MYSTRIKISM'S GUIDE
TO MENTAL ILLNESS

Guide to Mental Illness
Part 1 of 13
A Shared Human Experience
Mental health exists on a spectrum that we all find ourselves on. No one is completely mentally well or perfectly rational at all times. Even people without any diagnosis have moments when their brains betray them. Sensory gaps leave us blind to details, our attention bottlenecks cause us to miss obvious cues, cognitive biases twist what we see, expectations filter our reality, memory quirks rewrite the past, and emotions can narrow our thoughts. It’s part of being sapient. Our eyes fudge colours, our minds leap to conclusions, and we carry assumptions and emotional baggage that distort what’s right in front of us.
These flaws in how we see and think, whether mild or severe, don’t make us broken, they make us human. Mystrikism and the methods of science weren’t born out of abstract curiosity alone, they were forged as tools to help us navigate and overcome the very things that blur our view of reality. Mystrikism acknowledges our imperfection not with shame, but with purpose - it encourages us to use reason, evidence, and ethical intent to sharpen our lens on the truth.
Experiencing delusions, paranoia, mood swings, flashbacks, or compulsive urges doesn’t make you fundamentally different from everyone else. Think of mental health as a continuum rather than a binary healthy-or-sick switch. We all wobble back and forth on that continuum because these mental and perceptual glitches aren’t reserved just for diagnosed illness - they live in all of us, all the time.
This guide aims to introduce you to a powerful framework for making better decisions and assist in discerning what’s real from what’s not, even when your mind is in turmoil. It’s based on Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS), a curated blend of the scientific method, critical thinking, standards of evidence, and analytical reasoning. Don’t let the formal name intimidate you - the IPS is simply a set of common-sense tools forged to help us navigate through the blind spots, brain farts, bedlam and biases we all carry. These tools are for everyone, but they can be life-changing if your brain’s chemistry, history of trauma, or unique wiring tends to distort your perceptions and interpretations.
Take a moment to recognise your courage in confronting your mental health. It’s an act of bravery and defiance. No matter how severe your current struggles, know there is hope, grounded not in wishful thinking but in evidence-based principles designed to counteract our human limitations. As John Green wrote, “There is hope, even when your brain tells you there isn’t.” Hold onto that as we move forward. Let’s begin our journey with the guiding light of science and reason, not cold and clinical, but human-centred, compassionate, and empowering.
Science as Your North Star
When your mind is flooded with emotions or strange thoughts, it helps to have a steady north star to navigate by. In this guide, that star is the scientific method, a well and truly time-tested approach to understanding reality. You don’t need any special equipment to use it - you need curiosity and patience. The scientific method is about not fooling ourselves and staying honest about what’s true. As famed physicist Richard Feynman said, “The first principle is that you must not fool yourself - and you are the easiest person to fool.” This means that especially when our minds are vulnerable, we have to double-check our conclusions so we don’t trick ourselves into believing lies (like “I’m worthless”, or “everyone is out to get me” or “there’s a demon living in my toaster”).
How can you apply the scientific method to your own thoughts and feelings? - Think of it as a series of gentle steps you can take when you’re trying to figure out if a thought you are having is trustworthy:
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Step 1: Observe - First, notice what’s happening in your mind and environment. What are you feeling or thinking? Describe it to yourself like an outside observer. For example - “I notice a voice in my head telling me I’m in danger, and my heart is racing.” Simply observing without immediately judging can be calming and give you concrete information with which to work.
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Step 2: Question - Ask questions about the situation. What exactly am I thinking will happen? Why do I believe this? When did it start? Does it always occur in certain circumstances? Could you treat it like a mystery? For instance, “Why do I suddenly feel danger at the shops? Could it be related to that news I saw earlier or an old memory?”
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Step 3: Hypothesise - Form a hypothesis (a possible explanation) for what you’re experiencing. Try to come up with more than one. For example - “Maybe I’m actually in danger (someone here intends to harm me), or maybe this is my anxiety acting up, or maybe it’s a flashback of trauma making now, feel like, then.” One hypothesis might be the scary one your mind wants to believe (“I’m in danger”). But force yourself to consider alternative hypotheses (“It could be my anxiety playing tricks”).
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Step 4: Test - This is where you seek evidence for and against each hypothesis. We’ll soon talk about what strong evidence looks like, but generally you might: look around for anything objectively alarming (is there actually someone following you or any real sign of danger?), perhaps ask a friend you trust for their perspective (“Do I seem safe to you right now?”), Or perform a reality-check experiment (if feasible). For example, if you fear something unreal (like a potential hallucination), a test might ask someone next to you, “Do you see that or hear that too?” If they say no, that’s evidence that it might be your mind’s projection.
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Step 5: Analyse the Results - Weigh what you found. Did the evidence support your scary thought or your alternative explanation? Maybe your friend calmly said, “No, everything’s okay here, I promise.” That points toward your anxiety being the culprit rather than a real external threat, or maybe you found no evidence of danger except your feeling, an indication that the feeling might be misleading. Be honest here: ignoring proof we don’t like is tempting. But remember, lean over backwards to be truthful with yourself. If something doesn’t fit (For example - everyone else in the store looks relaxed and normal), acknowledge that fact instead of dismissing it.\
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Step 6: Conclude (Provisionally) - Make a provisional conclusion based on what you observed and tested. In science, all conclusions are open to revision if new evidence turns up. Likewise, tell yourself: “Right now, it seems like this fear is not based in external reality, but rather anxiety or psychosis. Therefore, I will act as if I am safe, because that’s what the evidence supports.” This isn’t denying you feel afraid; it’s just deciding what to believe and do, despite the fear, guided only by the evidence at hand.
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Step 7: Repeat or Adjust - If later evidence pops up or the feeling persists, you can revisit your analysis. Perhaps you calm down briefly, but then the fear spikes again with some new twist. Repeat the steps: observe what changed, ask questions, and test again. Over time, you’ll get better at this and your initial hypotheses will become more accurate (For example - “I’ve felt this before and it turned out to be a panic attack or hallucination, so that’s likely what it is now”).
Using the scientific method on ourselves might initially feel odd, but it can become a comforting habit. It gives you a sense of control: instead of being swept away by a torrent of frightening thoughts or urges, you step into the role of investigator. Imagine yourself as a mental scientist, with a clipboard in hand, gently examining the storm in your brain. This mindset creates a small space between you and the thought or feeling. In that space, you can see the thought as just a hypothesis, not an absolute truth. This is enormously powerful. It’s the difference between thinking “I’m definitely going crazy” versus “My brain is giving me a hypothesis that I might be ‘going crazy,’ but let’s test if that’s really true.” One of those viewpoints is paralysing; the other is empowering.
Reality-testing your thoughts in this way is a well-known technique in therapy. Therapists often encourage people to evaluate thoughts logically and see if they’re valid and grounded in reality. When clients do this, they often realise that specific thoughts (especially the very negative or scary ones) are inaccurate or based on reality. In cognitive-behavioural therapy (CBT), for example - you learn to self-examine thoughts and their influence on your perceptions and actions. By doing these little experiments and reality checks, you’re training your brain to distinguish between internal feelings and external facts, much like in therapy.
Remember - Being scientific about it doesn’t mean being unemotional or robotic. It’s okay to feel whatever you feel - fear, confusion, despair, elation, anger. Accept those feelings; they are real feelings. But at the same time, keep a part of your mind in scientist mode, asking: Do these feelings reflect objective reality, or could they be misleading? You can simultaneously be a compassionate friend to yourself and a scientist - comfort yourself as you would someone scared, but also help yourself look at facts. The union of those two attitudes (self-compassion and scepticism) is the key to improving mental wellness.
In the following sections, we’ll break down some of the specific tools of science and critical thinking that you can use in your self-investigations. Think of them as items in your mental toolkit, ready to be pulled out when you need to check a thought or make a tough decision. Let’s start by clarifying what strong evidence looks like - so you can make sure your beliefs are backed by more than just feelings.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 2 of 13
Holding Your Thoughts to Higher Standards of Evidence
When evaluating any belief or perception, the quality of evidence matters. Our brains, especially when influenced by mental illness, can generate very intense “evidence” that feels real, like a vivid hallucination, or a gut certainty that people hate you. But in the scientific spirit, we must ask: How reliable is this evidence? Enter R.O.V.R.R.T.E.L.F - Rovrrtelf, a set of criteria by which to judge evidence. It’s a mouthful of an acronym, but each letter stands for a crucial quality that strong evidence should have: Reliable, Objective, Verified, Reproducible, Relevant, Trustworthy, Empirical, Logical, and Falsifiable. That might sound technical, but we’ll unpack it in simple terms. Essentially, we’re raising the bar for what we’ll accept as “proof” that a thought is true. We should be sceptical if an idea doesn’t meet these standards (or at least most).
Let’s briefly explain each element of Rovrrtelf and how you might use it on the evidence your own mind gives you:
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Reliable - Source matters. Is the source of this information dependable and consistent? In daily life, “source” could mean who or what this thought originated from. Did it come from a fleeting feeling, a symptom of illness, or a careful observation verified over time? For example - the belief “I am useless” might be based on an internal critic voice that’s always negative - that’s not a reliable source, it has a track record of bias. Reliability also applies to external sources: consider the source's reputation if you read something online that fuels your anxiety. Reliable sources have proven trustworthy over time (like a doctor’s advice rather than a random comment in an online forum or break room).
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Objective - Is the evidence free from personal biases or emotional colouring? Complete objectivity is difficult (we’re fallible creatures after all ), but we can aim to be as fair and neutral as possible. For your thoughts: ask, Am I considering this evidence without letting my hopes or fears distort it? For instance, if you strongly feel worthless, that feeling is subjective - it’s not objective evidence that you truly have no worth. Objective evidence of your worth might be concrete feedback from others or accomplishments you’ve made. We want to base conclusions on facts and logic, not solely how we feel about them. (Feelings are valid experiences, but they can be misleading as evidence - more on “emotional reasoning” later.) Strive for a bird’s-eye view: imagine you’re an impartial judge evaluating the thought.
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Verified - Has this evidence been confirmed by independent sources or parties? In science, an experiment’s result is verified if other people can get the same result. In your context, verification might mean checking with someone else or with other independent information. For example - if you think you see bugs crawling on your skin during a panic attack, verification would be asking a friend or doctor to look - if they don’t see it, that’s evidence it’s an illusion. Or if you’re convinced a certain person hates you, maybe verify by observing their behaviour over time or asking a mutual friend for their take. A thought that only you have, with no external confirmation, is on shakier ground. (This is not to invalidate unique personal experiences, but when in doubt, outside confirmation strengthens a case.)
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Reproducible - This is related to verification. Reproducibility means you can get the same evidence repeatedly under the same conditions. In personal terms, does this thought hold up over time? Do multiple observations at different times or settings show the same thing? Mental illnesses often produce one-off perceptions that don’t stay consistent. For instance, one day in a crisis, you believe “Life will always be this awful” - but there have been better, other days. That negative conclusion isn’t reproducible across different days or moods; it only “showed up” when you were severely depressed. If evidence for a thought appears only in your worst moments and disappears in better moments, it’s not reproducible - a red flag that the thought may not be true always. Another example: perhaps every time you’ve feared a catastrophe (like that people will mock you at a party), reality turned out differently (people were fine or even kind). The lack of reproduction of the feared outcome is evidence against the fear. Checking for consistency over time helps sift out flukes and distortions.
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Relevant - Is the evidence actually relevant to the claim or belief? Our minds often grab irrelevant details to support a narrative. For example - you might think, “I’m a bad parent because I yelled at my child once.” Here, the fact that you yelled once is evidence of a moment of frustration, but is it relevant evidence that you are fundamentally a bad parent? Probably not - one instance isn’t directly relevant to that sweeping conclusion. Or imagine someone with OCD thinking, “If I don’t perform this ritual, my family will be harmed.” They might cite as “evidence” that one time they skipped a ritual, something bad unrelated happened. But that’s not relevant evidence of a causal link; it’s a coincidence. Keeping an eye on relevance stops us from linking things that aren’t logically connected (a common issue in anxiety and paranoia). Always ask: Does this piece of information really prove what I think it does, or am I stretching it? Staying focused on relevant facts prevents getting distracted by dramatic but off-point details.
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Trustworthy - Trustworthiness is about the transparency and honesty of the process that produced the evidence. Applied personally: Can you trust how this conclusion was reached? If your mind jumps to “I’m in danger” without any open examination, that conclusion wasn’t derived transparently, thoughtfully - it just popped up, possibly from instinct or bias. That’s like a study where the data and methods are secret; it's hard to trust. In contrast, if you deliberately go through a fair reasoning process (like we’re doing here), you can trust the conclusion more because you know you checked it thoroughly. Sometimes it helps to spell out your reasoning: “I feel in danger because my heart is pounding and I’m recalling a past trauma, but I don’t actually see any threat here.” By making your process explicit, you’re being transparent with yourself, which builds trust in the results. Also, consider conflicts of interest in your mind: a depressive voice that “wants” you to feel bad is not a neutral source - it has an agenda (to reinforce depression). Recognise when parts of your mind might not be impartial, and verify their claims more carefully.
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Empirical - Empirical evidence means it’s based on observable, concrete data - stuff you can see, hear, measure - rather than just theory or speculation. For your purposes, favour what you directly observe in reality over what you imagine or fear. If you think, “Everyone in the room thinks I’m weird,” check the empirical evidence: What are people actually doing or saying? Are they truly staring or snickering, or are they just minding their own business? Often, you’ll find no observable evidence of what you fear - maybe someone smiled at you (a positive empirical datapoint that anxiety might dismiss). Staying empirical also means asking, “Is this claim testable in the real world?” If a thought is purely speculative and can’t be tested (For example - a paranoia that “people are secretly conspiring but they hide all evidence”), it falls outside empirical, scientific thinking. That doesn’t automatically prove it false, but a good rule of thumb: if something has no empirical support despite chances to find some, you should maintain doubt about it.
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Logical - Logical evidence or reasoning is internally consistent and follows the rules of logic. A claim should not contradict itself or conflict with well-established facts without extremely strong proof. I'd like you to please apply this by scanning your thoughts for logical fallacies or contradictions. For example - depression might make you think, “I’m a complete failure at everything.” Yet logically, you can probably list some successes or things you did well, which directly contradicts “everything.” That thought fails a logical consistency check. Or consider a paranoid thought: “My best friend, who has always supported me, is actually plotting against me, even though there’s been no change in their behaviour.” That would conflict with everything known about your friend’s character (established facts), making it illogical without new hard evidence. Logical thinking also involves deducing implications: if X were true, what else would be true? If those implied things aren’t happening, X is on shaky ground. (For example - “If I truly had mind-reading powers during mania, I should consistently know people’s secrets - but I don’t, so maybe I don’t actually have that power.”) Demanding logical coherence is a great bullshit filter for our thoughts.
