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The cult of the suicide risk assessment
Suicide is not a trivial matter – it upends families, robs partners of a loved one, prevents children from having a parent, and can destroy a parent’s most cherished being. It is not surprising that societies have repeatedly made it a goal to study and reduce suicide within their populations.
The suicide rate in the United States is trending upward, from about 10 per 100,000 in 2000 to about 15 per 100,000 in more recent reports. The increasing suicide rates have been accompanied by increasing distress among many strata of society. From a public health level, analysts are not just witnessing increasing suicide rates, but a shocking rise in all “deaths of despair,”1 among which suicide can be considered the ultimate example.
On an individual level, many know someone who has died of suicide or suffered from a serious suicide attempt. From the public health level to the individual level, advocacy has called for various interventions in the field of psychiatry to remedy this tragic problem.
Psychiatrists have been firsthand witnesses to this increasing demand for suicide interventions. When in residency, the norm was to perform a suicide risk assessment at the time of admission to the hospital and again at the time of discharge. As the years passed, the new normal within psychiatric hospitals has shifted to asking about suicidality on a daily basis.
In what seems to us like an escalating arms race, the emerging standard of care at many facilities is now not only for daily suicide risk assessments by each psychiatrist, but also to require nurses to ask about suicidality during every 8-hour shift – in addition to documented inquiries about suicidality by other allied staff on the psychiatric unit. As a result, it is not uncommon for a patient hospitalized at an academic center to receive more than half a dozen suicide risk assessments in a day (first by the medical student, at least once – often more than once – by the resident, again by the attending psychiatrist, then the social worker and three nurses in 24 hours).
One of the concerns about such an approach is the lack of logic inherent to many risk assessment tools and symptom scales. Many of us are familiar with the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) to assess depression.2 The PHQ-9 asks to consider “over the last 2 weeks, how often have you ...” in relation to nine symptoms associated with depression. It has always defied reason to perform a PHQ-9 every day and expect the answers to change from “nearly every day” to “not at all,” considering only 1 day has passed since the last time the patient has answered the questions. Yet daily, or near daily, PHQ-9 scores are a frequently used tool of tracking symptom improvement in response to treatments, such as electroconvulsive therapy, performed multiple times a week.
One can argue that the patient’s perspective on how symptomatic he or she has been over the past 2 weeks may change rapidly with alleviation of a depressed mood. However, the PHQ-9 is both reported to be, and often regarded as, an objective score. If one wishes to utilize it as such, the defense of its use should not be that it is a subjective report with just as much utility as “Rate your depression on a scale of 0-27.”
Similarly, many suicide scales were intended to assess thoughts of suicide in the past month3 or have been re-tooled to address this particular concern by asking “since the last contact.”4 It is baffling to see a chart with many dozens of suicide risk assessments with at times widely differing answers, yet all measuring thoughts of suicide in the past month. Is one to expect the answer to “How many times have you had these thoughts [of suicide ideation]? (1) Less than once a week (2) Once a week ...” to change between 8 a.m. and noon? Furthermore, for the purpose of assessing acute risk of suicidality in the immediate future, to only consider symptoms since the last contact – or past 2 weeks, past month, etc. – is of unclear significance.
Provider liability
Another concern is the liability placed on providers. A common problem encountered in the inpatient setting is insurance companies refusing to reimburse a hospital stay for depressed patients denying suicidality.
Any provider in the position of caring for such a patient must ask: What is the likelihood of someone providing a false negative – a false denial of suicidality? Is the likelihood of a suicidal person denying suicidality different if asked 5 or 10 or more times in a day? There are innumerable instances where a patient at a very high risk of self-harm has denied suicidality, been discharged from the hospital, and suffered terrible consequences. Ethically, the psychiatrist aware of this risk is no more at ease discharging these patients, whether it is one suicide risk scale or a dozen that suggests a patient is at low risk.
Alternatively, it may feel untenable from a medicolegal perspective for a psychiatrist to discharge a patient denying suicidality when the chart includes over a dozen previously documented elevated suicide risk assessments in the past 72 hours. By placing the job of suicide risk assessment in the hands of providers of varying levels of training and responsibility, a situation is created in which the seasoned psychiatrist who would otherwise be comfortable discharging a patient feels unable to do so because every other note-writer in the record – from the triage nurse to the medical assistant to the sitter in the emergency department – has recorded the patient as high risk for suicide. When put in such a position, the thought often occurs that systems of care, rather than individual providers, are protected most by ever escalating requirements for suicide risk documentation. To make a clinical decision contrary to the body of suicide risk documentation puts the provider at risk of being scapegoated by the system of care, which can point to its illogical and ineffective, though profusely documented, suicide prevention protocols.
Limitations of risk assessments
Considering the ongoing rise in the use of suicide risk assessments, one would expect that the evidence for their efficacy was robust and well established. Yet a thorough review of suicide risk assessments funded by the MacArthur Foundation, which examined decades of research, came to disheartening conclusions: “predictive ability has not improved over the past 50 years”; “no risk factor category or subcategory is substantially stronger than any other”; and “predicting solely according to base rates may be comparable to prediction with current risk factors.”5
Those findings were consistent with the conclusions of many other studies, which have summarized the utility of suicide risk assessments as follows: “occurrence of suicide is too low to identify those individuals who are likely to die by suicide”;6 “suicide prediction models produce accurate overall classification models, but their accuracy of predicting a future event is near zero”;7 “risk stratification is too inaccurate to be clinically useful and might even be harmful”;8 “suicide risk prediction [lacks] any items or information that to a useful degree permit the identification of persons who will complete suicide”;9 “existing suicide prediction tools have little current clinical value”;10 “our current preoccupation with risk assessment has ... created a mythology with no evidence to support it.”11 And that’s to cite just a few.
Sadly, we have known about the limitations of suicide risk assessments for many decades. In 1983 a large VA prospective study, which aimed to identify veterans who will die by suicide, examined 4,800 patients with a wide range of instruments and measures.12 This study concluded that “discriminant analysis was clearly inadequate in correctly classifying the subjects. For an event as rare as suicide, our predictive tools and guides are simply not equal to the task.” The authors described the feelings of many in stating “courts and public opinion expect physicians to be able to pick out the particular persons who will later commit suicide. Although we may reconstruct causal chains and motives, we do not possess the tools to predict suicides.”
Yet, even several decades prior, in 1954, Dr. Albert Rosen performed an elegant statistical analysis and predicted that, considering the low base rate of suicide, suicide risk assessments are “of no practical value, for it would be impossible to treat the prodigious number of false positives.”13 It seems that we continue to be unable to accept Dr. Rosen’s premonition despite decades of confirmatory evidence.
“Quantity over quality”
Regardless of those sobering reports,
One can reasonably argue that the periodic performance of a suicide risk assessment may have clinical utility in reminding us of modifiable risk factors such as intoxication, social isolation, and access to lethal means. One can also reasonably argue that these risk assessments may provide useful education to patients and their families on epidemiological risk factors such as gender, age, and marital status. But our pursuit of serial suicide risk assessments throughout the day is encouraging providers to focus on a particular risk factor that changes from moment to moment and has particularly low validity, that being self-reported suicidality.
Reported suicidality is one of the few risk factors that can change from shift to shift. But 80% of people who die by suicide had not previously expressed suicidality, and 98.3% of people who have endorsed suicidality do not die by suicide.14 While the former statistic may improve with increased assessment, the later will likely worsen.
