symptoms of depression.17 And when people with hepatitis C are treated with the pro-inflammatory drug interferon, as many as 45 percent of those individuals develop major depression.18
So when people ask me about why we’re suffering from what appears to be an epidemic of depression despite the number of people taking antidepressants, I don’t think about brain chemistry. I turn to the impact of our sedentary lifestyles, processed food diets, and unrelenting stress. I turn to the medical literature that says a typical Western diet—high in refined carbs, unnatural fats, and foods that create chaos in our blood sugar balance—contribute to higher levels of inflammation.19 Contrary to what you might assume, one of the most influential risk factors for depression is high blood sugar. Most people view diabetes and depression as two distinct conditions, but new scientific findings are rewriting the textbooks. One game-changing study published in 2010 that followed more than 65,000 women over a decade showed that women with diabetes were nearly 30 percent more likely to develop depression.20 This heightened risk remained even after the researchers excluded other risk factors such as lack of physical exercise and weight. Moreover, diabetic women who took insulin were 53 percent more likely to develop depression.
Certainly