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Falsifiable - This is a classic scientific concept: a claim is falsifiable if there’s a way it could be proven wrong by evidence. If a thought is set up such that nothing could ever convince you it’s wrong, then it’s not a fair or scientific claim - it’s more like a dogma or assumption. Many negative beliefs about oneself or bizarre delusions are held as if they’re unfalsifiable: For example - “No matter what anyone says, I know I’m evil/incurable, etc.” To apply falsifiability, consider: What evidence would make me change my mind? If your initial answer is “Nothing, I just know,” that’s a sign of an unfalsifiable (and likely unhelpful) belief. Try to open the door to doubt a crack: “Okay, if XYZ happened or if I found ABC evidence, then I’d consider that maybe I’m not evil (or that delusion isn’t true).” This way, you give yourself a chance to be proven wrong in a good way. For instance, a falsifiable approach to “people hate me” might be, “If even one person shows me genuine kindness, then not everyone hates me.” Lo and behold, when someone does, you update the belief. It’s hard, but holding beliefs loosely, ready to adjust if contrary evidence appears, keeps you flexible and grounded in reality.
That’s a lot of criteria! Don’t worry - you don’t need to consciously check all nine every time you have a thought. The idea is to internalise the spirit of them: strong evidence is unbiased, confirmed, consistent, directly related, trustworthy, observable, logical, and testable. By contrast, the “evidence” that mental illness serves up often falls short on many of these counts. For example - think of a common depressive thought: “Nothing will ever get better.” What is that claim based on? It might feel “true” in the moment. Still, it fails multiple Rovrrtelf tests: it’s not verified (it’s a prediction, no one can confirm the future), not reproducible (times in the past things did get a bit better), not objective (it’s coloured by current hopelessness), not logical (overgeneralising from ‘now’ to ‘forever’), etc. When you cross-examine such a thought with high standards, it starts to look flimsy - it’s exposed as a product of depression rather than a reliable fact.
Imagine your mind is a courtroom. Your troubling thought (“I’m better off dead,” “They’re all watching me,” “One drink won’t hurt,” etc.) is like a witness making a claim. Rovrrtelf is your evidence rulebook. As the judge, you demand that any claim be backed by solid evidence. Hearsay, bias, speculation - those get thrown out, or at least viewed with suspicion. Only well-supported claims get to influence the verdict. You don’t “convict” (accept a belief) unless quality evidence proves it beyond a reasonable doubt. This courtroom approach can give you a sense of authority over intrusive thoughts: they don’t get to run the show unless they prove themselves. Many will falter under such scrutiny, and that’s what we want - to not believe claims that can’t meet basic standards of truth.
Staying vigilant about evidence quality will shield against many mental distortions. It helps you say, “Hold on, thought - you’re telling me something, but do you have the goods to back it up?” Often, you’ll find the thought is all talk, no substance. And when an idea does have some substance, these criteria ensure you consider it carefully and respond wisely rather than impulsively.
Now that we’ve covered how to judge evidence, let’s discuss generating explanations and conclusions using sound reasoning. This is where different modes of reasoning come in - abductive, deductive, inductive - don’t worry, we’ll explain those next.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 3 of 13
Using All Modes of Reasoning: Abductive, Deductive, Inductive (The Three Musketeers of Thought)
Our thinking can become one-dimensional in the heat of a mental health crisis or even a stressful day. We might jump to one conclusion and stick to it. However, to approximate the truth of what’s happening, it’s helpful to approach it from multiple angles. In science, we have three broad modes of reasoning: abductive, deductive, and inductive. Think of them as three different thinking strategies. Each has strengths and weaknesses, but when used together, they complement each other. Don’t get hung up on the terms - you likely already use them intuitively. We’ll break them down with examples related to mental health:
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Abductive Reasoning - the “best guess” or hypothesis: This is what you do when you have incomplete information and you’re trying to guess the most likely explanation. It’s like being a detective at the start of a case, looking at clues and brainstorming what might have happened. Abductive reasoning is creative and intuitive - it’s where you say, “Maybe it’s like this…” For example - suppose you wake up feeling a crushing fatigue and despair. Abductive thinking kicks in: “What could be the explanation? Maybe I’m getting sick, or maybe my depression is flaring up, or maybe yesterday’s news upset me more than I realised.” You generate a hypothesis: “I think it’s my depression returning.” That’s an abductive conclusion - a tentative best guess given limited evidence (your feelings and recent events). It’s not certain, and it might be wrong, but it gives you a starting point. In psychosis, an abductive leap might be more fantastical: “I hear voices - maybe I’m receiving messages from aliens.” That is a hypothesis (albeit an unlikely one), born from trying to explain an unusual experience. Recognise these as hypotheses, not final truths. Abductive reasoning is crucial because it’s the first step in figuring things out, but it’s inherently uncertain. So we must follow up with the other modes to verify if our guess is correct.
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Deductive Reasoning - the “if-then” logic tester: Deduction applies general rules to specific cases to see what follows logically. It’s the classic if A = B and B = C, then A = C kind of reasoning. In personal terms, deduction helps you flesh out the implications of your hypothesis and check for consistency. Using the previous example, if your hypothesis is “my depression is returning,” deduction would say. If that’s true, then I might expect other signs, like loss of appetite or negative thoughts that are characteristic of my past depression. Do I observe those? If yes, it strengthens the case; if not, maybe my hypothesis needs revision. For the alien message hypothesis, deduction would ask: if they were aliens, then perhaps others would hear these broadcasts too, or there’d be some physical evidence. Or at least, the messages should convey something beyond my own knowledge. Deductive reasoning forces consistency: it tests whether the story holds together logically and aligns with known general principles. It’s saying, “Okay, assume my guess is true - what must logically follow, and do I actually see that happening?” If not, something’s off. Deduction is powerful, but only as reliable as the assumptions you start with. So you have to be careful: if you start with a false premise (“I am worthless” as a given), you might logically deduce things from it that seem sound (“therefore, no one will ever love me”), but the foundation is flawed. Always double-check those initial premises against evidence (that’s where induction comes in next).
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Inductive Reasoning - the evidence-gatherer and pattern-finder: Induction draws general conclusions from specific observations. It’s like collecting puzzle pieces and seeing what picture they form. In science, if you observe something happening repeatedly, you induce that it’s likely to happen again under similar circumstances. In your life, induction means looking at the real-world evidence and experiences to see the pattern. Continuing our example: you felt tired and despairing, suspecting depression (hypothesis), you logically deduced some predictions (other symptoms). Now, inductive reasoning has you gather data: Over the following days, you journal or observe - indeed, you notice classic depressive thoughts (“I’m no good”). You haven’t enjoyed things you usually do. These multiple observations support the depression hypothesis. Or perhaps induction shows a different pattern: maybe you’ve been sleeping poorly and skipping meals (which could indicate a contributing physical health issue). Induction sometimes surprises us - it might reveal an alternative trend we didn’t hypothesise. The key is to stay open and let the evidence shape your understanding. Inductive reasoning is empirical: it cares about what’s happening, not what should happen in theory. However, induction can be tricky because our observations might be skewed or incomplete. If you’re anxious, you might only notice when something went wrong (confirmation bias) and induce a false general rule like “everything I do fails”, forgetting many things you did fine. That’s why combining it with deduction (to check logic) and abduction (to consider other explanations for the pattern) is essential.
When you integrate all three modes, you essentially do what a good scientist (or detective) does: abduction gives you a hypothesis, deduction tells you what to expect if it’s true, and induction checks those expectations against real data. Suppose you suspect, “Maybe my friend is upset with me” (abduction). Deduction says, “If they’re upset, then when I text them I might get a short or delayed reply, or they might avoid me.” Induction: You recall they’ve actually initiated talking to you twice over the last week, and their tone seemed normal, which doesn’t fit the upset hypothesis. That might lead you to abandon or revise the hypothesis (maybe they’re not upset; perhaps something else is on your mind). By approaching the issue from multiple angles, you reach a more balanced and accurate conclusion than if you just ran with the first guess or the loudest emotion.
Awareness of these modes can help when your thinking feels stuck or one-track. If you notice, for instance, that you’re making a big assumption out of very little evidence (that’s abduction without follow-up), pause and say: “Alright, that’s one idea. Now, logically, what would that mean? And what’s the actual evidence?” Prompt yourself to do a bit of deduction and induction. Or if you find yourself overwhelmed with data points (like an anxious brain listing every possible bad thing that could happen, or every symptom you have), step back and try abduction: “Okay, given all these bits, what’s a reasonable explanation for them?” Use an abductive guess to simplify the noise, then test it.
Here’s an example that brings it together: Let’s say you have a sudden thought: “My coworkers all secretly dislike me.” This thought could come from a paranoid tinge or low self-esteem.
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Abduction: You’re forming a hypothesis (like my coworkers dislike me), perhaps based on some ambiguous signs (like two colleagues ended a conversation when you walked up). It’s a guess - one possible explanation among others (maybe they were talking about something personal, not you).
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Deduction: If they dislike you, they likely wouldn’t invite you to group events or be short with you. Also, if they dislike you, there must be a reason - did something happen? Does their behaviour consistently change around you? Deductive questions push you to consider what follows from “they dislike me” and whether it fits the broader picture coherently. Perhaps you realise one of those colleagues complimented your work last week (which wouldn’t make sense if they secretly had contempt).
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Induction: Look at actual evidence. How have coworkers acted over the past months? You may find they are generally friendly, but sometimes people are quiet due to unrelated stress. You gather instances: at the last team meeting, they listened to your ideas, and yesterday, one coworker brought you coffee. These observations induced a general pattern of treating you normally or kindly - evidence against the “dislike” hypothesis. Induction might also notice, “When I’m anxious, I interpret neutral behaviours as negative - that’s a pattern too.”
By cycling through these thinking modes, you conclude: “The weight of evidence and logic suggests my coworkers are not against me. This worry is likely a distortion of my anxiety, not reality.” That conclusion is far more solid and calming than the initial abductive leap without checks on it.
In summary, use all the tools: Abduction for hypotheses (but hold them lightly), deduction to maintain logical consistency and tease out implications, and induction to stay grounded in actual evidence. This multi-angle reasoning is a natural part of critical thinking and the scientific method. You’re training your brain to be more flexible and thorough when you practice it. Instead of getting stuck in one rigid belief or fear, you become more curious: “What’s going on here? Let’s examine it from different sides.” Curiosity is a powerful antidote to fear and despair. It shifts you from a victim of your mind to an investigator.
Even with sound reasoning, we must be wary of common errors our minds make. Let’s talk about logical fallacies and cognitive distortions - the traps in thinking that can sneak in and lead us astray. Learning to spot these is like learning to spot optical illusions; once you know it’s an illusion, it loses some power over you.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 4 of 13
Spotting “Mind Traps” - Critical Thinking and Logical Fallacies
Our brains are incredibly complex, using shortcuts to process the world quickly. Sometimes, these shortcuts backfire, leading to cognitive distortions or logical fallacies. A cognitive distortion is basically your mind lying to you, telling you something that isn’t quite true or is exaggerated, often in a way that makes you feel bad or scared. A logical fallacy is a flaw in reasoning - an argument that sounds convincing but is actually invalid or misleading. In everyday mental health struggles, these often overlap. Essentially, they are errors in thinking that can worsen anxiety, depression, and other conditions. Part of becoming a skilled thinker is identifying and gently correcting these errors when they occur.
Let’s go over a few common mind traps. As you read these, you might recognise some of the things your thoughts frequently use (many of us have a “favourite” distortion that our brain falls into under stress). Seeing them written out can be an aha! moment - “Yes! I do that all the time!” Remember, you’re not alone in these; most people experience these distortions to some degree. The difference is that in mental illness, they can become more frequent and intense. Here are some big ones to watch for:
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All-or-Nothing Thinking (Black-and-White Thinking) - Seeing things in extreme, binary terms, with no middle ground. If something isn’t perfect, you label it (or yourself) a total failure. For example - “I planned to exercise 30 minutes but only did 20, so I’m a complete failure.” This distortion ignores shades of grey - maybe 20 minutes is still a success, or at least not proof of failure. In logical terms, this is a false dichotomy (presenting only two extreme options when reality is more nuanced). Life is hardly ever purely one way or the other. Remind yourself of the continuum: missing one target doesn’t erase the partial accomplishment.
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Overgeneralisation - Drawing broad, sweeping conclusions from a single event or limited data. For example - “I felt panic during that meeting; I’m never going to be able to hold a job”, or “My relationship ended, so I’ll be alone forever.” This is like saying,g because one puzzle piece is dark, the whole puzzle must be dark, which isn’t logically valid. It’s a form of hasty generalisation in logical fallacy terms. To counter this, challenge yourself to find exceptions: one instance is not “always” or “never.” Look at evidence across time: Maybe you panicked at this meeting, but have handled others, or many people have multiple relationships before finding a lasting one.
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Catastrophising - Expecting the worst possible outcome and blowing things out of proportion. If you have a slight headache, you’re convinced it’s a brain tumour; if you make a mistake at work, you’re sure you’ll be fired and ruined. This is like taking a small spark and imagining it’ll become a world-consuming wildfire without evidence. It often involves chaining assumptions (A leads to B leads to Z, where Z is a disaster) without real proof at each step - essentially a slippery slope fallacy. When catastrophising, pause and use evidence: “What usually happens in this scenario? What’s a more likely outcome based on past experience or statistics?” Also, check relevance - is a small thing directly related to the huge fear? Often it’s not (headaches are common and rarely tumours, etc.). Even if a concern is valid, keeping it in proportion (“Maybe I’ll get reprimanded, not fired, for that mistake”) will help you cope effectively.
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Mind Reading (Jumping to Conclusions) - Assuming you know what others think (usually something negative about you) with no objective evidence. “She didn’t say hi; she must think I’m weird.” In truth, maybe she was preoccupied or didn’t see you. This is a false inference - drawing a conclusion not actually supported by the observable facts. Remind yourself you don’t have telepathy. The scientific approach would be: “I observe she didn’t say hi. I feel worried about myself, but have no confirmed evidence of her thoughts. There are other possible explanations.” Sometimes, acknowledging other possibilities (“maybe they’re having a bad day; maybe they just missed my message”) can break the spell of mind-reading.