Suicide is not a trivial matter. We admire those that study it and advocate for better interventions. We have compassion for those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to suicide. Our patients have died as a result of the human limitations surrounding suicide prevention. Recognizing the weight of suicide and making an effort to avoid minimizing its immense consequences drive our desire to be honest with ourselves, our patients and their families, and society. That includes the unfortunate truth regarding the current state of the evidence and our ability to enact change.
It is our concern that the rising fascination with repeated suicide risk assessment is misguided in its current form and serves the purpose of appeasing administrators more than reflecting a scientific understanding of the literature. More sadly, we are concerned that this “quantity-over-quality” approach is yet another barrier to practicing what may be one of the few interventions with any hope of meaningfully impacting a patient’s risk of suicide in the clinical setting – spending time connecting with our patients.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a member of the psychiatry faculty at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Badre and Dr. Compton have no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Joint Economic Committee. (2019). Long Term Trends in Deaths of Despair. SCP Report 4-19.
2. Kroenke K and Spitzer RL. The PHQ-9: A new depression diagnostic and severity measure. Psychiatr Ann. 2013;32(9):509-15. doi: 10.3928/0048-5713-20020901-06.
3. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Lifetime/Recent.
4. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Since Last Contact.
5. Franklin JC et al. Risk factors for suicidal thoughts and behaviors: A meta-analysis of 50 years of research. Psychol Bull. 2017 Feb;143(2):187-232. doi: 10.1037/bul0000084.
6. Beautrais AL. Further suicidal behavior among medically serious suicide attempters. Suicide Life Threat Behav. 2004 Spring;34(1):1-11. doi: 10.1521/suli.34.1.1.27772.
7. Belsher BE. Prediction models for suicide attempts and deaths: A systematic review and simulation. JAMA Psychiatry. 2019 Jun 1;76(6):642-651. doi: 10.1001/jamapsychiatry.2019.0174.
8. Carter G et al. Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guideline for the management of deliberate self-harm. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2016 Oct;50(10):939-1000. doi: 10.1177/0004867416661039.
9. Fosse R et al. Predictors of suicide in the patient population admitted to a locked-door psychiatric acute ward. PLoS One. 2017 Mar 16;12(3):e0173958. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0173958.
10. Kessler RC et al. Suicide prediction models: A critical review of recent research with recommendations for the way forward. Mol Psychiatry. 2020 Jan;25(1):168-79. doi: 10.1038/s41380-019-0531-0.
11. Mulder R. Problems with suicide risk assessment. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2011 Aug;45(8):605-7. doi: 10.3109/00048674.2011.594786.
12. Pokorny AD. Prediction of suicide in psychiatric patients: Report of a prospective study. Arch Gen Psychiatry. 1983 Mar;40(3):249-57. doi: 10.1001/archpsyc.1983.01790030019002.
13. Rosen A. Detection of suicidal patients: An example of some limitations in the prediction of infrequent events. J Consult Psychol. 1954 Dec;18(6):397-403. doi: 10.1037/h0058579.
14. McHugh CM et al. (2019). Association between suicidal ideation and suicide: Meta-analyses of odds ratios, sensitivity, specificity and positive predictive value. BJPsych Open. 2019 Mar;5(2):e18. doi: 10.1192/bjo.2018.88.
Suicide is not a trivial matter – it upends families, robs partners of a loved one, prevents children from having a parent, and can destroy a parent’s most cherished being. It is not surprising that societies have repeatedly made it a goal to study and reduce suicide within their populations.
The suicide rate in the United States is trending upward, from about 10 per 100,000 in 2000 to about 15 per 100,000 in more recent reports. The increasing suicide rates have been accompanied by increasing distress among many strata of society. From a public health level, analysts are not just witnessing increasing suicide rates, but a shocking rise in all “deaths of despair,”1 among which suicide can be considered the ultimate example.
On an individual level, many know someone who has died of suicide or suffered from a serious suicide attempt. From the public health level to the individual level, advocacy has called for various interventions in the field of psychiatry to remedy this tragic problem.
Psychiatrists have been firsthand witnesses to this increasing demand for suicide interventions. When in residency, the norm was to perform a suicide risk assessment at the time of admission to the hospital and again at the time of discharge. As the years passed, the new normal within psychiatric hospitals has shifted to asking about suicidality on a daily basis.
In what seems to us like an escalating arms race, the emerging standard of care at many facilities is now not only for daily suicide risk assessments by each psychiatrist, but also to require nurses to ask about suicidality during every 8-hour shift – in addition to documented inquiries about suicidality by other allied staff on the psychiatric unit. As a result, it is not uncommon for a patient hospitalized at an academic center to receive more than half a dozen suicide risk assessments in a day (first by the medical student, at least once – often more than once – by the resident, again by the attending psychiatrist, then the social worker and three nurses in 24 hours).
One of the concerns about such an approach is the lack of logic inherent to many risk assessment tools and symptom scales. Many of us are familiar with the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) to assess depression.2 The PHQ-9 asks to consider “over the last 2 weeks, how often have you ...” in relation to nine symptoms associated with depression. It has always defied reason to perform a PHQ-9 every day and expect the answers to change from “nearly every day” to “not at all,” considering only 1 day has passed since the last time the patient has answered the questions. Yet daily, or near daily, PHQ-9 scores are a frequently used tool of tracking symptom improvement in response to treatments, such as electroconvulsive therapy, performed multiple times a week.
One can argue that the patient’s perspective on how symptomatic he or she has been over the past 2 weeks may change rapidly with alleviation of a depressed mood. However, the PHQ-9 is both reported to be, and often regarded as, an objective score. If one wishes to utilize it as such, the defense of its use should not be that it is a subjective report with just as much utility as “Rate your depression on a scale of 0-27.”
Similarly, many suicide scales were intended to assess thoughts of suicide in the past month3 or have been re-tooled to address this particular concern by asking “since the last contact.”4 It is baffling to see a chart with many dozens of suicide risk assessments with at times widely differing answers, yet all measuring thoughts of suicide in the past month. Is one to expect the answer to “How many times have you had these thoughts [of suicide ideation]? (1) Less than once a week (2) Once a week ...” to change between 8 a.m. and noon? Furthermore, for the purpose of assessing acute risk of suicidality in the immediate future, to only consider symptoms since the last contact – or past 2 weeks, past month, etc. – is of unclear significance.
Provider liability
Another concern is the liability placed on providers. A common problem encountered in the inpatient setting is insurance companies refusing to reimburse a hospital stay for depressed patients denying suicidality.
Any provider in the position of caring for such a patient must ask: What is the likelihood of someone providing a false negative – a false denial of suicidality? Is the likelihood of a suicidal person denying suicidality different if asked 5 or 10 or more times in a day? There are innumerable instances where a patient at a very high risk of self-harm has denied suicidality, been discharged from the hospital, and suffered terrible consequences. Ethically, the psychiatrist aware of this risk is no more at ease discharging these patients, whether it is one suicide risk scale or a dozen that suggests a patient is at low risk.
Alternatively, it may feel untenable from a medicolegal perspective for a psychiatrist to discharge a patient denying suicidality when the chart includes over a dozen previously documented elevated suicide risk assessments in the past 72 hours. By placing the job of suicide risk assessment in the hands of providers of varying levels of training and responsibility, a situation is created in which the seasoned psychiatrist who would otherwise be comfortable discharging a patient feels unable to do so because every other note-writer in the record – from the triage nurse to the medical assistant to the sitter in the emergency department – has recorded the patient as high risk for suicide. When put in such a position, the thought often occurs that systems of care, rather than individual providers, are protected most by ever escalating requirements for suicide risk documentation. To make a clinical decision contrary to the body of suicide risk documentation puts the provider at risk of being scapegoated by the system of care, which can point to its illogical and ineffective, though profusely documented, suicide prevention protocols.