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Emotional Reasoning - Believing that because you feel something, it must be true. This is a huge one in many mental illnesses. “I feel guilty, so I must have done something wrong.” “I feel hopeless, so my situation is hopeless.” “I feel anxious, so something bad is likely.” As the Harvard psychologist put it, your emotions become your actual view of the situation, regardless of facts. This is like saying, “If I feel it, it must be as real as a physics law.” It’s a kind of internal bias where feelings are treated as evidence, but feelings are states of mind, not objective data. They can be caused by all sorts of things (chemical changes, lack of sleep, memories). To counter emotional reasoning, consciously separate the two: feeling vs. fact. Tell yourself: “I feel [worthless or scared, etc.]; that is real as a feeling. But what evidence is there that [I am worthless/things are truly scary]? Let me not assume my feelings = reality.” You’ll often find the external evidence doesn’t align with the internal emotion. This doesn’t make the emotion vanish immediately, but it puts it in context, like, “Okay, this is my depression talking, not an objective truth.” It helps to say, “Just because I feel it, doesn’t make it true.” That mantra can cut through the fog for a moment.
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Personalisation and Self-Blame - Blaming yourself for things you weren’t (fully) responsible for, or assuming others’ actions are reactions to you. Example: a friend cancels plans and you immediately think it’s because you did something wrong or you’re not likable, when they might be sick or busy. Or if something bad happens, you find a way to fault yourself (“If only I had done X differently, this wouldn’t have happened”), even when it was out of your control. This is basically an illogical attribution of cause: assuming you are the central cause of every adverse event. It’s a form of egocentric bias - not selfish in a vain way, but assuming undue responsibility. Combat this by actively considering other factors: Could some reasons have nothing to do with me? What evidence do I have that it was me? Often, you’ll find you’re taking on blame without justification. Relevant evidence is key - if none of the facts actually implicate you, acquit yourself without a trial.
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“Should” Statements - Rigid rules for yourself (or others) that lead to guilt or anger. “I should be able to handle this; I must never inconvenience anyone; people should always be fair.” While principles are sound, turning life into an inflexible list of “shoulds” makes you feel constantly inadequate or resentful. It’s like you’re running on a strict program, and any deviation is a critical error. Psychologically, this often amplifies depression and anxiety because you’re never measuring up to perfection. Notice these in your self-talk and try to soften them. Replace “should” with something like “It would be nice if… but it’s not always so.” For example - “I wish I could handle everything smoothly, but I’m human and sometimes I need help.” Or “It’d be ideal if people were always fair, but sometimes they aren’t - it doesn’t mean I did something to deserve it.” This shift reduces absolutism. In logical terms, “should” statements can be a moralistic fallacy - assuming the world must conform to how you think it ought to be. Unfortunately, it doesn’t, and holding that too tightly causes suffering.
Those are just a few examples; there are many named distortions (magnification/minimisation, labelling, etc.), but they all boil down to faulty reasoning patterns. The great thing is, once you learn to recognise a distortion, it’s like seeing the code in the Matrix - the next time that pattern appears in your mind, you can call it out: “Ah, I’m catastrophising again,” or “This is that all-or-nothing thinking.” That recognition alone often reduces the thought’s power, because you realise it’s a known trick. It’s no longer just reality; it’s a thought distortion layered on reality.
Think of these distortions as gremlins that whisper fake news in your mental ear. By naming them, you shine a light on them. “I hear you, Gremlin of Catastrophe, but I know your game and I’m not falling for it without evidence.” Use a bit of humour if you can - sometimes poking fun at the absurdity of a distortion helps defang it. (“Okay, brain, you’re telling me because I spilled my coffee, and I’m going to die penniless and alone? Nice try, that’s a classic slippery slope. Next!”) That kind of internal dialogue is far healthier than silently accepting every awful story your anxious or depressed brain concocts.
Critical thinking in this context is about being sceptical about your thoughts when needed. Not cynical, not dismissive of everything - just maintaining a healthy doubt, especially toward thoughts that cause extreme negative emotions. Healthy scepticism asks: Is that necessarily true? Where’s the evidence? Am I jumping to conclusions? This is precisely what we did with Rovrrtelf and scientific thinking above, applied in real-time to cognitive distortions.
Learning about formal logical fallacies (like ad hominem, circular reasoning, etc.) is also helpful because they appear not just in debates but in our internal rationale. For example - an ad hominem fallacy attacks the person instead of the argument. You might do this to yourself in your head: “I failed that test because I’m an idiot.” That’s attacking yourself (the person) rather than examining the reasons (maybe you didn’t study this one topic, etc.). Recognising that as a kind of fallacy might prompt you to instead focus on reasons and solutions, not self-insults. Another one: false cause (post hoc) - assuming correlation implies causation. The mind might think, “Ever since I started taking this medication, bad things have happened; it must be causing bad luck.” Probably not - but the coincidence tricks you. Knowing about these common fallacies, you can catch your brain making one.
You don’t need to memorise every distortion or fallacy to avoid getting overwhelmed. A good rule of thumb in critical thinking is to be especially sceptical of thoughts that are very extreme, all-encompassing, or emotion-driven. Those are likely to contain a thinking error. If a thought says “always, never, everyone, no one, completely, impossible,” etc., step back and analyse it. Life usually isn’t that absolute. Similarly, if a thought makes you feel urgently compelled to act or horribly ashamed of yourself, it deserves extra scrutiny - high emotions can indicate lower objectivity. Take a breath and say, “This feels intense. Let me slow down and think it through, or maybe run it by someone I trust for a second opinion.” There’s wisdom in the saying “Don’t make permanent decisions based on temporary emotions.” Critical thinking is a circuit-breaker between feeling and doing, giving you time to ensure sound reasoning.
Lastly, critical thinking is not opposed to emotions or intuition - it just keeps them honest. You don’t have to turn into Spock from Star Trek, void of feeling. It’s more like being a friendly mentor to your impulsive self: “I hear that you’re feeling X and want to do Y; let’s double-check if that makes sense or if there’s another way to see it.” Combining compassion for your emotional side with a critical eye on your thoughts, you’re effectively using both heart and mind. In truth, critical thinking serves your deeper goals and values - it helps ensure that your actions (or beliefs) in response to emotions lead you toward healing and fulfilment, rather than deeper into suffering or falsehood.

Guide to Mental Illness
Part 5 of 13
Clarity and Curiosity: Embracing an Analytical Philosophy Mindset
The term analytical philosophy might sound academic, but in practice, it’s about clear thinking and deep questioning, which can significantly aid anyone dealing with mental illness. In Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS), analytical philosophy contributes precision, clarity, and rigorous logic to our framework. What does that mean for you day-to-day? It means really examining the meanings of your thoughts and the basis of what you believe. When your mind throws a heavy statement at you like “Life has no meaning” or “I’m permanently damaged,” analytical thinking encourages you to pause and ask: What do I mean by “meaning”? What do I mean by “damaged”? Are those concepts clearly defined, or am I using vague, loaded language that makes me feel worse? Often, we find that our darkest thoughts use fuzzy or exaggerated concepts. By clarifying them, we can defang them.
Conceptual Analysis - Define your terms: Philosophers are big on defining terms, so everyone’s on the same page. You can do this internally. Suppose you think, “I’m a failure.” Instead of just accepting that and feeling awful, dissect it: What does “failure” mean to me? Is it someone who has never succeeded at anything? Someone who made a mistake? Someone who isn’t as successful as others? You might find that your definition is either overly harsh or unclear. Perhaps you realise you’re labelling yourself a “failure” just because you lost a job. But define “failure”: does one setback equate to being a failure as a person? Probably not - many successful people have failures in their journey. By clarifying the concept, you see the distortion. Maybe a more precise thought is “I failed at this task, but that doesn’t make me a failure as a person.” Words like “loser,” “crazy,” “messed up” - what do those actually mean? We throw them at ourselves without clarity. Pin them down: In what ways am I saying I’m messed up? Are those permanent traits or temporary states? The more specific you get, the more you often realise these global labels don’t hold up. This is precisely what analytical philosophy encourages: avoid ambiguity and define what you mean. It brings emotional relief because a nebulous cloud of self-condemnation becomes a specific issue that can be addressed.
Similarly, with experiences: if you have a belief about the world, for example - “The world is cruel,” analyse concepts: what counts as “cruel” vs “kind”? Is it 100% cruel, or am I focusing on the cruel parts? By refining the concept, you might shift to “There is cruelty in the world that hurts me, but there is also kindness that I sometimes overlook.” That’s a more nuanced, accurate view, which usually feels less hopeless. Clarity is empowering - it’s hard to fight shadows, but if you identify what the “shadow” is (give it shape and definition), you can do something about it or at least come to terms with it more rationally.
Examine the logic of arguments (Philosophical Logic): This overlaps with critical thinking and fallacies, but analytical philosophy brings an extra rigour. It suggests systematically checking whether the conclusions actually follow from the premises. In your context, take a strong belief like “I can’t trust anyone because I was betrayed once.” The structure of that internal argument might be: One person betrayed me, then People are betrayers, then therefore, I should trust no one. If you lay it out, you can spot the leaps. The first premise is a fact (one betrayal). The second is a vast generalisation (logical leap not justified by one case). So the conclusion doesn’t sound logically valid. An analytical approach would challenge each step: Is it true that “people are betrayers” as a rule? What about all the evidence of trustworthy people? You might identify a confirmation bias: remembering betrayals but forgetting loyalty you’ve experienced. Philosophical logic would also ask if alternative explanations have been considered. Maybe that one betrayal says more about that person (or circumstance) than about humanity. You prevent a local incident from warping your global worldview by scrutinising the argument.
This method is especially useful for paranoia or conspiratorial thinking accompanying certain mental states. If you have an elaborate belief (“X is after me because of Y, and Z is in on it”), laying out each assumption and inference on paper can illuminate. You might see that it requires a chain of things to be true, many of which have little evidence. Logical analysis asks: Where might there be a fallacy? Where might I be assuming causation without proof?. For instance, just because two events happened (you shared a secret with someone, and later felt people were avoiding you) doesn’t prove the second was caused by the first - correlation isn’t necessarily causation. Maybe people were busy, not avoiding you because of gossip. By dissecting the logic, you can catch these flaws.
Epistemology - How do I know what I think I know? Epistemology is a big word that means the study of knowledge: how we know things and what justifies a belief as knowledge. In personal practice, it means asking yourself: “Okay, I have this belief - but how do I know it? What evidence and process led me here?” This ties directly into everything we’ve discussed: evidence standards, reasoning, etc. It’s a mindset of not taking your own beliefs for granted. For example - you might believe “I’ll never get better.” Epistemology nudges: “What is this belief based on? Is it based on a feeling (like despair)? Is it based on a careful projection from data? Has it been tested, or is it assumed?” Likely, “never get better” is not something you can truly know - it’s a pessimistic assumption. Realising you don’t actually know that for a fact can lessen its grip. It becomes one possibility rather than an ordained fate.
Philosophers also talk about justification: Is a belief well-founded or not? If you find a belief isn’t well justified (like “I just sorta feel this way but have no strong evidence”), you can mark it as provisional or suspect. This aligns with Rovrrtelf: Are my methods for arriving at this belief solid (transparent, bias-free)? If not, maybe I shouldn’t be too confident in it. Epistemology encourages humility - recognising the limits of what you actually know. Mental illness often convinces you of some very stark “truths” (“I am undeserving of love”, for instance). But through an epistemic lens, you ask: Can I be absolutely sure of that? What experiences would verify or refute it? You might find that you’ve selectively interpreted events to fit that belief, but you’ve ignored counter-evidence (like people who care about you). In effect, you realise that belief was not adequately justified - it was a biased narrative. This realisation can loosen the belief’s hold and open you to forming a more balanced view.
Analytical thinking also means being open to questioning fundamental assumptions. Sometimes, we operate under the hood with deep-seated beliefs that cause suffering. For instance, a trauma survivor might have an implicit belief, “The world is completely unsafe.” That assumption colours everything with fear. Analytical philosophy would encourage bringing that assumption to light and questioning it: Is the world 100% unsafe? What evidence do I have for and against that? Perhaps you find that while certain places or people were unsafe (and that knowledge is valid), some places or people have proven safe. So maybe the assumption needs refining: "Some situations are unsafe, but not all. I can seek out and build safer environments.” The act of questioning the assumption doesn’t invalidate your experiences; it just prevents a blanket generalisation from dictating your whole life.
Embracing uncertainty and being okay with “I don’t know”: A part of an analytical, philosophical mindset is realising it’s OK not to have all the answers. In fact, Mystrikism emphasises humility in the face of the unknown. When dealing with mental illness, this can translate to accepting that some questions (like “Why did this happen to me?” or “Exactly when will I be better?”) might not have clear answers right now. Instead of forcing a possibly distorted answer (which might be self-blaming or overly fatalistic), you can say, “I don’t know for sure, and that’s alright. What I do know is the next step I can take today.” Focus on what you can know and do, and allow some uncertainty about the big picture. This intellectual humility protects you from adopting grand but unhelpful narratives (For example - concluding “I’m cursed” or some absolute meaning that only worsens despair). It’s okay to leave some things as “to be determined with more evidence and time.” Life, like science, is often about living with questions and refining our understanding as we go.
By cultivating this analytical mindset, you become a philosopher of your own mind. You treat thoughts not just as automatic outputs to obey, but as propositions to be examined. You seek clarity in what you mean, soundness in how you reason, and proof in what you claim to know. This doesn’t mean you’ll resolve every deep philosophical issue of life (people have been debating those forever!), but it means you’ll cut through a lot of the confusion that worsens mental illness. You replace fuzzy dread with clear questions and critical analysis. You replace self-judgment with investigation. Over time, this can rebuild your worldview on more solid, realistic ground, less likely to churn up extreme emotions or false hopes or fears.
To summarise the first part of this guide: Using the Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) means approaching your mental experiences with curiosity, rigour, and compassion. You observe and question like a scientist, demand good evidence before believing something, reason from multiple angles, spot thinking errors, and clarify your thoughts like a philosopher. You become both sceptic and believer in balance - sceptical of thoughts that haven’t earned belief, but a believer in the possibility of truth emerging from careful inquiry. In doing so, you align with what is real, as best as one can tell, rather than being swept away by illusions your brain might conjure.
In the next part, let’s get more practical and specific. We’ll look at how to apply these principles in particular mental health challenges - from psychotic episodes where distinguishing reality is particularly tough, to mood swings of bipolar, to the pit of depression, the whirlwind of anxiety, the grip of addiction, and the haunting flashbacks of trauma. In each case, we’ll consider how the IPS can guide you and acknowledge the unique difficulties (and what to do when logic alone isn’t enough). Remember, you don’t have to have the exact diagnosis to benefit from each section - the insights often cross-apply, because these conditions all involve being human under extreme circumstances. Let’s explore these scenarios with both understanding and practical tips.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 6 of 13
Applying the IPS to Specific Mental Health Challenges
Every mental health condition has its own “flavour” of distortions and difficulties. Yet, the principles we discussed can be adapted to each. In this section, we’ll go through a few conditions (or symptom clusters) - psychosis, mania, depression, anxiety, addiction, and trauma flashbacks - and look at how you might use the Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) in each, as well as special considerations. You might see yourself in one or several of these descriptions. Take whatever is useful; you don’t need a formal diagnosis to find value in these insights. They are offered in the spirit of compassionate understanding, not labelling.
When Reality Breaks: Psychosis and Schizophrenia
Few experiences are as disorienting as psychosis, when you lose some contact with what others call reality. This can involve hallucinations (seeing or hearing things that others don’t) or delusions (fixed beliefs that others find false or strange). First, let’s acknowledge how scary and real these experiences feel. It can be utterly convincing if you hear a voice narrating your actions. If you believe you’re being watched or persecuted, no amount of someone saying “it’s not real” makes the fear less. So if you’re going through this, have immense compassion for yourself - it’s like your mind is stuck in a waking dream that feels real. The IPS can help you test and navigate these experiences, but they may not simply erase them. Typically, a combination of medication and therapy is used for conditions like schizophrenia. Still, honing reality-testing skills can give you more agency and reduce distress.
One key concept for psychosis is insight - the understanding that what you’re experiencing is due to an illness and not “true” reality. Some people with psychosis have partial or full insight, others have none (they believe entirely in the delusion). Lack of insight is a symptom of the illness - it’s not a moral failing. If you have even a small voice in you that questions the reality of your psychotic experiences, you can nurture that voice using the IPS. Think of it as the grounded part of you that can act as a scientist. Even if 90% of you is convinced aliens are sending you messages, if 10% wonders if it might be hallucinations, that 10% is precious. It’s your lifeline back to shared reality.
How to reality-test during psychosis? It’s challenging but possible, with practice. Start with the simplest checks:
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Compare with others’ perceptions - If you see or hear something odd and are with someone you trust, ask them gently. “Do you hear that music? No? Okay, maybe it’s just me.” You might feel vulnerable doing this, but a good friend or family member who knows your struggles can anchor you. If you’re alone, a quick phone call to a trusted person (“Hey, is there a news report about X happening right now?”) can provide verification. Hallucinations and delusions are often not shared by others, so others’ feedback is a powerful reality-check. (Caveat: some delusions come with distrust of others, so you might think the other person is “in on it” and lying. This is tough, but if you chose this person as a trusted ally ahead of time, remind yourself why you trust them.)
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Cross-check with devices or records - Our smartphones can be tools - For example - If you hear voices next door plotting against you, you might use your phone’s recorder for a few minutes and then play it back. Does it capture any voices or just silence? Or if you think something happened (like you received a divine text message), check the actual text log. Use the empirical approach: Is there concrete evidence? In one case, a person had delusions that there were hidden cameras; they used a radio frequency detector device to check - a bit extreme, but it helped show nothing was there. Use technology and objective measures when possible to verify or falsify the experience. Falsifiability is key: look for what would prove the belief wrong. For example - “If I were being watched, I should find a camera or wire; let me sweep the room or have someone do it.” If none is found after thorough checking, that is significant evidence that it’s the mind misfiring.
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Keep a “reality journal” - When you’re in a clearer state (perhaps when medication is working or during lucid periods), write a letter to your psychotic self. Remind yourself of your illness and that sometimes you see/hear things. List your common hallucinations or delusions (“voices that say cruel things,” “feeling of being monitored,” etc.) and explicitly state, when you are well, that these are symptoms, not reality. You can even include quotes from your doctor or therapist, reinforcing that. Then, try reading that letter when you are in the thick of it. It’s like a message in a bottle from the rational part of you. It might not fully convince you in that moment, but it could create doubt about the hallucination’s veracity and encourage you to postpone drastic actions.
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Apply Rovrrtelf to delusions - This is hard, but try to step back and evaluate the evidence for a delusional belief. For instance, say the belief is “My phone is bugged by the government.” Reliable source? - an inner feeling of being special or persecuted, not very reliable. Objective? - Or is it influenced by fear? Verified? - Others (family) don’t believe it, and no technician has found a bug. Reproducible? - Is every phone you get bugged, or is it just this? Relevant evidence? - Maybe you noticed phone static (could be an irrelevant technical issue, not proof of a bug). Trustworthy process? - The idea came when you were sleep-deprived or high (not trustworthy conditions). Empirical? - You haven’t found the bug physically. Logical? - Why would the government bug an ordinary citizen with no crimes? Falsifiable? - What would disprove it? (finding no device upon thorough inspection should). Going through this can be anxiety-provoking, and a deeply held delusion will generate counter-arguments for each point (“They’re very sophisticated, you can’t find the bug”). But planting seeds of doubt is still a win. Even noting contradictions (“They bug every phone I get, but no technician ever finds anything faulty with my phones”) is useful. Over time, maybe these doubts accumulate until the delusion weakens.
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Leverage professional help - Therapists doing CBT for psychosis often gently guide patients to test beliefs in safe ways. If you have access to therapy, this can significantly reinforce your use of the IPS. Even group therapy can help - hearing others’ perspectives can provide immediate reality feedback (“No, we don’t see that - but we believe you are seeing it internally” - validating your experience but not its reality).
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Grounded in simple physical reality - During hallucinations, grounding techniques (described in the trauma section) can also help focus on what’s around you that’s real (the feel of a chair, the sound of your breathing). It might not dispel the hallucination, but it balances your attention between false and true perceptions. Think of it like having one foot in the real world. For example - if you hear voices, try simultaneously to hold an ice cube and note its coldness. The cold is real and present; the voices are less tangible. That contrast sometimes helps your brain recalibrate which input to prioritise.
Finally, be patient and forgiving with yourself. Schizophrenia and related disorders literally involve your brain misprocessing sensory information. It’s not something you can just “logic away” entirely. However, what you can do is reduce the impact: not immediately believe or act on a psychotic thought, but instead implement the strategies above. This can keep you safer and more grounded, and over time, you may actually train better insight (many people with schizophrenia learn to identify hallucinations - For example - “the voices are back, but I know these are my illness, I don’t have to do what they say”). Every time you successfully reality-test (even if it’s after the fact, like reflecting “I guess that was a hallucination because it didn’t continue or no one else noticed it”), you strengthen your grip on reality for next time. It’s a continual process. Celebrate small victories, like recognising a delusion as a delusion even one time, or delaying an action because you wanted to check it out first. Those are huge wins in the context of psychosis.
Above all, maintain hope: psychotic disorders may not “cure” easily, but people absolutely can and do lead meaningful lives with them, especially by combining medication with approaches like this. You collaborate with your treatment using the IPS, actively engaging your cognitive resources to supplement the medical interventions. You become a participant in your own healing, not just a patient. That can feel empowering in an illness that often makes one feel powerless.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 7 of 13
Riding the Highs Safely: Bipolar Mania and Hypomania
Living with bipolar disorder can sometimes feel like being on a roller coaster that you didn’t buy a ticket for. The depressive lows we’ll address soon, but the manic or hypomanic highs present their own challenges. Mania can be seductive - you might feel energetic, euphoric, creative, and confident. Ideas race, and everything seems crystal clear and important. But mania can also drastically impair judgment: impulsivity soars, and you might do risky or harmful things without seeing the consequences in the moment. It’s like being intoxicated on your own brain’s chemicals - and just as a drunk person shouldn’t drive, a person in mania may need to avoid “driving” major life decisions until they’re more sober, mentally. Here’s how IPS can help keep you safe and grounded during the highs:
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Recognise the early signs - Critical thinking can help you catch when you’re starting to tip from a healthy, happy mood into a manic one. Bipolar folks often learn their personal red flags: needing less sleep without feeling tired, mind speeding up, increased talkativeness, grandiose plans, etc.. If you notice, “Hmm, I only slept 3 hours but I feel amazing - maybe too amazing,” that’s a cue. The scientific mindset would say: Observation: decreased sleep, increased energy; Hypothesis: I might be entering hypomania. If you catch it early, you can intentionally apply brakes: alert your doctor, use coping skills, or at least be cautious with decisions. It’s much harder to rein in once full-blown mania hits, so early detection through self-monitoring is key. You might even use a mood journal to track daily patterns (data gathering inductively) so you have evidence of mood trends rather than relying on recall.
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Reality-check grandiose ideas - In mania, it’s common to develop inflated ideas about yourself or what you can do (For example - thinking you have special powers, or deciding to invest all your money in a spur-of-the-moment business because you’re sure it’ll succeed wildly). When such an idea strikes, use Rovrrtelf and reasoning before acting. Reliable? - Is this idea coming from your usual rational mind or a manic surge? (If you’re manic, be wary: your mind is not in its most reliable state right now.) Objective? - Are you evaluating the idea without bias? Probably not, mania makes everything seem brilliant. Verified? - Run it by someone you trust who is not manic. If you say, “I have this great plan to quit my job and travel the world making a documentary” and your best friend (who’s seen you manic before) goes, “Uh, this sounds like when you wanted to start three companies last time you were manic,” that’s outside feedback. Reproducible? - Have you had similar “epiphanies” in past manias that, later, in calmer times, you realised were unrealistic? If yes, that pattern tells you to be cautious now. Relevant evidence? - Say you believe you have a special insight or ability; is there concrete evidence backing that up, or is it just a feeling? For example - mania might make you think “I’m a musical genius!” - yet you’ve never actually learned music; that feeling isn’t relevant evidence of actual skill. Logical? - Check the logic: “If I have special powers, then I should be able to do X; can I really?” It’s not about crushing dreams, but about preventing harm. Write the idea down, wait a week (if you can) and see if you still think it’s great once the mood has levelled - a time test for reproducibility of your conviction. During mania, delay important decisions deliberately, like a scientist delaying a conclusion until more data is in. This strategy can save you from common manic pitfalls (quitting jobs, spending sprees, reckless driving, sudden relationship changes, etc.).
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Use trusted others as your extended mind - In mania, insight can slip - you might not fully see you’re ill. That’s why having a support system is often emphasised. Give a few close people (family, close friends, therapist) “permission” ahead of time to tell you when they see you acting unlike your usual self. And when they do, listen to them (that’s the hard part in mania). You could even have a pre-made agreement: For example - “If I start talking about taking on huge new projects and not sleeping, my sister has the right to hold onto my credit cards for a bit or call my doctor.” It might feel intrusive, but remember, it’s an evidence-backed safety measure - your past experience (evidence) shows you that mania can derail your life, so you’re taking preventative action. In rational moments, you know this to be wise. Think of outsourcing some critical thinking to others when yours might be compromised. It’s analogous to how intoxicated people might hand their keys to a sober friend. There’s no shame in that; it’s being responsible. The Union of rational minds around you can catch you when your reasoning falters.
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Mind the impulse vs logic gap - One hallmark of mania is acting on impulse rather than logic, because everything is fast and urgent. You might feel you must act now - buy this now, go there now, say this now. The truth is, most things can wait. Use the seven-step decision-making process: identify the decision, gather info, examine options with logic and emotion, weigh alternatives, decide, act, evaluate. In mania, you tend to skip the earlier steps. Train yourself (maybe literally write a big note on your wall) to “Pause - Take 3 deep breaths - Reconsider” whenever you feel a strong urge. Breathing will slow the racing thoughts a bit (physiologically calming). Then quickly ask: What are the possible consequences if I do this? - something mania often pushes aside. Visualise the likely outcome (For example - “If I send this angry email to my boss at 3am, I could get fired…do I really want that?”). You might still feel like you don’t care in the moment (mania often diminishes fear of consequence), but intellectually spelling it out might stay your hand at least temporarily. Another trick: if you can’t trust your mind, trust time. Say, “I’ll do this in 2 hours if I still want to.” Many impulses, if not acted on immediately, lose some power. In mania, 2 hours may allow a slight mood shift or someone to intervene. If 2 hours is too long, try 10 minutes. Anything to break the immediacy.
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Document during mania, review after - If you’re very elevated and it’s hard to judge, try keeping logs of what you’re doing or planning. Even voice memos. Then, when you return to baseline, review them. Seeing what you wrote in mania can be eye-opening (sometimes embarrassing). This retrospective analysis can strengthen future insight - you’ll recognise “manic thinking” patterns versus your normal thinking. Maybe during mania, you wrote “I feel great on 3hrs of sleep, sleep is such a waste!” and later you realise how harmful that is (since sleep deprivation worsens mania). Next time you start thinking “sleep is optional,” you might remember that was the illness talking. Over time, this builds a kind of internal guidebook: “Things my brain tends to do in mania that I should question.” For many, that includes unrealistic optimism (“everything will turn out fine no matter what I do!”), which needs a counterpoint: in mania, you feel invincible, but objectively, your actions still have real consequences.
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Plan for the crash (depression) or anger - Sometimes mania flips to irritation or a crash. While manic, some of you might acknowledge, “I won’t always feel this high, I need to not mess things up for future me.” Future-you (the depressed or stable you) will thank manic-you for not destroying relationships or finances. It’s almost like leaving a gift for your later self: restraint. It might help to recall how painful the consequences were last time. Use evidence from past episodes as a motivator to apply the brakes now. For example - “Last time I went off meds in mania, I ended up hospitalised - therefore I will not do that this time, even though I feel I don’t need meds now.” That is evidence-based decision-making trumping the in-the-moment feeling.
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Be compassionate but firm with yourself - When stable, you can reflect on mania with a plan: “When I feel amazing and start dismissing all this carefulness, I will remind myself that this is a symptom. I deserve to feel good, but I also deserve to not wreck my life. So I will treat myself like a friend who’s a bit drunk with love, but I won’t hand them the car keys.” It’s weird to think of not trusting your own mind, but that’s part of managing bipolar - recognising that at times your mind (like an intoxicated friend) is not in a state to be fully trusted. And that’s okay, because you have tools and allies to lean on during those times.
Using Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) in mania largely centres on injecting analysis and evidence into a state that wants to run on pure instinct and emotion. It’s a counterbalance. You probably won’t be able to analyse as deeply or slowly as when calm, mania won’t let you. But even a little bit of critical thinking (“Is this a good idea or my mania?”) can prevent worse outcomes. Even if you can’t stop all impulsive behaviour, maybe you can stop the dangerous ones. That’s a victory. If you do slip and something bad happens, don’t waste time on guilt - as soon as you regain some control, use it to mitigate damage and seek help. Learn from it without beating yourself up; bipolar is hard enough without self-blame.