Limitations of risk assessments
Considering the ongoing rise in the use of suicide risk assessments, one would expect that the evidence for their efficacy was robust and well established. Yet a thorough review of suicide risk assessments funded by the MacArthur Foundation, which examined decades of research, came to disheartening conclusions: “predictive ability has not improved over the past 50 years”; “no risk factor category or subcategory is substantially stronger than any other”; and “predicting solely according to base rates may be comparable to prediction with current risk factors.”5
Those findings were consistent with the conclusions of many other studies, which have summarized the utility of suicide risk assessments as follows: “occurrence of suicide is too low to identify those individuals who are likely to die by suicide”;6 “suicide prediction models produce accurate overall classification models, but their accuracy of predicting a future event is near zero”;7 “risk stratification is too inaccurate to be clinically useful and might even be harmful”;8 “suicide risk prediction [lacks] any items or information that to a useful degree permit the identification of persons who will complete suicide”;9 “existing suicide prediction tools have little current clinical value”;10 “our current preoccupation with risk assessment has ... created a mythology with no evidence to support it.”11 And that’s to cite just a few.
Sadly, we have known about the limitations of suicide risk assessments for many decades. In 1983 a large VA prospective study, which aimed to identify veterans who will die by suicide, examined 4,800 patients with a wide range of instruments and measures.12 This study concluded that “discriminant analysis was clearly inadequate in correctly classifying the subjects. For an event as rare as suicide, our predictive tools and guides are simply not equal to the task.” The authors described the feelings of many in stating “courts and public opinion expect physicians to be able to pick out the particular persons who will later commit suicide. Although we may reconstruct causal chains and motives, we do not possess the tools to predict suicides.”
Yet, even several decades prior, in 1954, Dr. Albert Rosen performed an elegant statistical analysis and predicted that, considering the low base rate of suicide, suicide risk assessments are “of no practical value, for it would be impossible to treat the prodigious number of false positives.”13 It seems that we continue to be unable to accept Dr. Rosen’s premonition despite decades of confirmatory evidence.
“Quantity over quality”
Regardless of those sobering reports,
One can reasonably argue that the periodic performance of a suicide risk assessment may have clinical utility in reminding us of modifiable risk factors such as intoxication, social isolation, and access to lethal means. One can also reasonably argue that these risk assessments may provide useful education to patients and their families on epidemiological risk factors such as gender, age, and marital status. But our pursuit of serial suicide risk assessments throughout the day is encouraging providers to focus on a particular risk factor that changes from moment to moment and has particularly low validity, that being self-reported suicidality.
Reported suicidality is one of the few risk factors that can change from shift to shift. But 80% of people who die by suicide had not previously expressed suicidality, and 98.3% of people who have endorsed suicidality do not die by suicide.14 While the former statistic may improve with increased assessment, the later will likely worsen.
Suicide is not a trivial matter. We admire those that study it and advocate for better interventions. We have compassion for those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to suicide. Our patients have died as a result of the human limitations surrounding suicide prevention. Recognizing the weight of suicide and making an effort to avoid minimizing its immense consequences drive our desire to be honest with ourselves, our patients and their families, and society. That includes the unfortunate truth regarding the current state of the evidence and our ability to enact change.
It is our concern that the rising fascination with repeated suicide risk assessment is misguided in its current form and serves the purpose of appeasing administrators more than reflecting a scientific understanding of the literature. More sadly, we are concerned that this “quantity-over-quality” approach is yet another barrier to practicing what may be one of the few interventions with any hope of meaningfully impacting a patient’s risk of suicide in the clinical setting – spending time connecting with our patients.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a member of the psychiatry faculty at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Badre and Dr. Compton have no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Joint Economic Committee. (2019). Long Term Trends in Deaths of Despair. SCP Report 4-19.
2. Kroenke K and Spitzer RL. The PHQ-9: A new depression diagnostic and severity measure. Psychiatr Ann. 2013;32(9):509-15. doi: 10.3928/0048-5713-20020901-06.
3. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Lifetime/Recent.
4. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Since Last Contact.
5. Franklin JC et al. Risk factors for suicidal thoughts and behaviors: A meta-analysis of 50 years of research. Psychol Bull. 2017 Feb;143(2):187-232. doi: 10.1037/bul0000084.
6. Beautrais AL. Further suicidal behavior among medically serious suicide attempters. Suicide Life Threat Behav. 2004 Spring;34(1):1-11. doi: 10.1521/suli.34.1.1.27772.
7. Belsher BE. Prediction models for suicide attempts and deaths: A systematic review and simulation. JAMA Psychiatry. 2019 Jun 1;76(6):642-651. doi: 10.1001/jamapsychiatry.2019.0174.
8. Carter G et al. Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guideline for the management of deliberate self-harm. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2016 Oct;50(10):939-1000. doi: 10.1177/0004867416661039.
9. Fosse R et al. Predictors of suicide in the patient population admitted to a locked-door psychiatric acute ward. PLoS One. 2017 Mar 16;12(3):e0173958. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0173958.
10. Kessler RC et al. Suicide prediction models: A critical review of recent research with recommendations for the way forward. Mol Psychiatry. 2020 Jan;25(1):168-79. doi: 10.1038/s41380-019-0531-0.
11. Mulder R. Problems with suicide risk assessment. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2011 Aug;45(8):605-7. doi: 10.3109/00048674.2011.594786.
12. Pokorny AD. Prediction of suicide in psychiatric patients: Report of a prospective study. Arch Gen Psychiatry. 1983 Mar;40(3):249-57. doi: 10.1001/archpsyc.1983.01790030019002.
13. Rosen A. Detection of suicidal patients: An example of some limitations in the prediction of infrequent events. J Consult Psychol. 1954 Dec;18(6):397-403. doi: 10.1037/h0058579.
14. McHugh CM et al. (2019). Association between suicidal ideation and suicide: Meta-analyses of odds ratios, sensitivity, specificity and positive predictive value. BJPsych Open. 2019 Mar;5(2):e18. doi: 10.1192/bjo.2018.88.
Suicide is not a trivial matter – it upends families, robs partners of a loved one, prevents children from having a parent, and can destroy a parent’s most cherished being. It is not surprising that societies have repeatedly made it a goal to study and reduce suicide within their populations.
The suicide rate in the United States is trending upward, from about 10 per 100,000 in 2000 to about 15 per 100,000 in more recent reports. The increasing suicide rates have been accompanied by increasing distress among many strata of society. From a public health level, analysts are not just witnessing increasing suicide rates, but a shocking rise in all “deaths of despair,”1 among which suicide can be considered the ultimate example.
On an individual level, many know someone who has died of suicide or suffered from a serious suicide attempt. From the public health level to the individual level, advocacy has called for various interventions in the field of psychiatry to remedy this tragic problem.
Psychiatrists have been firsthand witnesses to this increasing demand for suicide interventions. When in residency, the norm was to perform a suicide risk assessment at the time of admission to the hospital and again at the time of discharge. As the years passed, the new normal within psychiatric hospitals has shifted to asking about suicidality on a daily basis.
In what seems to us like an escalating arms race, the emerging standard of care at many facilities is now not only for daily suicide risk assessments by each psychiatrist, but also to require nurses to ask about suicidality during every 8-hour shift – in addition to documented inquiries about suicidality by other allied staff on the psychiatric unit. As a result, it is not uncommon for a patient hospitalized at an academic center to receive more than half a dozen suicide risk assessments in a day (first by the medical student, at least once – often more than once – by the resident, again by the attending psychiatrist, then the social worker and three nurses in 24 hours).
One of the concerns about such an approach is the lack of logic inherent to many risk assessment tools and symptom scales. Many of us are familiar with the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) to assess depression.2 The PHQ-9 asks to consider “over the last 2 weeks, how often have you ...” in relation to nine symptoms associated with depression. It has always defied reason to perform a PHQ-9 every day and expect the answers to change from “nearly every day” to “not at all,” considering only 1 day has passed since the last time the patient has answered the questions. Yet daily, or near daily, PHQ-9 scores are a frequently used tool of tracking symptom improvement in response to treatments, such as electroconvulsive therapy, performed multiple times a week.
One can argue that the patient’s perspective on how symptomatic he or she has been over the past 2 weeks may change rapidly with alleviation of a depressed mood. However, the PHQ-9 is both reported to be, and often regarded as, an objective score. If one wishes to utilize it as such, the defense of its use should not be that it is a subjective report with just as much utility as “Rate your depression on a scale of 0-27.”
Similarly, many suicide scales were intended to assess thoughts of suicide in the past month3 or have been re-tooled to address this particular concern by asking “since the last contact.”4 It is baffling to see a chart with many dozens of suicide risk assessments with at times widely differing answers, yet all measuring thoughts of suicide in the past month. Is one to expect the answer to “How many times have you had these thoughts [of suicide ideation]? (1) Less than once a week (2) Once a week ...” to change between 8 a.m. and noon? Furthermore, for the purpose of assessing acute risk of suicidality in the immediate future, to only consider symptoms since the last contact – or past 2 weeks, past month, etc. – is of unclear significance.
Provider liability
Another concern is the liability placed on providers. A common problem encountered in the inpatient setting is insurance companies refusing to reimburse a hospital stay for depressed patients denying suicidality.
Any provider in the position of caring for such a patient must ask: What is the likelihood of someone providing a false negative – a false denial of suicidality? Is the likelihood of a suicidal person denying suicidality different if asked 5 or 10 or more times in a day? There are innumerable instances where a patient at a very high risk of self-harm has denied suicidality, been discharged from the hospital, and suffered terrible consequences. Ethically, the psychiatrist aware of this risk is no more at ease discharging these patients, whether it is one suicide risk scale or a dozen that suggests a patient is at low risk.
Alternatively, it may feel untenable from a medicolegal perspective for a psychiatrist to discharge a patient denying suicidality when the chart includes over a dozen previously documented elevated suicide risk assessments in the past 72 hours. By placing the job of suicide risk assessment in the hands of providers of varying levels of training and responsibility, a situation is created in which the seasoned psychiatrist who would otherwise be comfortable discharging a patient feels unable to do so because every other note-writer in the record – from the triage nurse to the medical assistant to the sitter in the emergency department – has recorded the patient as high risk for suicide. When put in such a position, the thought often occurs that systems of care, rather than individual providers, are protected most by ever escalating requirements for suicide risk documentation. To make a clinical decision contrary to the body of suicide risk documentation puts the provider at risk of being scapegoated by the system of care, which can point to its illogical and ineffective, though profusely documented, suicide prevention protocols.
Limitations of risk assessments
Considering the ongoing rise in the use of suicide risk assessments, one would expect that the evidence for their efficacy was robust and well established. Yet a thorough review of suicide risk assessments funded by the MacArthur Foundation, which examined decades of research, came to disheartening conclusions: “predictive ability has not improved over the past 50 years”; “no risk factor category or subcategory is substantially stronger than any other”; and “predicting solely according to base rates may be comparable to prediction with current risk factors.”5
Those findings were consistent with the conclusions of many other studies, which have summarized the utility of suicide risk assessments as follows: “occurrence of suicide is too low to identify those individuals who are likely to die by suicide”;6 “suicide prediction models produce accurate overall classification models, but their accuracy of predicting a future event is near zero”;7 “risk stratification is too inaccurate to be clinically useful and might even be harmful”;8 “suicide risk prediction [lacks] any items or information that to a useful degree permit the identification of persons who will complete suicide”;9 “existing suicide prediction tools have little current clinical value”;10 “our current preoccupation with risk assessment has ... created a mythology with no evidence to support it.”11 And that’s to cite just a few.
Sadly, we have known about the limitations of suicide risk assessments for many decades. In 1983 a large VA prospective study, which aimed to identify veterans who will die by suicide, examined 4,800 patients with a wide range of instruments and measures.12 This study concluded that “discriminant analysis was clearly inadequate in correctly classifying the subjects. For an event as rare as suicide, our predictive tools and guides are simply not equal to the task.” The authors described the feelings of many in stating “courts and public opinion expect physicians to be able to pick out the particular persons who will later commit suicide. Although we may reconstruct causal chains and motives, we do not possess the tools to predict suicides.”
Yet, even several decades prior, in 1954, Dr. Albert Rosen performed an elegant statistical analysis and predicted that, considering the low base rate of suicide, suicide risk assessments are “of no practical value, for it would be impossible to treat the prodigious number of false positives.”13 It seems that we continue to be unable to accept Dr. Rosen’s premonition despite decades of confirmatory evidence.
“Quantity over quality”
Regardless of those sobering reports,
One can reasonably argue that the periodic performance of a suicide risk assessment may have clinical utility in reminding us of modifiable risk factors such as intoxication, social isolation, and access to lethal means. One can also reasonably argue that these risk assessments may provide useful education to patients and their families on epidemiological risk factors such as gender, age, and marital status. But our pursuit of serial suicide risk assessments throughout the day is encouraging providers to focus on a particular risk factor that changes from moment to moment and has particularly low validity, that being self-reported suicidality.
Reported suicidality is one of the few risk factors that can change from shift to shift. But 80% of people who die by suicide had not previously expressed suicidality, and 98.3% of people who have endorsed suicidality do not die by suicide.14 While the former statistic may improve with increased assessment, the later will likely worsen.
Suicide is not a trivial matter. We admire those that study it and advocate for better interventions. We have compassion for those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to suicide. Our patients have died as a result of the human limitations surrounding suicide prevention. Recognizing the weight of suicide and making an effort to avoid minimizing its immense consequences drive our desire to be honest with ourselves, our patients and their families, and society. That includes the unfortunate truth regarding the current state of the evidence and our ability to enact change.
It is our concern that the rising fascination with repeated suicide risk assessment is misguided in its current form and serves the purpose of appeasing administrators more than reflecting a scientific understanding of the literature. More sadly, we are concerned that this “quantity-over-quality” approach is yet another barrier to practicing what may be one of the few interventions with any hope of meaningfully impacting a patient’s risk of suicide in the clinical setting – spending time connecting with our patients.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a member of the psychiatry faculty at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Badre and Dr. Compton have no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Joint Economic Committee. (2019). Long Term Trends in Deaths of Despair. SCP Report 4-19.
2. Kroenke K and Spitzer RL. The PHQ-9: A new depression diagnostic and severity measure. Psychiatr Ann. 2013;32(9):509-15. doi: 10.3928/0048-5713-20020901-06.
3. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Lifetime/Recent.
4. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Since Last Contact.
5. Franklin JC et al. Risk factors for suicidal thoughts and behaviors: A meta-analysis of 50 years of research. Psychol Bull. 2017 Feb;143(2):187-232. doi: 10.1037/bul0000084.
6. Beautrais AL. Further suicidal behavior among medically serious suicide attempters. Suicide Life Threat Behav. 2004 Spring;34(1):1-11. doi: 10.1521/suli.34.1.1.27772.