Finally, please make sure you follow your treatment plan (medications, therapy, routines). The scientific evidence shows that medication (like mood stabilisers) significantly reduces the frequency and intensity of episodes for bipolar disorder. That is external data you shouldn’t ignore. When manic, you might feel “I don’t need meds” - but remember, that feeling is not reliable evidence. The reliable evidence is in decades of research and your own history that treatment helps. Treat that knowledge as an anchor to keep you following the plan even when your mood wants to stray. It’s humbling, but “trust the science” applies here strongly.
In summary for mania: Slow down, verify, and double-check anything significant. Use your rational mind and trust others as speed limits and guardrails. That way, you can enjoy some of the creativity or productivity that a mild hypomania might bring (some people do have positive aspects) without letting it veer into destructive territory. Balanced bipolar management is possible - many individuals live full lives by navigating the extremes with strategies like these. You are essentially learning to surf the waves rather than being wiped out by them.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 8 of 13
Climbing Out of the Abyss: Depression and Depressive Distortions
Depression can be like a thick fog that not only makes everything feel bleak but also distorts your thinking in profoundly convincing ways. When you’re depressed, you don’t just feel sad; you might believe utterly negative things about yourself, your future, and the world. These beliefs feel like cold, hard truths in the moment. For instance: “I am worthless,” “Nothing will ever improve,” “People would be better off without me.” These are not objective truths - they are cognitive distortions fuelled by depression - but to the depressed mind, they are extremely convincing. It’s as if depression is a lens that filters out any positive or realistic thought, only allowing negative interpretations through. Understanding this is important: depression is a liar. A very believable liar.
Using Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) during depression involves a lot of gentle evidence-gathering and questioning of those negative thoughts, even when you have little energy or hope. It also requires a good dose of self-compassion, because depression often comes with guilt and worthlessness that can make you resistant to being kind to yourself. So, as we apply these tools, do so with a nurturing inner voice, not a harsh one.
Spot the distortions and label them - Earlier we discussed cognitive distortions; depression is basically a playground for many of them: overgeneralisation (“Everything is terrible”), disqualifying the positive (ignoring any good thing as a fluke ), mental filter (focusing only on the negatives ), all-or-nothing thinking (“If I’m not highly successful, I’m a total failure”), emotional reasoning (“I feel unloved, therefore I am unlovable”), etc. In depression, identifying these patterns is an act of critical thinking that can start to crack the facade of the absolute truth they have. For example - if you think, “I’ll never amount to anything,” recognise that as overgeneralisation and fortune-telling (predicting a negative future). Once you label it, remind yourself that this is a known distortion. It doesn’t magically make you feel great, but it plants a seed of doubt: Maybe this thought isn’t 100% true; maybe it’s the depression talking.
Even saying to yourself, “This is my depression voice speaking,” creates a slight separation between you and the thought. That’s a big win. It means some part of you knows these thoughts are suspect. Cultivate that part. Some people even give their depression persona a nickname (like “the Dark Cloud” or such) to externalise it. “Oh, Dark Cloud is telling me I’m worthless again. Classic.” This technique from CBT externalises the illness, so you can fight the thought without feeling like you’re fighting yourself.
Examine the evidence, even if you think you already “know” the answer - Depression tends to feel like “I’ve analysed my life and concluded it’s garbage.” Still, in truth, the analysis is biased and incomplete. Use the Rovrrtelf spirit: demand evidence for those bleak conclusions. For “I am worthless,” what is the evidence? Depression will rush to provide some: “I made X mistake, Y person left me, I don’t have a job,” etc. Okay, those might be things that happened. But are they reliable and sufficient evidence of worthlessness? Probably not. You’re likely ignoring contrary evidence: times you helped someone, things you did accomplish, and people who care about you (even if you feel they shouldn’t). Objective? - Is this assessment coming from a neutral place or a place of pain and low self-esteem? Obviously, it’s coloured by despair (not objective). Verified? - Do others agree you’re worthless? Likely not; depression often makes people feel like a burden even when loved ones value them. If you asked someone who cares about you, they’d challenge that thought. Reproducible? - Have you always been “worthless” in every context, or is this a conclusion drawn in a low point? Perhaps you used to feel differently about yourself. That means this conclusion is state-dependent. Relevant? - You might cite one domain (say, getting fired from a job) as evidence of global worthlessness, which is a relevance error (job performance is one part of life, not the entirety of your worth). Logical? - Watch for illogical leaps, like “I feel worthless, therefore I am” (emotional reasoning again).
Now, doing this examination in the depths of depression is hard. Your energy is low, and your concentration is poor. It might help to write it down. Write the thought and then write arguments for and against it, almost like a debate on paper. Even if the “against” side feels weak, write it anyway: list facts that contradict the thought, no matter how small. For “I am worthless,” an against fact could be “My friend called me yesterday - maybe they enjoy my company, which implies I have worth to them.” Or “I raised two kind children”, or “I am caring for my pet.” No achievement is too small to count as evidence of worth! Depression will scoff and say, “That doesn’t count” (disqualifying the positive ), but this is where you firmly say, “Actually, it does count. Why wouldn’t it count? Just because I’m depressed doesn’t mean saving that stray cat was meaningless. It was a good thing I did.” Use some philosophical logic to ensure you’re not dismissing evidence unfairly.
Challenge the permanence and pervasiveness - Depression often convinces you that the awful present feeling is permanent (“It will always be like this”) and pervasive (“everything in life is bad”). This is fortune-telling and overgeneralisation at their worst. Here’s where a scientific outlook really helps: remind yourself that depression is a state that tends to be episodic. Thousands of people who felt like you do have later improved (through therapy, medication, time, life changes). The data shows depression is treatable and episodes often remit. Also, think back (if this isn’t your first depressive episode or even if it is): have you ever felt even slightly better than you do now, at some point in the past? If yes, then it’s not true that “I always feel this way.” Therefore, it’s not guaranteed you’ll always feel this way in the future either (inductive reasoning: moods change). If this is the first time ever and it’s been months, you may feel like there was never a time you weren’t depressed, but logically, you know at age 5 you weren’t like this - something changed, and so it can change again. Depression can cause memory bias where you literally recall past events more negatively than they were, and have trouble imagining future happiness. Recognise that as a symptom, not an insight, a symptom. You can even cite authority: “My depressed brain is known to make me think this will never end, but that’s a known cognitive symptom of depression. I won’t buy it at face value.”
Use small experiments to combat hopelessness - The scientific method suggests experimentation. Depression might give you a hypothesis: “Nothing I do will help or bring joy.” Test this systematically with tiny experiments. For example - hypothesis: “I won’t enjoy a walk at all.” Experiment: take a 10-minute walk and mindfully note your feelings. Maybe you find that, indeed, you didn’t enjoy it much - but did you feel even 5% better or distracted? If yes, that’s a result: the hypothesis “no benefit” is falsified, at least partially. Or “Talking to a friend won’t help.” Try a short call and see if your mood shifts during or after.
You might still feel depressed, but perhaps the conversation was engaging for a few minutes, a positive data point. Track these outcomes. You are gathering evidence to dispute the belief that “nothing helps.” Depression often requires multiple activities and consistent effort to improve significantly (plus often professional treatment), but finding any activity that even slightly elevates mood or lowers anxiety is like finding a clue for hope. Document these clues. For example - you might discover, “When I journal my thoughts, I feel a tiny release.” That’s evidence against “nothing helps.” It’s essential to notice and give credit to any positive effect, no matter how small, otherwise depression will brush it off. This is like doing reproducibility tests: try something that has helped even a bit before, and see if it helps again. Over time, you could accumulate a list of “things that (even marginally) help when I’m depressed.” This list is gold, because in a really dark time, you can look at it and think, “I don’t believe anything will help, but I’ll trust my past-self’s experiments and try one of these.” Essentially, you trust the evidence you gathered when you were perhaps slightly less depressed to guide you when you’re more depressed.
Fight the urge to isolate (with logic) - Depression often makes people withdraw and isolate, yet isolation usually makes depression worse - a cruel paradox. Part of the reason is depression making you think “I’m no good company” or “no one wants to be burdened by me,” which is mind-reading and self-deprecation combined. Use reason: if you have friends or family who have expressed care, it’s unlikely they consider you a burden just because you’re sad. If the roles were reversed, would you consider them a burden? Probably not; you’d want to help. Thus, logically, there’s a good chance they feel similarly about you.
Furthermore, if you isolate, you are removing potential sources of evidence that contradict depressive thoughts. For example - spending time with a loved one might give evidence “someone cares about me,” which directly challenges “I’m worthless” or “no one cares.” Depression “knows” this on some level and so compels isolation to protect its narrative. See that for what it is - a tactic of the illness to sustain itself. If you can push yourself gently to reach out or at least be around people, you might inadvertently collect evidence against the depression (someone smiles at you or you have a genuine moment of laughter at a joke, proving you can feel a positive emotion, etc.). Also, others can offer an external perspective you can’t see - like a friend reminding you of a strength or a past success you’ve forgotten. These are data points that depression has hidden from you. Let others help uncover them.
Beware of suicidal thoughts - apply all tools and seek help - In severe depression, thoughts of death or suicide can arise. These are the ultimate deception of the illness, convincing you that not living is a logical or necessary solution. If you find yourself thinking this way, it’s crucial to reach out for professional help immediately. While using Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS), scrutinise those thoughts mercilessly. “My pain will never end” - you don’t honestly know the future (fortune-telling distortion), and effective treatments or life changes could still occur. “Others would be better off without me” - seldom true; that’s depression talking (mind-reading and personalising distortion). One of the most unmistakable pieces of evidence against that is how people feel after losing someone to suicide - they are devastated, not relieved. So even if your depressed mind thinks you’re a burden, the reality is that your suicide would hurt people who care about you.
Keep that in mind whenever the thought arises: your life has value to others even when you can’t see it. “I just want relief” - yes, understandable, but permanent action for a currently insurmountable problem is a logical fallacy (it denies the possibility of future change). Instead, consider this period as something to be survived, not the totality of your existence. When suicidal, your thinking is at its most distorted and narrowed (there’s even a term “suicide logic” which is basically extremely faulty reasoning under extreme pain). Recognise you are in no state to make a life-or-death decision - defer that decision, always. Use whatever arguments keep you going: if nothing else, treat it as an experiment - “I’ll give it another week and see if anything, even small, improves or if I can find one tiny reason to keep going.” And always involve others - tell someone, or call a crisis line, because they can hold some hope for you when you have none. That’s an external evidence source: maybe they believe you can get through it, based on seeing others do so or simply because they value you. For now, borrow their belief if you have none.
Use routine and structure as scaffolding - When your own reasoning is compromised by depression, sometimes the best you can do is follow a structured plan you made when feeling clearer, almost like following an instruction manual. Science shows that routine (sleep, eat, activity schedule) helps with depression. So maybe you have a note that says “8am: get up, take a shower (you will feel slightly better after, trust me - from past self), 9am: go for a short walk,” etc. Even if you go through motions without belief, you trust prior reasoning and empirical evidence that these actions are beneficial. It’s like running an experiment even if you hypothesise it won’t work, because evidence (from research, your doctor, or past experience) suggests it’s worth doing. This is how you lean on external knowledge when internal motivation is low: trust the process, as they say.
Be compassionate - depression often comes with a harsh inner critic that will fight these rational attempts by saying, “you’re pathetic for needing to do this” or “look, you can’t even think right.” Counter that immediately with compassion. The truth, rationally, is that depression is an illness - just like someone with the flu isn’t “weak” for having a fever, you aren’t weak for having depressive thoughts. You’re strong and courageous for fighting them, reading this, and trying. That’s a more objective assessment of the situation. Remind yourself of it. And recall that millions of others have been in your shoes - you’re not alone, and many have made it out the other side (thus providing inductive evidence that you can too).
In summary for depression: doubt your despair. When your mind says there’s no hope, challenge that as a hypothesis, not a conclusion. Seek evidence, no matter how small, of hope, worth, and meaning. It is there, depression blinds you to it. By systematically questioning depressive thoughts and exposing yourself to contrary evidence (positive activities, social contact, reminders of past successes), you can slowly undermine depression’s seemingly ironclad logic. It’s not easy or quick - think of it as slowly chipping away at a wall. But each chip (each time you refute a negative thought or do something that makes you feel 1% better) is progress. Over time, light peeks through the cracks in depression’s wall. And one day, maybe the wall comes down enough for you to step out into life again and see that the world has colours after all. Keep going - science and evidence are on your side that depression can improve. Let that knowledge carry you through the darkness, one step at a time.

Guide to Mental Illness
Part 9 of 13
Untangling the Knots of Anxiety: Worry, Fears, and What-Ifs
Anxiety is like a constant background alarm that often turns up false positives. It’s the brain’s threat-detection system in overdrive - seeing danger where there might not be any, or magnifying small risks into catastrophes. If you live with anxiety (general worry, panic attacks, phobias, etc.), you know the physical sensations (heart racing, sweating, tension) and the mental whirlwind of “what if?!” thoughts. The challenge is that anxiety feels so much like something is wrong that we trust that feeling more than we should. That’s emotional reasoning at work: “I feel afraid, therefore there must be danger”. One of the biggest skills Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) can give you for anxiety is the ability to separate feeling from fact, and to engage your rational mind to soothe the anxious one.
Reality-check the probability and severity of threats - Anxiety loves to overestimate likelihood and impact of bad events (For example - assuming a plane is very likely to crash, or that if you make one mistake, you’ll be fired and your life ruined). A rational approach is to question: How likely is this really? And even if it happened, could I manage or recover? For the likelihood, sometimes actual statistics help. For example - if you have health anxiety (“I have a headache, it must be a brain tumour”), looking at stats: brain tumours are very rare, and headaches are extremely common and usually benign. The chance that your headache is a tumour is incredibly small. Citing a reliable source (like a medical site) that says “only 0.1% of headaches are due to brain tumours” can slap some sense into that fear. Your anxiety might not fully believe it (“but what if I’m that 0.1%?!”), But continuously reminding yourself of the objective probability can reduce the intensity over time. In logic, anxiety often commits the fallacy of ignoring base rates - treating every fear as equally plausible when some are far-fetched. Force yourself to acknowledge base rates: “Millions get on planes daily; crashes are extremely rare. It’s not logical to act as if crashing is imminent.”