7. Belsher BE. Prediction models for suicide attempts and deaths: A systematic review and simulation. JAMA Psychiatry. 2019 Jun 1;76(6):642-651. doi: 10.1001/jamapsychiatry.2019.0174.
8. Carter G et al. Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guideline for the management of deliberate self-harm. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2016 Oct;50(10):939-1000. doi: 10.1177/0004867416661039.
9. Fosse R et al. Predictors of suicide in the patient population admitted to a locked-door psychiatric acute ward. PLoS One. 2017 Mar 16;12(3):e0173958. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0173958.
10. Kessler RC et al. Suicide prediction models: A critical review of recent research with recommendations for the way forward. Mol Psychiatry. 2020 Jan;25(1):168-79. doi: 10.1038/s41380-019-0531-0.
11. Mulder R. Problems with suicide risk assessment. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2011 Aug;45(8):605-7. doi: 10.3109/00048674.2011.594786.
12. Pokorny AD. Prediction of suicide in psychiatric patients: Report of a prospective study. Arch Gen Psychiatry. 1983 Mar;40(3):249-57. doi: 10.1001/archpsyc.1983.01790030019002.
13. Rosen A. Detection of suicidal patients: An example of some limitations in the prediction of infrequent events. J Consult Psychol. 1954 Dec;18(6):397-403. doi: 10.1037/h0058579.
14. McHugh CM et al. (2019). Association between suicidal ideation and suicide: Meta-analyses of odds ratios, sensitivity, specificity and positive predictive value. BJPsych Open. 2019 Mar;5(2):e18. doi: 10.1192/bjo.2018.88.
Will we ever outgrow the Goldwater rule?
Since it appeared in the first edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s Principles of Medical Ethics in 1973, the “Goldwater rule” – often referred to in terms of where in the APA’s guideline it can be found, Section 7.3 – has placed a stringent prohibition on psychiatrists offering professional opinions about public figures “unless he or she has conducted an examination and has been granted proper authorization for such a statement.”1
Some psychiatrists experienced the restrictive nature of Section 7.3 more acutely perhaps than ever during the Trump presidency. This spurred numerous articles criticizing the guideline as an outdated “gag rule”2 that harms the public image of psychiatry.3 Some psychiatrists violated the rule to warn the public of the dangers of a president with “incipient dementia”4 occupying the most powerful position on earth.
Following President Trump’s exit from the White House, the alarm bells surrounding his presidency have quieted. Criticisms of the Goldwater rule, on the other hand, have persisted. Many of these criticisms now call for the rule to be refined, allowing for psychiatrists to give their professional opinions about public figures, but with certain guidelines on how to do so.5 Few have yet to make a sober case for the outright abolition of Section 7.3.6
Self-regulating and internal policing are important factors in the continued independence of the medical profession, and we should continue to hold each other to high professional standards. That being said, do psychiatrists need training wheels to prevent us from devolving into unprofessional social commentators? Other medical specialties do not see the need to implement a rule preventing their colleagues from expressing expertise in fear of embarrassment. Do we not have faith in our ability to conduct ourselves professionally? Is the Goldwater rule an admission of a juvenile lack of self-control within our field?
Not only do other medical specialties not forcibly handhold their members in public settings, but other “providers” in the realm of mental health likewise do not implement such strict self-restraints. Psychiatry staying silent on the matter of public figures leaves a void filled by other, arguably less qualified, individuals. Subsequently, the public discord risks being flooded with pseudoscientific pontification and distorted views of psychiatric illness. The cycle of speculating on the mental fitness of the president has outlived President Trump, with concerns about Joe Biden’s incoherence and waning cognition.7 Therein is an important argument to be made for the public duty of psychiatrists, with their greater expertise and clinical acumen, to weigh in on matters of societal importance in an attempt to dispel dangerous misconceptions.
Practical limitations are often raised and serve as the cornerstone for the Goldwater rule. Specifically, the limitation being that a psychiatrist cannot provide a professional opinion about an individual without a proper in-person evaluation. The psychiatric interview could be considered the most in-depth and comprehensive evaluation in all of medicine. Even so, is a trained psychiatrist presented with grandiosity, flight-of-ideas, and pressured speech unable to comment on the possibility of mania without a lengthy and comprehensive evaluation? How much disorganization of behavior and dialogue does one need to observe to recognize psychosis? For the experienced psychiatrist, many of these behavioral hallmarks are akin to an ST elevation on an EKG representing a heart attack.
When considering less extreme examples of mental affliction, such as depression and anxiety, many signs – including demeanor, motor activity, manner of speaking, and other aspects of behavior – are apparent to the perceptive psychiatrist without needing an extensive interview that dives into the depths of a person’s social history and childhood. After all, our own criteria for depression and mania do not require the presence of social stressors or childhood trauma. Even personality disorders can be reasonably postulated when a person behaves in a particular fashion. The recognition of transitional objects, items used to provide psychological comfort, including the “teddy bear sign” are common and scientifically studied methods to recognize personality disorder.8
The necessity for an in-person evaluation has become less compelling over the years. In our modern age, important social moments are memorialized in countless videos that are arguably more relevant, more accurate, and less subjective than a psychiatric interview. Furthermore, forensic psychiatrists routinely comment on individuals they have not examined for a variety of reasons, from postmortem analysis to the refusal of the client to be interviewed. Moreover, and with significant contradiction, many leaders in the field of psychiatry view integrated care, the practice of psychiatrists advising primary care doctors, often without even seeing patients, to be the future of psychiatry.9
Some reading this may scoff at the above examples. Perhaps Section 7.3 speaks to an underlying insecurity in our field regarding our ability to accurately diagnose. That insecurity is not unfounded. In terms of the DSM-5, the bar for reliability has been lowered to a kappa of 0.2-0.4, from a previous standard of 0.6, in an attempt to avoid critiques of unreliability.10 Yet herein lies a powerful recognition of the necessity of the Goldwater rule. If psychiatrists cannot reliably agree on the presence of diagnoses in the controlled setting of scientific study, how can we expect to speak with coherence and consistency on highly mediatized and provoking topics?
The defense – that the difficulty psychiatrists have at providing an accurate diagnosis stems from the immense complexity of the system being evaluated, the human mind – is a valid one. Attempts to force such complex pathology, with all its many variables, into the check-box approach implemented in the DSM inevitably leads to problems with diagnostic reliability. Still, as psychiatrists we retain a level of expertise in assessing and treating complex disorders of the mind that no other field can claim.
The duty physicians have not only to work toward the health of their individual patients, but also to act in service of the public health and well-being of communities in which our patients live, is well established. How ethical is it then for psychiatry to absolve itself from duty when it comes to public figures at the center of shaping public opinion? There are numerous recent, high-profile instances where our expertise may have helped shine light in an otherwise murky public discussion filled with disinformation. The death of George Floyd and the year of turmoil that followed is a salient example. The conservatorship of Britney Spears and the resulting societal outcry is another. Even setting the matter of diagnosis aside, we can help illuminate the societal implications of conservatorship laws,11 in addition to providing input on how to safely and responsibly approach an individual who is in crisis, under the influence of multiple illicit substances, and possibly suffering from excited delirium.
Whether psychiatry has progressed enough as a medical specialty to trust ourselves with the option of providing professional opinions on public figures is an ongoing debate. The persistence of the Goldwater rule is a strong testament to the internal lack of confidence among psychiatrists regarding our ability to provide accurate diagnoses, act with integrity in the public space, and foster a positive public image. That lack of confidence may be well deserved. However, it is possible that our field will never go through the necessary pains of maturing as long as Section 7.3 remains in place.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Compton has no conflicts of interest. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. American Psychiatric Association. The principles of medical ethics with annotations especially applicable to psychiatry. Section 7. American Psychiatric Association; 2013 edition.