For severity: even if something bad happened, would it truly be the end of the world? Anxiety tends to think yes, whereas resilience studies show humans often cope better than we predict. Ask, “What’s the worst that would actually happen? And then what would I do?” This engages problem-solving mode rather than doom-spiralling. Often, you’ll realise that while something might be unpleasant or complicated, it’s not insurmountable. For example - social anxiety might say, “If I embarrass myself, it’ll be terrible.” But analyse: if you do, people might briefly notice or you might feel awkward, but life goes on, people forget (everyone’s mainly focused on themselves). Perhaps you’ve embarrassed yourself before and survived. Thus, the true worst-case might be manageable. By visualising coping, you reduce the fear of the unknown.
Challenge necessity and urgency - Anxiety gives a lot of “must” and “what if I don’t” scenarios. It can lead to compulsive behaviours or over-preparation because you must prevent every risk. Here, apply some of that analytical philosophy: ask “Why must I? According to who/what rule?” Perhaps you feel “I must never let people down.” Is that objectively possible? No, humans inevitably disappoint someone sometimes. So holding yourself to “never” is illogical (perfectionism fallacy). Moreover, is it truly catastrophic to sometimes say no or let minor things slide? Probably not. Reframe strict rules (like I must answer every email immediately) into balanced ones (I’ll do my best, but it’s okay if I’m not perfect). Anxiety often works on an all-or-nothing approach, so defuse that with a continuum perspective.
Also, anxiety thrives on urgency: this must be dealt with right now. But often it’s a false alarm. For instance, you see an email that looks a bit curt, and anxiety says, “They’re mad at me, fix it now!” Pause - do you know they’re mad, or is that mind-reading? Maybe wait for more evidence or ask calmly later. Not every discomfort needs immediate action. In fact, sometimes waiting yields evidence that there was no issue (For example - later the person is friendly, so they weren’t mad after all). So train yourself with delaying tactics: if anxious about something at night, promise to reconsider it in the morning when your mind is clearer. Nine out of ten times, morning perspective shows it wasn’t a big deal, or you have a better approach.
Break the cycle of rumination - Anxiety often involves rumination - going over the same worries endlessly, which gives an illusion of problem solving but is actually just stewing. Use a bit of method: if you’ve thought in circles for 30 minutes and are no closer to a solution, logic says this method isn’t working. Time to interrupt. Sometimes, saying “STOP” out loud or shifting the environment can break that loop. Then engage critical thinking: write down the worry and a few possible actions (if any). If it’s out of your control, mark it as such and try a letting-go exercise (like imagining putting the worry on a leaf and letting it float downstream - a mindfulness trick). If it’s in your control, pick a reasonable plan. But do not accept “endless worry” as productive - call it a faulty strategy. Schedule a “worry time” if needed (like 15 min a day to worry, then when worries pop up at other times, tell yourself “not now, I have time to worry later”). This externalises and limits the impact, so your day isn’t over.
Use grounding techniques during panic - When anxiety spikes to panic, your prefrontal cortex (rational brain) can go offline. In those moments, pure reasoning might not reach you until you calm down. That’s where grounding comes in: use your five senses to root yourself in the present reality. The classic is the 5-4-3-2-1 technique: name 5 things you see, 4 you feel (touch), 3 you hear, 2 you smell, 1 you taste. This forces your mind to focus on concrete details here and now, rather than the amorphous threat in your head. It provides empirical data: “I am here in my room, it is safe, I see sunlight coming in, I feel the floor, etc.” This can often lower the panic enough for your rational voice to chime in again. Also, deep breathing (like the 4-7-8 technique or box breathing) is scientifically shown to calm the nervous system. Think of these not as fluffy techniques but as evidence-based tools: many experts suggest them because they work to return you to reality during high anxiety. Once calmer, you can then talk yourself through the situation more rationally.
Conduct mini experiments for anxieties - Similar to depression, test anxious predictions. If you fear rejection, experiment by initiating a small chat and see the response - maybe it’s positive, disproving your fear that “everyone will reject me.” If you fear that leaving something undone will be disastrous, intentionally leave a minor thing undone and see if the world ends (it won’t, and that’s valuable data to counter perfectionism). If you have OCD and feel “if I don’t check the lock 10 times, something bad will happen,” try stopping at 3 checks and observing that nothing bad happens. These are basically exposure exercises -the cornerstone of anxiety treatment - and they work by providing evidence that contradicts the anxiety hypothesis. You might need to build up gradually if the fear is enormous. But each successful experiment (even if it causes anxiety during it) is like a research finding your brain can learn from: my worries don’t always come true; I can tolerate uncertainty; I can survive an uncomfortable feeling.
A personal example: if social anxiety tells you you’ll make a fool of yourself if you say anything in a meeting, plan to say one thing (maybe a short comment). That’s your experiment. The result will likely be that others will respond normally or appreciatively, and no one will laugh at you. Write that down: I spoke in the meeting, and there was no adverse outcome. Next time, push a bit further. Over time, these data points pile up, and the anxious voice loses credibility.
Leverage your imagination positively - Anxiety is essentially imagination used negatively (imagining worst-case scenarios vividly). Try to use that same power more constructively. For instance, imagine the best-case or a moderate-case scenario, not just the worst. Or use guided imagery to picture a safe, calm place. This isn’t directly scientific, but it’s harnessing the creative part of your brain that anxiety hijacks and directing it towards peace instead of panic. Think of it as training your brain to envision multiple outcomes, not just catastrophic ones, which is more realistic because many outcomes are neutral or good in life. Don’t let anxiety’s horror stories be the only movie playing in your mind; consciously play a hopeful scenario too, or at least a neutral one (“I’ll go to the party, maybe I won’t talk much, but I might enjoy the food and come home - that’s not too bad.”).
Use others and logic to get perspective - Similar to depression, anxiety can benefit from an outside perspective. Sometimes, just telling a friend “I’m worried about X” and hearing “Yeah, I can see why you worry, but here’s another way to look at it…” can shift your mindset. They might have evidence or experience you don’t. For example - you fear you bombed an interview, and a friend reminds you of times you thought that but actually got the job offer. That’s evidence that your own assessment of anxiety is not reliable. Memorise those instances: times you worried excessively and things turned out fine. Next worry, recall “I’ve been wrong before about these things.” This undercuts the certainty that anxiety tries to sell.
Accept some uncertainty - A core of anxiety is intolerance of uncertainty. Science cannot give 100% guarantees in life. (We can’t say 0% chance of plane crash, only very low.) Part of a rational approach is accepting probabilistic truth. You aim for reasonable assurance, not absolute. Tell yourself: “Okay, I’ve done what I can - I locked the door, checked once thoroughly. Could something still happen? In theory, yes, but the probability is extremely low, and I choose to accept that small risk because I have to live my life.” This is hard, but it’s like a muscle - practice tolerating uncertainty in small ways, and it grows. Remind yourself that every human lives with uncertainty every day (we drive, not sure we won’t crash, but we deem the risk acceptable). You’re doing the same; you’re more aware of the uncertainty. Use logic: “I desire 100% certainty, but that’s impossible. The next best thing is, say, 90% confidence. I have at least that, so I will proceed.” Think in percentages or odds, which might speak to your rational side.
Be kind to your anxious self - Don’t beat yourself up for being anxious (“I’m so stupid for worrying”). That’s not fair - your worry comes from a part of the brain trying (misguidedly) to protect you. Instead, say, “I appreciate you, mind, for trying to keep me safe, but you’re overreacting. Thank you, but I’ve got this.” It sounds funny, but literally thanking your anxiety and dismissing it gently can reduce internal conflict. It’s a way of acknowledging the feeling but choosing not to follow it blindly.
Also, note that anxiety can be exhausting; sometimes logic won’t stick when you’re tired. Prioritise rest, exercise (great for anxiety), and relaxing activities - they change your body’s chemistry, which is very scientific. A calm body supports a quiet mind. A short run or even a brisk walk can burn off adrenaline and give you endorphins, making it easier to think clearly afterwards. Evidence: Exercise has been shown to reduce anxiety levels by improving stress response systems.
To conclude on anxiety: treat it as a hypothesis generator - “What if X happens?!” - and you be the investigator checking those hypotheses. Most will turn out to be false or exaggerated. Collect those results. Over time, you can develop trust in your ability to handle fears because you’ve systematically proven many of them wrong. And when a fear does come true (because life isn’t perfect), you’ll have evidence from your past that you can cope and things can still be okay. Each anxious moment conquered with rational tools is not just a victory in that moment, but a reference point for future strength.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 10 of 13
Resisting the Siren Call: Addiction, Cravings, and Urges
Addiction is a battle between the primitive brain that craves immediate reward and the higher brain that knows the long-term costs. Whether it’s alcohol, drugs, gambling, or any compulsive behaviour, addiction often hijacks reasoning to justify itself. People with addiction might find themselves thinking, “Just one more time,” “I can quit after this,” or “I need this to cope.” These thoughts can be extremely convincing in the heat of craving, and they’re often backed by intense bodily urges and emotional distress. Applying Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) here means arming yourself against the persuasive lies of the addicted mind and strengthening the part of you that truly wants to recover.
Recognise addictive thought patterns (and call them out). Akin to cognitive distortions, addictions have common mental tricks:
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Minimisation - “It’s not that bad if I use; everyone exaggerates the dangers.” (Denial of evidence)
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False control confidence - “I can stop anytime; this time will be different.” (Despite past evidence of losing control, you discount it).
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Justification - “I had a hard day, I deserve a drink.” (Irrelevant to the core issue - many people have hard days without using; you’re using a reason to rationalise).
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Catastrophic thinking to give up - “I’ve relapsed now, so I’m hopeless - might as well keep using.” (All-or-nothing, giving up logic).
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Blaming - “If they wouldn’t nag me, I wouldn’t need to drink.” (Externalising responsibility).
When a craving hits, try to step outside yourself and observe these thoughts as if you’re a scientist studying someone’s addiction. Label them: “Ah, that’s a justification; that’s my brain minimising the problem.” By doing so, you separate you (who wants to quit) from the addiction voice (that wants to continue). For many, this internal dialogue is crucial: you have to realise not every thought that urges you to use is your true will - many are the addiction speaking.
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Keep evidence of why you want to quit - When in a sober or precise moment, write down all the reasons you want to stop: health issues, relationship damage, how terrible the last hangover or crash was, financial costs, shame you felt, etc. Also, write down the benefits you anticipate in sobriety. Be very detailed and factual: For example - “Last Saturday I got drunk and said hurtful things to my partner - they cried. I felt awful.” That’s evidence of harm. Or “My liver enzymes are elevated - proof my body is suffering.” When cravings come, read this list. The addicted brain hates remembering these facts; it will try to focus only on the short-term relief that it will give. But cold, hard evidence from your own life can cut through some of that. It’s like reminding yourself of the scientific consensus: “Look at all this data on why using is bad for me.” Also, recall the many times “just one more” turned into many more, or “just one” ended up causing problems. That history is data. Rovrrtelf Reliable? - Previous outcomes are reliable indicators. If 9 out of 10 times “just one drink” led to a binge, odds are it will again (that’s inductive reasoning - predicting the future based on past patterns). Trust that probability more than the craving’s empty promises.
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Play the tape forward - A popular recovery saying - it means imagine how it will go, not just for the first 5 minutes of using (which might feel good), but the whole scene: the consequences later that day, the next day, etc. Use your knowledge of yourself: For example - “If I smoke this now, yes, I’ll feel a hit of pleasure for 10 minutes, but then I’ll likely binge the whole evening, miss my plans, wake up sick, feel guilty. Tomorrow I’ll be upset with myself and anxious.” By visualising the whole sequence (which you likely have experienced before), you counter the brain’s tendency to only see the immediate gratification. It’s a logical cause-and-effect projection: if I use it, all these adverse outcomes will follow (based on consistent past results). This is essentially deductive reasoning using your personal history as premises.
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Use “urge surfing” and impermanence logic - Urges feel like they’ll last forever or escalate until you give in. But the truth (evidence) is that cravings, like waves, peak and then subside if you don’t indulge them. Next time you have a strong urge, observe its intensity rise and fall without acting. Maybe rate it (0 to 10 scale) every few minutes. You’ll likely find it doesn’t keep rising indefinitely; it might peak then slowly decline. Knowing this can help you endure - the logical assurance that “This too shall pass.” It’s like facing an itch: it eventually lessens if you don’t scratch. There’s plenty of evidence from addiction science that most cravings pass within about 20 to 30 minutes if not fed. So commit to waiting it out - say “I won’t decide to use or not use for 20 minutes, I’ll distract myself or just feel it.” Often by the end, the craving is more manageable, or you have found a distraction and can continue abstaining. Each time you succeed, that’s proof to yourself that cravings are temporary states, not commands.
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Identify triggers and plan around them (evidence-based approach) - Through analysis, determine what situations, emotions, or times are high-risk for you. That’s gathering data: maybe you notice you always binge drink when you’re with a particular friend or when you’re alone on Friday nights, feeling lonely. These are patterns. Use that knowledge logically: avoid or modify those triggers. It might mean not seeing that friend in contexts involving alcohol, or planning a different activity (like a support meeting or a hobby) on Friday nights so you’re not alone and tempted. The motto “plan, don’t hope” applies - don’t just hope you’ll resist, plan using the evidence of what environments or moods lead you to slip. Plan healthier stress outlets (exercise, call someone, etc.) if stress triggers you. If certain thinking (“screw it, I don’t care”) triggers you, maybe have a written counter-statement ready (like your reasons list, or a reminder of someone you love who’d be hurt if you relapse).
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Smash illusions of control or “difference this time.” - Addictive thinking often includes denial. If you start thinking, “Maybe I can just moderate my use, maybe I’m not really addicted,” check that against evidence. If you have tried to cut back before and ended up at high use, that’s evidence. If you find it nearly impossible to stop once you start, that’s evidence of losing control. It might help to list unsuccessful moderation attempts or consequences suffered, as objective proof that you probably cannot safely use moderately (if that’s true in your case). This is humbling, but rational acceptance of addiction is crucial. You can’t solve a problem you don’t admit. Many in recovery have a moment where they truly see the undeniable link between their substance or behaviour and their suffering - that’s a breakthrough of evidence over wishful thinking. As Mystrikism might say: verifiable, trustworthy evidence over wishful thinking. Wishful thinking is “maybe it’ll be different this time”; evidence is “it hasn’t been different the last 50 times.” Trust the latter.
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Focus on facts, not feelings, when cravings come - When craving, feelings of need can be intense (even physical symptoms, making it feel like you’ll die without it). Ground yourself in facts: “I used before, I survived withdrawal or cravings. Actually, if I don’t use, I won’t die; it’ll be uncomfortable but not life-threatening (for most substances - note: some withdrawals like alcohol or benzos can be medically dangerous, so we assume medical management in those cases). The feeling of ‘need’ is not true need; it’s a psychological urge.” Also, recall the facts of how you felt after the last relapse - maybe pretty awful. The craving brain will try to make you focus only on the anticipated pleasure and relief, but the fact is that relief was temporary and cost you more pain afterwards. Facts over feelings - a mantra you might repeat.
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Build new rewarding experiences (evidence of a good life without substance) - One tricky aspect: addiction usually fills some need (relaxation, social ease, numbing pain, etc.). To convince your brain to let it go, you should seek healthier ways to fulfil those needs. This is part of evidence building, too - showing yourself that you can feel good or cope in other ways. For instance, if drinking was your way to have fun, you need to find fun in different activities - join a club, sports, arts, or anything that can give you some enjoyment or reward. At first, it might not be as intense as the drug high, but with time, your brain will recalibrate. Remember the Harvard Health piece: the author overcame addiction by practising gratitude, mindfulness, healthy habits, connection, and crucially learning to defuse cognitive distortions. Those practices changed his internal state to the point that he didn’t need the painkillers. This is a journey, but each positive experience sober is evidence that your life can have joy or meaning without the substance. For example - the first time you go to a social event sober and actually have a decent time, note that - it disproves the belief “I can’t socialise without using.” Or the first time you deal with a bad day by talking to a friend or exercising instead of using, and you feel proud in the morning, note that as evidence of healthier coping. Over time, these experiences will rewrite your brain’s expectations.
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Relapse analysis (learn, don’t self-loathe) - If you slip, instead of beating yourself up (“I’m hopeless”), approach it analytically: What led to it? What can I do differently next time? Each relapse can provide data to refine your plan. Maybe you realise “I didn’t have an exit plan when offered a drink” or “I let myself get too hungry and stressed.” Use that to adjust. This way, you treat recovery like a scientific process: trial and error, learning from errors to improve outcomes. It’s not a linear path, and errors don’t mean failure - they’re part of gathering evidence of what works or doesn’t for you.
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Connect with support (external evidence and encouragement) - In addiction recovery, support groups (like AA, NA or Smart Recovery) can be tremendous. Why? Because you hear evidence from others’ lives - success stories, cautionary tales, tips that worked. And seeing others who have been where you are and are now sober proves it’s achievable. Also, when you share your twisted thinking, others can call you out or laugh kindly, “Yep, I thought that too - it’s Bullshit.” That camaraderie and reality-checking is invaluable. It’s much harder for the addiction to fool you when you have a network of people who see through the lies and remind you of the truth.
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Self-compassion and identity - Shift your identity narrative: instead of “I’m a hopeless addict,” think “I am a person with an addiction who is working to get better.” The former is a fixed, negative identity (and can become a self-fulfilling prophecy); the latter is a growth identity. It’s evidence-based in that many people with addictions do recover and improve, so being “a person working to get better” aligns with that reality. Celebrate small victories (a day sober, a temptation overcome) - positive reinforcement matters. You’re effectively re-training your brain to find reward in achievements in sobriety rather than the substance. Acknowledge it’s hard - that’s where compassion comes: don’t equate slip-ups with moral failure. Addiction is not just a lack of will; it’s changes in brain circuits. Science backs that - knowing this can relieve some shame. Instead of shame, focus on responsibility: “It’s not my fault for having this disease, but it’s my responsibility to manage it.” That rational stance helps avoid unproductive guilt and directs energy towards problem-solving.
In essence, applying the IPS to addiction is about bringing truth to light whenever the addiction tries to deceive, which is often. It’s a constant vigilance, but each truthful thought you reinforce is a dent in addiction’s power. Over time, truth - in the form of clear thinking, evidence of a better life, and regained self-control - wins out. People do break free. The fact that others have is objective evidence that you can too (with perhaps different methods, support, etc., tailored to you). So hold onto that truth, especially: freedom is possible. Let that be a hypothesis you will prove in your own life.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 11 of 13
Healing from the Past: Trauma and Flashbacks
Trauma leaves deep imprints in the mind and body. If you have PTSD or lingering trauma effects, you might experience flashbacks (vivid re-experiencing of the traumatic event as if it’s happening now), nightmares, or intense reactions to triggers that remind you of the trauma. In those moments, your brain’s alarm system hijacks you into survival mode, even if you’re currently safe. The challenge is that logic and evidence can be hard to access when a flashback strikes, because your body truly feels like it’s in danger of the past. However, Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) can aid in recovery by helping to differentiate past from present and challenge trauma-fuelled beliefs.
Grounded in the present reality. This is priority one during flashbacks or dissociation. As mentioned in the anxiety section, grounding techniques are essential, even more so for trauma. When a flashback hits, your mind is partially “back there.” The goal is to orient your senses to here and now: look around and name things, touch something textured, listen to ambient sounds, rub your feet on the floor, remind yourself of the date and location (“It’s 2025, I’m in my home, that event was 5 years ago and I survived”). Repeat safety statements: “I am safe right now. I’m breathing. That was then, this is now.” This is evidence-based self-talk: you’re stating facts about your current environment. If you struggle to believe it, sometimes literally prove it to yourself by small actions: For example - if in the trauma you were powerless, do something now that shows you have power (like speaking out loud, “I am in control now” or even just standing up and moving - small actions of agency). If the trauma was an external threat that isn’t present now, look around slowly, verifying that no such threat is here. For example - a veteran hearing fireworks might flash back to combat; grounding would be looking outside, seeing their neighbours celebrating, not gunfire - evidence that the war scene is not here now. Use all senses: smell can be potent (sniff a comforting scent, like an essential oil you prepare for such times, to pull you into the present). Grounding exercises work to bring awareness to the present safe reality. They help the brain update its context: from “I’m in danger” to “I’m experiencing a memory of danger, but I am actually safe.”
Reality-test trauma-related thoughts - Traumas often seed beliefs like “The world is completely dangerous”, or “It was my fault”, or “I’m ruined or I’m bad because of what happened.” These are heavy and often unspoken, but they weigh on you. Using a critical lens:
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“The world is completely dangerous.” - Check evidence: Yes, the world has danger (you experienced the worst of it), but is it completely dangerous? What about pockets of safety you have seen or kind people? Usually, even amid trauma, there were moments of relative safety (someone who helped, time before or after the safe event). Also, consider millions of people are not facing danger at this exact moment (For example - children playing in a park peacefully). The world has both threats and safety. The trauma skews perception to overgeneralise danger. It’s understandable to be hyper-vigilant, but slowly reminding yourself that not every situation is like the trauma is key. In therapy, they often do exposure to safe situations to relearn safety. Rationally, if, say, one person hurt you, that person was dangerous, but not all people are. It might help to analyse: what differentiated that person or context from others? For instance, “It happened at night in an isolated area by a criminal - now I live in a secure place with trusted people.” List how now is different from then. Each difference is evidence that the level of danger is not the same. Your brain might still react, but cognitively acknowledging differences helps.
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“It was my fault.” - (common in abuse survivors). This is often a shame-driven distortion. Step out and treat it like a case: if someone else described the same story happening to them, would you blame them? Likely not. You’d probably see that they were victims of someone else’s wrongdoing or circumstances beyond their control. So why treat yourself differently? Because trauma often locks people in a self-blame loop (maybe because feeling in control by blaming oneself feels oddly “safer” than admitting how helpless one was). Use logic: Did you truly have power? Did you choose for this to happen? Was it a reasonable consequence of something you did or a grossly unjust act inflicted on you? The evidence likely shows you either did nothing wrong, or at worst made a naive choice that did not warrant what happened (For example - trusting someone you thought was safe - the fault lies in them betraying trust, not in you for trusting). Write down: “The responsibility for [the trauma] lies with [perpetrator/cause], not me.” Read it often. Believing may take emotional time, but keep presenting the rational argument. If you have guilt about how you reacted during trauma (“I should have fought back harder”), realise this is Monday-morning quarterbacking. At the time, you did what you could (even freezing is an involuntary survival response). The fact you survived is evidence you did something right - you made it through. That’s the outcome. Therefore, your actions were life-preserving enough.
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“I’m permanently broken, dirty, or unlovable because of trauma.” - This is a tragic but frequent sentiment, especially in interpersonal traumas. It’s a form of labelling and emotional reasoning: you feel tainted and believe you are. Check that with an outside perspective: If a dear friend went through the same, would you see them as broken or dirty? Likely, you’d see them as hurt and needing support, but still the same person of worth. So, evidence from how you view others in similar situations contradicts the self-judgment. Also, plenty of trauma survivors go on to lead fulfilling lives and relationships - proof that trauma doesn’t irreparably “ruin” someone’s value. Look up stories of survivors (there are memoirs, groups) - these can serve as evidence that you, too, are not alone or irredeemable. People find love and purpose after unspeakable events; thus, it is possible (no matter what your inner critic says). Trauma might have changed you, but it likely made you stronger, more empathetic, not “worthless.” If anything, surviving gives you a certain courage and perspective that is valuable. Reframe: Instead of being broken, think, “I have cracks, but like Kintsugi (the Japanese art of mending pottery with gold), I can become something new and even beautiful in places.” It’s not just fluffy talk - it’s observed in many that post-traumatic growth occurs (resilience, new appreciation of life, etc., after healing). That is evidence against “I’m nothing now.”
Use systematic desensitisation logically - If specific triggers set you off (like a particular smell or sound that reminds you of trauma), you can do controlled exposure to retrain your response. For example - if the smell of a specific cologne triggers panic because an abuser wore it, you might eventually, in therapy or with support, expose yourself to that scent in a safe environment repeatedly until your brain relearns “smell doesn’t equal danger now.” This uses classical conditioning principles, which are evidence-based. You essentially prove to your body through repetition that the trigger is now safe. The same with going to a place that reminds you of trauma, maybe in gentle stages. Each successful facing of a trigger without something bad happening is evidence to your limbic system that it’s okay now. Over time, triggers lose power.
Memory processing: separate memory from present - If you have intrusive memories, it helps to put them in context. Some use techniques like imagery modification - For example - imagine the end of the memory differently (some people visualise themselves rescuing their younger self, or visualise a protective barrier that keeps the memory in the past). While that’s imaginative, it can psychologically give closure. Also, writing a narrative of the trauma from a third-person perspective can provide some distance (like you’re a reporter stating facts, which engages a more analytical part rather than purely emotional). This aligns with therapies like Narrative Exposure. It helps the brain store the trauma as a story that happened (past tense) rather than an ongoing threat. Whenever you recount it (with a therapist often), the brain gradually realises “this is a memory, not a current event.” That’s evidence-based: repeated retrieval and contextualisation can reduce PTSD symptoms.
Address hyper-vigilance with evidence of safety - After trauma, you might always scan for danger. Some vigilance is okay, but hyper-vigilance exhausts you and keeps anxiety high. Use rational checks: if you find yourself, say, checking locks multiple times (common after a break-in or assault), apply Rovrrtelf: You locked it once - is there objective reason to believe someone’s trying to break in right now? Likely no. Is your extra checking solving or just feeding anxiety? (Probably feeding it, because each check reassures only briefly, then the doubt returns.) Try to trust one good check (maybe do a systematic check once so you know it’s locked thoroughly, then challenge yourself not to re-check by recalling “I confirmed it. Further checks are not logical, they are anxiety.”). If it helps, involve tech - For example - some get cameras or better locks to assure themselves, which is evidence (you can look at the camera feed on your phone and see all is quiet - an external verification). Just be mindful not to slide into compulsive surveillance; aim for reasonable measures that increase security, then practice accepting those as sufficient. Slowly, allow minor lapses - like try sleeping without checking the third time, see that you remained safe overnight, add that to evidence: “I was okay with just one check.”
Leverage support and therapy (others’ logic when yours falters) - Trauma therapy (like CBT, EMDR) often directly uses these principles: identifying stuck points (false trauma-related beliefs) and challenging them with evidence, reprocessing memories, etc. A therapist can gently call out illogical conclusions (“You were 5; how could it be your fault?”) and provide a compassionate, rational perspective until you internalise it. Group therapy or hearing from other survivors also gives perspective - you might realise you blame yourself more than you would ever blame someone else in your situation, which is a clue that your reasoning is skewed by self-directed emotion. So, external voices help recalibrate fairness in your thinking.
Self-care and patience - Trauma recovery is typically not quick. It’s not just a cognitive process; it’s relearning to feel safe in your body and world. So be patient. Use small milestones as evidence of progress: maybe you had one less nightmare this month or went to a crowded store and handled the anxiety better than last time. Mark those and give yourself credit. If you have setbacks (triggered strongly out of the blue), don’t interpret that as failure or “I’ll never heal” - that’s catastrophising. Instead, see it as your brain doing spring cleaning: sometimes old stuff resurfaces when you’re ready to handle more processing. Over time, the trend can be improvement even if there are dips. Look at the overall trajectory, not each blip.
Meaning-making (analytical philosophy existential branch) - Some trauma survivors find peace by making meaning out of what happened - not that it was “meant to be” (that can feel invalidating), but that given it happened, they create meaning from it (like helping others, or seeing themselves as a resilient fighter, or it leading to a life change that eventually had positive aspects). Viktor Frankl, a survivor of concentration camps, wrote about finding meaning as a way to survive unimaginable trauma. This is a personal journey, but thinking philosophically about your experience can transform it from a senseless horror to part of your life story that, while terrible, shaped who you are (and maybe you like aspects of who you are now, such as strength or empathy). That perspective can lessen the mental torment because it’s no longer just random chaos in your mind; it has some context in your identity or values. It’s evidence of your growth rather than just evidence of cruelty.
In summary for trauma: anchor yourself to the present reality and your present power, while compassionately reminding yourself that the past is not your fault and not your forever. Use every tool to distinguish then vs now - through grounding, logic, and evidence of safety and worth. Over time, the past integrates into your narrative and loses its grip on your present emotions. You emerge not the same as before the trauma - that’s true - but often deeper, maybe scarred but wiser, and crucially, free from being controlled by what happened. With help and perseverance, you gather proof that you are more than what happened to you, and that life after trauma can be safe and even beautiful again.