2. Glass LL. The Goldwater rule is broken. Here’s how to fix it. STAT News. 2018 June 18.
3. Plymyer D. The Goldwater rule paradox. 2020 Aug 7.
4. Lieberman JA. Trump’s brain and the 25th Amendment. Vice. 2017 Sep 8.
5. Blotcky AD et al. The Goldwater rule is fine, if refined. Here’s how to do it. Psychiatric Times. 2022 Jan 6;39(1).
6. Blotcky AD and Norrholm SD. After Trump, end the Goldwater rule once and for all. New York Daily News. 2020 Dec 22.
7. Stephens B. Biden should not run again – And he should say he won’t. New York Times. 2021 Dec 14.
8. Schmaling KB et al. The positive teddy bear sign: Transitional objects in the medical setting. J Nerv Ment Dis. 1994 Dec;182(12):725.
9. Badre N et al. Psychopharmacologic management in integrated care: Challenges for residency education. Acad Psychiatry. 2015; 39(4):466-9.
10. Kraemer HC et al. DSM-5: How reliable is reliable enough? Am J Psychiatry. 2012 Jan;169(1):13-5.
11. Badre N and Compton C. Britney Spears – Reflections on conservatorship. Clinical Psychiatry News. 2021 Nov 16.
Since it appeared in the first edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s Principles of Medical Ethics in 1973, the “Goldwater rule” – often referred to in terms of where in the APA’s guideline it can be found, Section 7.3 – has placed a stringent prohibition on psychiatrists offering professional opinions about public figures “unless he or she has conducted an examination and has been granted proper authorization for such a statement.”1
Some psychiatrists experienced the restrictive nature of Section 7.3 more acutely perhaps than ever during the Trump presidency. This spurred numerous articles criticizing the guideline as an outdated “gag rule”2 that harms the public image of psychiatry.3 Some psychiatrists violated the rule to warn the public of the dangers of a president with “incipient dementia”4 occupying the most powerful position on earth.
Following President Trump’s exit from the White House, the alarm bells surrounding his presidency have quieted. Criticisms of the Goldwater rule, on the other hand, have persisted. Many of these criticisms now call for the rule to be refined, allowing for psychiatrists to give their professional opinions about public figures, but with certain guidelines on how to do so.5 Few have yet to make a sober case for the outright abolition of Section 7.3.6
Self-regulating and internal policing are important factors in the continued independence of the medical profession, and we should continue to hold each other to high professional standards. That being said, do psychiatrists need training wheels to prevent us from devolving into unprofessional social commentators? Other medical specialties do not see the need to implement a rule preventing their colleagues from expressing expertise in fear of embarrassment. Do we not have faith in our ability to conduct ourselves professionally? Is the Goldwater rule an admission of a juvenile lack of self-control within our field?
Not only do other medical specialties not forcibly handhold their members in public settings, but other “providers” in the realm of mental health likewise do not implement such strict self-restraints. Psychiatry staying silent on the matter of public figures leaves a void filled by other, arguably less qualified, individuals. Subsequently, the public discord risks being flooded with pseudoscientific pontification and distorted views of psychiatric illness. The cycle of speculating on the mental fitness of the president has outlived President Trump, with concerns about Joe Biden’s incoherence and waning cognition.7 Therein is an important argument to be made for the public duty of psychiatrists, with their greater expertise and clinical acumen, to weigh in on matters of societal importance in an attempt to dispel dangerous misconceptions.
Practical limitations are often raised and serve as the cornerstone for the Goldwater rule. Specifically, the limitation being that a psychiatrist cannot provide a professional opinion about an individual without a proper in-person evaluation. The psychiatric interview could be considered the most in-depth and comprehensive evaluation in all of medicine. Even so, is a trained psychiatrist presented with grandiosity, flight-of-ideas, and pressured speech unable to comment on the possibility of mania without a lengthy and comprehensive evaluation? How much disorganization of behavior and dialogue does one need to observe to recognize psychosis? For the experienced psychiatrist, many of these behavioral hallmarks are akin to an ST elevation on an EKG representing a heart attack.
When considering less extreme examples of mental affliction, such as depression and anxiety, many signs – including demeanor, motor activity, manner of speaking, and other aspects of behavior – are apparent to the perceptive psychiatrist without needing an extensive interview that dives into the depths of a person’s social history and childhood. After all, our own criteria for depression and mania do not require the presence of social stressors or childhood trauma. Even personality disorders can be reasonably postulated when a person behaves in a particular fashion. The recognition of transitional objects, items used to provide psychological comfort, including the “teddy bear sign” are common and scientifically studied methods to recognize personality disorder.8
The necessity for an in-person evaluation has become less compelling over the years. In our modern age, important social moments are memorialized in countless videos that are arguably more relevant, more accurate, and less subjective than a psychiatric interview. Furthermore, forensic psychiatrists routinely comment on individuals they have not examined for a variety of reasons, from postmortem analysis to the refusal of the client to be interviewed. Moreover, and with significant contradiction, many leaders in the field of psychiatry view integrated care, the practice of psychiatrists advising primary care doctors, often without even seeing patients, to be the future of psychiatry.9
Some reading this may scoff at the above examples. Perhaps Section 7.3 speaks to an underlying insecurity in our field regarding our ability to accurately diagnose. That insecurity is not unfounded. In terms of the DSM-5, the bar for reliability has been lowered to a kappa of 0.2-0.4, from a previous standard of 0.6, in an attempt to avoid critiques of unreliability.10 Yet herein lies a powerful recognition of the necessity of the Goldwater rule. If psychiatrists cannot reliably agree on the presence of diagnoses in the controlled setting of scientific study, how can we expect to speak with coherence and consistency on highly mediatized and provoking topics?
The defense – that the difficulty psychiatrists have at providing an accurate diagnosis stems from the immense complexity of the system being evaluated, the human mind – is a valid one. Attempts to force such complex pathology, with all its many variables, into the check-box approach implemented in the DSM inevitably leads to problems with diagnostic reliability. Still, as psychiatrists we retain a level of expertise in assessing and treating complex disorders of the mind that no other field can claim.
The duty physicians have not only to work toward the health of their individual patients, but also to act in service of the public health and well-being of communities in which our patients live, is well established. How ethical is it then for psychiatry to absolve itself from duty when it comes to public figures at the center of shaping public opinion? There are numerous recent, high-profile instances where our expertise may have helped shine light in an otherwise murky public discussion filled with disinformation. The death of George Floyd and the year of turmoil that followed is a salient example. The conservatorship of Britney Spears and the resulting societal outcry is another. Even setting the matter of diagnosis aside, we can help illuminate the societal implications of conservatorship laws,11 in addition to providing input on how to safely and responsibly approach an individual who is in crisis, under the influence of multiple illicit substances, and possibly suffering from excited delirium.
Whether psychiatry has progressed enough as a medical specialty to trust ourselves with the option of providing professional opinions on public figures is an ongoing debate. The persistence of the Goldwater rule is a strong testament to the internal lack of confidence among psychiatrists regarding our ability to provide accurate diagnoses, act with integrity in the public space, and foster a positive public image. That lack of confidence may be well deserved. However, it is possible that our field will never go through the necessary pains of maturing as long as Section 7.3 remains in place.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Compton has no conflicts of interest. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. American Psychiatric Association. The principles of medical ethics with annotations especially applicable to psychiatry. Section 7. American Psychiatric Association; 2013 edition.
2. Glass LL. The Goldwater rule is broken. Here’s how to fix it. STAT News. 2018 June 18.
3. Plymyer D. The Goldwater rule paradox. 2020 Aug 7.
4. Lieberman JA. Trump’s brain and the 25th Amendment. Vice. 2017 Sep 8.
5. Blotcky AD et al. The Goldwater rule is fine, if refined. Here’s how to do it. Psychiatric Times. 2022 Jan 6;39(1).
6. Blotcky AD and Norrholm SD. After Trump, end the Goldwater rule once and for all. New York Daily News. 2020 Dec 22.
7. Stephens B. Biden should not run again – And he should say he won’t. New York Times. 2021 Dec 14.
8. Schmaling KB et al. The positive teddy bear sign: Transitional objects in the medical setting. J Nerv Ment Dis. 1994 Dec;182(12):725.
9. Badre N et al. Psychopharmacologic management in integrated care: Challenges for residency education. Acad Psychiatry. 2015; 39(4):466-9.
10. Kraemer HC et al. DSM-5: How reliable is reliable enough? Am J Psychiatry. 2012 Jan;169(1):13-5.
11. Badre N and Compton C. Britney Spears – Reflections on conservatorship. Clinical Psychiatry News. 2021 Nov 16.
Since it appeared in the first edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s Principles of Medical Ethics in 1973, the “Goldwater rule” – often referred to in terms of where in the APA’s guideline it can be found, Section 7.3 – has placed a stringent prohibition on psychiatrists offering professional opinions about public figures “unless he or she has conducted an examination and has been granted proper authorization for such a statement.”1
Some psychiatrists experienced the restrictive nature of Section 7.3 more acutely perhaps than ever during the Trump presidency. This spurred numerous articles criticizing the guideline as an outdated “gag rule”2 that harms the public image of psychiatry.3 Some psychiatrists violated the rule to warn the public of the dangers of a president with “incipient dementia”4 occupying the most powerful position on earth.
Following President Trump’s exit from the White House, the alarm bells surrounding his presidency have quieted. Criticisms of the Goldwater rule, on the other hand, have persisted. Many of these criticisms now call for the rule to be refined, allowing for psychiatrists to give their professional opinions about public figures, but with certain guidelines on how to do so.5 Few have yet to make a sober case for the outright abolition of Section 7.3.6
Self-regulating and internal policing are important factors in the continued independence of the medical profession, and we should continue to hold each other to high professional standards. That being said, do psychiatrists need training wheels to prevent us from devolving into unprofessional social commentators? Other medical specialties do not see the need to implement a rule preventing their colleagues from expressing expertise in fear of embarrassment. Do we not have faith in our ability to conduct ourselves professionally? Is the Goldwater rule an admission of a juvenile lack of self-control within our field?
Not only do other medical specialties not forcibly handhold their members in public settings, but other “providers” in the realm of mental health likewise do not implement such strict self-restraints. Psychiatry staying silent on the matter of public figures leaves a void filled by other, arguably less qualified, individuals. Subsequently, the public discord risks being flooded with pseudoscientific pontification and distorted views of psychiatric illness. The cycle of speculating on the mental fitness of the president has outlived President Trump, with concerns about Joe Biden’s incoherence and waning cognition.7 Therein is an important argument to be made for the public duty of psychiatrists, with their greater expertise and clinical acumen, to weigh in on matters of societal importance in an attempt to dispel dangerous misconceptions.
Practical limitations are often raised and serve as the cornerstone for the Goldwater rule. Specifically, the limitation being that a psychiatrist cannot provide a professional opinion about an individual without a proper in-person evaluation. The psychiatric interview could be considered the most in-depth and comprehensive evaluation in all of medicine. Even so, is a trained psychiatrist presented with grandiosity, flight-of-ideas, and pressured speech unable to comment on the possibility of mania without a lengthy and comprehensive evaluation? How much disorganization of behavior and dialogue does one need to observe to recognize psychosis? For the experienced psychiatrist, many of these behavioral hallmarks are akin to an ST elevation on an EKG representing a heart attack.
When considering less extreme examples of mental affliction, such as depression and anxiety, many signs – including demeanor, motor activity, manner of speaking, and other aspects of behavior – are apparent to the perceptive psychiatrist without needing an extensive interview that dives into the depths of a person’s social history and childhood. After all, our own criteria for depression and mania do not require the presence of social stressors or childhood trauma. Even personality disorders can be reasonably postulated when a person behaves in a particular fashion. The recognition of transitional objects, items used to provide psychological comfort, including the “teddy bear sign” are common and scientifically studied methods to recognize personality disorder.8
The necessity for an in-person evaluation has become less compelling over the years. In our modern age, important social moments are memorialized in countless videos that are arguably more relevant, more accurate, and less subjective than a psychiatric interview. Furthermore, forensic psychiatrists routinely comment on individuals they have not examined for a variety of reasons, from postmortem analysis to the refusal of the client to be interviewed. Moreover, and with significant contradiction, many leaders in the field of psychiatry view integrated care, the practice of psychiatrists advising primary care doctors, often without even seeing patients, to be the future of psychiatry.9
Some reading this may scoff at the above examples. Perhaps Section 7.3 speaks to an underlying insecurity in our field regarding our ability to accurately diagnose. That insecurity is not unfounded. In terms of the DSM-5, the bar for reliability has been lowered to a kappa of 0.2-0.4, from a previous standard of 0.6, in an attempt to avoid critiques of unreliability.10 Yet herein lies a powerful recognition of the necessity of the Goldwater rule. If psychiatrists cannot reliably agree on the presence of diagnoses in the controlled setting of scientific study, how can we expect to speak with coherence and consistency on highly mediatized and provoking topics?
The defense – that the difficulty psychiatrists have at providing an accurate diagnosis stems from the immense complexity of the system being evaluated, the human mind – is a valid one. Attempts to force such complex pathology, with all its many variables, into the check-box approach implemented in the DSM inevitably leads to problems with diagnostic reliability. Still, as psychiatrists we retain a level of expertise in assessing and treating complex disorders of the mind that no other field can claim.
The duty physicians have not only to work toward the health of their individual patients, but also to act in service of the public health and well-being of communities in which our patients live, is well established. How ethical is it then for psychiatry to absolve itself from duty when it comes to public figures at the center of shaping public opinion? There are numerous recent, high-profile instances where our expertise may have helped shine light in an otherwise murky public discussion filled with disinformation. The death of George Floyd and the year of turmoil that followed is a salient example. The conservatorship of Britney Spears and the resulting societal outcry is another. Even setting the matter of diagnosis aside, we can help illuminate the societal implications of conservatorship laws,11 in addition to providing input on how to safely and responsibly approach an individual who is in crisis, under the influence of multiple illicit substances, and possibly suffering from excited delirium.
Whether psychiatry has progressed enough as a medical specialty to trust ourselves with the option of providing professional opinions on public figures is an ongoing debate. The persistence of the Goldwater rule is a strong testament to the internal lack of confidence among psychiatrists regarding our ability to provide accurate diagnoses, act with integrity in the public space, and foster a positive public image. That lack of confidence may be well deserved. However, it is possible that our field will never go through the necessary pains of maturing as long as Section 7.3 remains in place.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Compton has no conflicts of interest. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. American Psychiatric Association. The principles of medical ethics with annotations especially applicable to psychiatry. Section 7. American Psychiatric Association; 2013 edition.