That covers specific scenarios. Each required a slightly different emphasis, but did you notice the common thread? In each case - whether the issue was distorted thoughts from illness, impulsive urges, or terrifying memories - we turned to evidence, logic, and structured thinking to find a way through. We respected emotions but didn’t let them have the final say. We looked for truth in what can feel like a whirlwind of internal chaos. In doing so, we gave ourselves something solid to stand on.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 12 of 13
When the Tools Are Hard to Use: What to Do on Tough Days
By now, you might be thinking, “All these principles and techniques sound great in theory, but in the moment when I’m overwhelmed, it’s so hard to actually do this stuff.” That is absolutely true. When you’re in crisis - say, having a panic attack, in the depths of depression, or gripped by an urge or delusion - it can feel nearly impossible to slow down and apply critical thinking. So, what do you do when Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) itself feels out of reach? This section is about those most challenging moments and how to get through them without despairing or giving up on these tools.
1. Prepare in advance (create a safety plan or toolkit) - Don’t wait until you’re drowning to learn how to swim. During relatively stable periods, prepare a simple strategy for crisis moments. Write it down. This might include:
Emergency steps: (For example - “If I feel suicidal, I will call the crisis line at … or text a friend or go to ER - I won’t try to handle it alone.” This is like a contract with yourself).
Grounding or coping statements: that resonate for anxiety, maybe “This will pass, I’ve survived it before”; for psychosis, “No quick decisions - check reality with someone I trust”; for depression, “Thoughts are not facts. Remember, depression lies.” Keep them short and in plain language.
List of distractions or activities: things that even mildly help (play a game, watch a specific funny show, cuddle my pet, take a shower - whatever has given even slight relief before).
Contacts: people you can contact, from friends to a therapist. When overwhelmed, we often isolate; a plan reminds you that connection is an option. You don’t have to think from scratch when in the storm.
Medications or techniques: If you have PRN (as-needed) anxiety meds, or know that doing 10 minutes of yoga helps, put that on the list.
Having this plan means when you’re in the storm, you don’t have to think from scratch - you follow a script you made with your rational mind. It’s like having a life raft ready. Even if you can’t do much, at least do the first step on the plan. One step often leads to another once you break the inertia of overwhelm.
2. Aim for small wins, not perfection - Maybe you can’t logically deconstruct a delusion in the moment, but you can at least remember one phrase like “I might be wrong” or “maybe I should wait.” That’s a small win - it introduces doubt where there was certainty. Or if you’re too depressed to challenge every negative thought, perhaps you can pick just one thought to dispute, or even just repeat “It’s the depression talking” while the avalanche of thoughts continues. You might not feel better immediately, but planting those seeds matters. Give yourself credit for any use of the tools, however minor. If all you manage is to use a grounding exercise during a panic attack rather than none, that’s success. Over time, these small efforts accumulate over time, and you’ll find you can do more. Healing is often in baby steps, not giant leaps.
3. Use external cues and reminders - When the internal voice is too chaotic, lean on external aids. Post sticky notes in visible places with key reminders (“Breathe,” “Check the facts,” “You are loved,” etc.). Set alarms on your phone with encouraging or grounding messages. Some people wear a rubber band or bracelet and snap it lightly during a dissociative or craving moment to jolt themselves back - that’s a physical reminder to be present. If taking medication regularly is part of staying stable, use pill organisers or phone reminders so you don’t forget (especially if mania or depression wrecks your routine memory). Essentially, outsource some of the job to your environment. Even a poster with a quote that inspires rationality or hope can refocus you briefly (For example - the Feynman quote about not fooling yourself, or a simple phrase like “One day at a time” or “Feelings are not facts”).
4. Involve others as “reality anchors.” - We’ve touched on this, but it’s worth emphasising: when you cannot trust your own mind, trust someone else’s - provided they have your best interests at heart and understand your struggles. Have a buddy system. It could be a friend, family member, or even a support group peer you can call and say, “Hey, I’m freaking out about XYZ, can you talk me through it?” Often, just hearing a calm voice can regulate your emotions (our nervous systems respond to social engagement). They can remind you of your tools if you forget. For example - a friend might say, “Remember last week you were worried about this and it turned out okay? Let’s try that grounding exercise you mentioned.” In a way, they hold the IPS knowledge for you when you can’t access it. Over time, their reassurance becomes internalised (“I recall my friend told me this isn’t my fault”), so you can eventually self-soothe. But there’s no shame in needing external support - humans are social creatures; our brains co-regulate with others.
5. Give yourself time - don’t act on destructive impulses - Sometimes the best you can do is delay. If you want to self-harm or use substances or quit therapy impulsively, or any number of potentially harmful actions, make an agreement with yourself to wait. Use the 15-minute rule or the 24-hour rule, depending on the situation. This is less about deep, rational analysis and more about a simple logical fact: if it’s a truly good decision, it will still seem so after some time; if it’s driven by a temporary state, it might pass. For example - if you feel like disappearing from everyone’s life, maybe tell yourself, “I’ll decide in 3 days; for now, I’ll just get through today.” This is not resolving the issue but preventing irreversible actions until you’re in a clearer headspace. It’s like putting a safety on a gun - an extra step that slows down a rash act. The intense urge will often diminish, and you’ll be thankful you didn’t act on it. This strategy has saved countless lives in suicidal moments (just promising to live through today, one day at a time). It aligns with the principle of falsifiability: you give a chance for evidence to show your impulse might be wrong by not acting immediately. If, after waiting, you still think it’s a good idea, wait longer and consult someone else.
6. Self-soothe first, analyse later - If you’re extremely emotionally flooded, the first step might be to calm down enough that analysis is possible. This could mean doing something comforting or regulating without delving into thoughts yet: taking a warm bath, wrapping in a blanket, listening to calming music, having a hot tea, practising slow breathing. These may sound trivial, but they work on the nervous system level to reduce the fight-flight-freeze response. Think of it as stabilising a patient before doing surgery. Once you’re more stable, you can engage the cognitive tools more effectively. Sometimes we skip this and try to force logic into a panicked brain - that can be like talking to someone in a language they can’t understand at that moment. First, calm the body (speaks the language of sensations), then the mind will be more receptive to reason.
7. Remember improvement is nonlinear (don’t despair in setbacks) - It’s common to have times when you feel, “I was doing better, and now I’m backsliding - maybe all that work was for nothing.” That is a distortion itself: catastrophising and black-and-white thinking about your recovery. Realistically, healing journeys have ups and downs. A setback doesn’t erase progress; it’s an opportunity to practice skills (even if it’s unwelcome). When you think “I’ll never get better” because of a bad day, challenge that! Look at the evidence: Have there been better days before? Yes. So it’s not “never.” Use the same Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) tools on your meta-thoughts about recovery. If a particular strategy didn’t help today, it might help tomorrow, or maybe another tool is needed. Science adapts to new data; you can adjust your approach, too. But don’t conclude failure prematurely. As long as you’re alive, your story is still ongoing, and data is still coming in.
8. Reframe “hard to use tools” as “building a muscle.” - When a weightlifter starts training, they can’t lift heavy at first. They gradually increase. Similarly, using the IPS under extreme distress is like heavy lifting for your brain. You might barely manage early on, but each attempt, successful or not, strengthens the neural pathways. So instead of getting discouraged that it’s hard, acknowledge it and view each effort as training. Over time, the more you practice these tools in milder situations, the better you’ll be able to handle intense ones. It’s okay if, in a full-blown episode, you can only do 5% of what you wish; next time, maybe it’ll be 10%. Even recognising after the fact “Oh, I fell for that cognitive distortion” is progress - you might catch it a little earlier next time. Science is iterative, and so is personal change. Treat yourself as a work in progress (because we all are).
9. Consider professional help part of the toolkit - Sometimes you may need extra help, medication to level your mood swings so you can think straight, therapy to guide you in using these tools, or a support program to keep you on track. There is absolutely no shame in that. In fact, it’s a rational decision. If evidence suggests you’re struggling beyond what self-help can manage, then augment it with other interventions (there’s robust evidence for therapy and medication aiding many conditions). You wouldn’t fix a broken leg alone; you’d see a doctor. Similarly, use all resources available. The union of the IPS with professional guidance can be very powerful - you bring self-awareness and effort, they bring expertise and support. Ultimately, you’re still in charge of applying what you learn to your life, but you don’t have to invent the wheel alone.
10. Keep hope alive, even if purely intellectual at first - You might not feel hopeful when things are dark. But you can think of hope, in a way. You can observe logically that many people in worse situations have gotten better. That treatments exist. Your brain can change well into adulthood (neuroplasticity is a scientific fact). You can reason that the future is uncertain, which means there’s a chance, however slight it seems, that it will be better than the present. Lean on that rational possibility when emotion doesn’t offer hope. It’s like a pilot light in a stove: even if the big flame is off, a tiny light remains so it can be reignited. Protect that pilot light. One day, a gust of grace might come (meeting the right therapist, a new medication, a life change), and things begin to improve. If you snuffed out that light (i.e., gave up entirely), you might not stick around to see it. As long as you’re here, hope exists in potential. That’s not just feel-good talk; it’s logically true that the future cannot be known and thus could hold positive surprises.
Remember this guide’s earlier message in those darkest times: no one is completely rational or mentally okay all the time. We all drop the ball sometimes. What matters is picking it back up when we can. Forgive yourself for struggling - it’s not weakness, it’s being human. The fact that you even care enough to try these tools is a testament to your strength and desire for a better life.
Guide to Mental Illness
Part 13 of 13
Science and Compassion - A Union for Healing
We began by saying that mental illness exists on a spectrum we all share, and that no one is 100% rational at all times. By reading this guide, you’ve hopefully seen that Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science aren’t some ivory-tower concepts, but practical tools for anyone seeking clarity and stability in their mental life. We applied the scientific method to personal experiences, held our thoughts to high evidence standards, reasoned from multiple angles, spotted fallacies in our thinking, and used philosophical clarity to make sense of confusion. Throughout, we also insisted on warmth, empathy, and understanding that these processes are complicated during emotional storms.
If there’s one overarching message to take away, let it be this: Your mind, however turbulent or dark, is not your enemy; it’s a part of you that can be understood and guided with patience and truth. The Mystrikal approach is about befriending your mind - earning its trust by treating it with honesty (evidence and logic) and kindness (compassion and patience). When you consistently do that, your mind learns to trust you back over time. The unheard parts of you - whether the frightened child within, the raging impulsive side, or the despondent hopeless side - start to calm down when they see you won’t abandon them to chaos, but will listen and help discern what’s real and what’s distortion.
Think of it as uniting all parts of yourself. Instead of being at war with your thoughts or emotions, you become a unifying leader of your inner world: the sceptical scientist, nurturing caregiver, and brave explorer - all in one. This integrative approach is what “The Union” in our title hints at: the union of rationality and empathy, science and humanism, mind and heart. Mystrikism’s Integrated Principles of Science (IPS) is for everyone, not just those with diagnoses, because we all need that union. But if you do have a mental illness, these principles can be especially empowering - they give you tools to reclaim your mind from the illness’s clutches.
As you move forward, remember that using the IPS doesn’t mean you won’t feel pain or never make mistakes. Life will still have challenges. What it means is you have a reliable compass by which to navigate. You can pause and think: What’s the evidence when lost in the woods of doubt or fear? What’s a hypothesis? Am I thinking in black-and-white? Could I be missing an alternative explanation? Such questions are like setting your compass to north. They won’t magically teleport you out of the woods, but they will keep you oriented toward truth and reality, so that each step you take will likely be in the right direction.
Sometimes you might still get turned around - that’s okay. With the compass, you can reorient again. And you’ll probably get lost less frequently or for shorter durations each time you do. Rational thinking and evidence do not remove emotion - nor should they; feeling is part of living - but they prevent emotion from completely blinding you. They give you a way to check and balance yourself.
Be proud of every bit of progress. Maybe you challenge a depressive thought and feel slightly better for a minute - that’s a victory. Perhaps you avoid a relapse because you played the tape forward - huge victory. Maybe you reality-tested a paranoid thought and it saved you from an unnecessary confrontation, or you allowed yourself to trust a friend and felt a glimmer of safety for the first time in ages. These are profound wins. Over time, they add up to a changed life perspective.
We would be remiss not to mention the following: Celebrate the strengths that often come with your struggles. If you have schizophrenia and battle delusions, that battle might have made you incredibly insightful or creative in ways others aren’t. If you have bipolar, your experiences of mood extremes might have given you depth of feeling and empathy. If you have anxiety, that sensitivity can make you highly conscientious and prepared (in moderation, it’s an asset). Trauma survivors often develop great strength and compassion for others’ suffering. People in recovery from addiction often become the most generous, wise mentors to others. This is not to glorify suffering, but to remind you that you are more than your illness - you have unique qualities forged in fire that deserve appreciation. Rationally, we acknowledge the negatives, but let’s also acknowledge the positives. No one is ‘just a bundle of symptoms’. You’re full of talents, quirks, loves, and dreams. Use the rational lens to see yourself wholly: not ignoring flaws, but not ignoring virtues either.
In The Union’s ethos (bridging science and spirituality in a naturalistic way), there’s a focus on being honest, being humble, and being human. We’ve applied honesty (with evidence and logic), humility (accepting we can be wrong and always learning), and humanity (compassion for our struggles). Keep those principles close. When in doubt, be curious (instead of judgmental), be honest (with yourself about what’s really happening), be kind (to yourself and others navigating this difficult existence), be humble (no one has all answers, and that’s okay), and stay real (seek what is real and true, no matter how comforting or discomforting - because the truth is where freedom lies ).
As you continue your journey, consider journaling your experiences with these tools. Over weeks or months, you might look back and see how far you’ve come - concrete evidence of improvement. Or you might identify patterns that still need work. Treat it like an ongoing experiment where you are both the scientist, subject, and the story's hero.
We hope this guide has given you information and a sense of empowerment. The laboratory of your mind is open 24/7, and you are the chief researcher. Your life is the most important study you’ll ever conduct. Approach it with the wonder of discovery - discovering how to heal, grow, and find meaning. There will be setbacks and surprises, but also breakthroughs and eureka moments where things click. Cherish those.
Let’s end on a hopeful note, returning to the shared human spectrum of mental wellness. Everyone faces inner challenges; yours might be extreme right now, but that means you’re experiencing a profound human condition that has been part of our collective story forever. And humans, as a species, have a fantastic track record of resilience - through understanding and supporting each other, we overcome so much. You are part of that story of resilience. Using science and reason, you carry forward the torch of all who questioned darkness and sought light. By caring and striving, you embody the spirit of those who never gave up on improvement.
No matter how deep the valley, trust there is a peak ahead. You can use your compass, step by step. The Union - of your inner qualities, of you with supportive others, of logic with love - is with you all the way. Go forward, scientist of the self, and know that day by day, you are writing a new hypothesis of hope - and gathering the evidence in your very existence that a better mind and life are not just possible, but already unfolding.
You’ve got this.