2. Glass LL. The Goldwater rule is broken. Here’s how to fix it. STAT News. 2018 June 18.
3. Plymyer D. The Goldwater rule paradox. 2020 Aug 7.
4. Lieberman JA. Trump’s brain and the 25th Amendment. Vice. 2017 Sep 8.
5. Blotcky AD et al. The Goldwater rule is fine, if refined. Here’s how to do it. Psychiatric Times. 2022 Jan 6;39(1).
6. Blotcky AD and Norrholm SD. After Trump, end the Goldwater rule once and for all. New York Daily News. 2020 Dec 22.
7. Stephens B. Biden should not run again – And he should say he won’t. New York Times. 2021 Dec 14.
8. Schmaling KB et al. The positive teddy bear sign: Transitional objects in the medical setting. J Nerv Ment Dis. 1994 Dec;182(12):725.
9. Badre N et al. Psychopharmacologic management in integrated care: Challenges for residency education. Acad Psychiatry. 2015; 39(4):466-9.
10. Kraemer HC et al. DSM-5: How reliable is reliable enough? Am J Psychiatry. 2012 Jan;169(1):13-5.
11. Badre N and Compton C. Britney Spears – Reflections on conservatorship. Clinical Psychiatry News. 2021 Nov 16.
Should psychiatry categorize ‘substance-induced paraphilia?’
‘substance-induced paraphilia?’
The dopamine receptors of the brain get their fair share amid the didactics we receive in residency. From discussions of antipsychotics and schizophrenia to stimulants and ADHD, dopamine plays a key role. Depending on the program and interest of faculty, methamphetamine may get its own lecture or be mixed in with other stimulants of abuse. During that discussion, a comment might be made in passing on the impact of methamphetamine on sexual desire and activity.
Experiences in the emergency department caring for patients who are intoxicated from methamphetamine then effectively make up for any gaps in trainees’ knowledge base. From patients engaging in self-pleasing pursuits in the emergency room to unfiltered reports of sexual exploits and desires, the impact of methamphetamine on sexual behavior quickly becomes apparent. Those experiences are later reinforced when residents are exposed to more long-term rehabilitation programs and have more in-depth conversations with patients about the sex-culture surrounding methamphetamine.
It is common to hear that, under the influence of methamphetamine, any available body will become an acceptable sexual partner – at times resulting in significant regrets, dangerous sexual activity, and complicated questions surrounding consent. Some early studies have found up to 72% increase in risky sexual behavior in methamphetamine users.1 This is particularly problematic as society has recently taken on the difficult and important work to re-examine the role and nature of consent in sexual activities. This falls within the larger #MeToo movement and has led to advocating for harsher sentencing of sexual offenders.
Yet simultaneously, society has also reconsidered its approach to apportioning blame on drug users.2 This shift to a more compassionate stance has resulted in a desire to treat and care for a disorder, rather than punish and condemn a poor choice. As forensic psychiatrists, we have noted this significant change. Where substance use disorders were once considered a risk factor for recidivism, they are now considered a disability that not only warrants treatment but can also diminish the share of blame one may be responsible for.
The convergence of those two societal movements often plays out in the courtroom, and in our experience when faced with those two opposing viewpoints, triers of fact (judges and juries) often favor punishing sexual offense over empathizing with an addictive disorder. While certainly not implying methamphetamine use condones sexual offense, we do posit the particular relationship between methamphetamine use and sexual activity should be explained to those entrusted with deciding guilt.
Examples of such problems are extremely common. A routine case involves IK,3 a 48-year-old male without significant history of legal problems, arrested for indecent exposure. His history of mental illness is closely intertwined with a history of substance use, leading to many psychiatric hospitalizations for methamphetamine-induced psychosis. After many hospitalizations he was placed in an assertive community treatment (ACT) team.
One day, IK is approached by an industrious drug dealer who frequents multiple board-and-cares in search for customers interested in relapsing. IK uses methamphetamine and within hours finds himself having walked miles away, naked, in the middle of an RV park. He subsequently describes the experience of unrelenting sexual desire, accompanied by ideas of reference involving billboards encouraging him to demonstrate his sexual prowess, as well as auditory hallucinations of women cheering him on. This leads to him pleasing himself publicly and his subsequent arrest.
Interviewing IK, 3 months later, he is embarrassed and apologetic. He is cognizant of the inappropriate nature of the incident and the foolishness of his actions. However, when asked whether he considers himself a sexual offender, he protests that he would never act in such a manner if not under the influence of methamphetamine. He points to his lack of significant sexual urges when sober, his lack of prior sexual offense, his lack of sexually violent offense, and his lack of unusual sexual interests.
It is unclear to us how society will or should adjudicate on such a case. It is not under the purview of forensic psychiatry to become a trier of fact. However, psychiatry should have a better working framework of how to discuss and conceptualize such situations, especially considering the dire consequences for those involved.
While any criminal conviction already has the potential to destroy a person’s life, sexual crimes bring particularly serious consequences. Entry into the national sex offender registry, in addition to carrying an unshakable stigma, comes with additional degrees of lost freedom. These individuals are prohibited from living or working in areas that have children in proximity, subjecting them to the outskirts of society and greatly restricting any chance of economic escape from poverty. Parks, libraries, and shopping malls can become off limits. Privacy for these individuals is nonexistent; from websites they visit to where they travel physically can be monitored. Even where they live and a detailed physical description are often easily accessible by members of their community.
When should it be permissible to consider sex offender status for someone on the grounds of a mental illness? A patient with obsessive-compulsive disorder might have sadistic obsessions and compulsions to commit violent sexual acts, which, along with being repugnant to society, are entirely ego-dystonic to the suffering patient. Psychosis is often characterized as involving a loss of insight and impaired reality testing. If society accepts insanity as grounds to mitigate sentencing, then why not permit it for grounds to wave the designation of sex offender to those with certain disorders, including substance use disorder? Wherever we come down on this issue,
Should IK have to register as a sex offender? Regardless of the circumstances, he did publicly masturbate. Society has determined that public sexual displays are a crime worth carrying the pariah status of sex offender – why should an exception be made for methamphetamine use? On the other hand, it is difficult to claim that IK’s behavior was entirely of his own free will. Most triers of fact will have never experienced that amount of dopamine reward. They can’t attest to the remaining free will after experiencing more pleasurable salience and positive reinforcement than ever naturally possible.
How we deal with the behavioral consequences, and other sequelae, of methamphetamine use is a growing problem. Access to and use of methamphetamine is no longer reserved for soldiers patrolling the jungles of Vietnam. Once thought to be a scourge of the West Coast, methamphetamine is now widely available throughout the United States.4 The use of methamphetamine is likely to continue to expand as society keeps pursuing the decriminalizing of drug use. Psychiatrists practicing in areas heavily affected by methamphetamine see firsthand the burden it places on community resources in the form of increased psychosis, emergency room utilization, medical resource strain, and encounters with police.5
The presence of mental illness is tied to a small but statistically significant risk of violence. However, substance use is a well-established risk factor for violence.6 What is often missed is that many sexual offenders have not committed a violent offense. However, like IK, they have been charged with indecent exposure or other nonviolent sexual offenses, such as prostitution and solicitation. Those nonviolent offenses are driven by poor judgment and impulsivity, the trademarks of substance use. The answer cannot be to incarcerate, and eventually add to the sex offender registry, the growing number of these individuals.
Yet, as psychiatrists, we seem at a loss for how to treat these patients. The prescription of allowing them to spend a night in the ED with a complementary sandwich garnished with olanzapine often feels like enabling. Substance use treatment programs are too limited, and the wait list is rarely shorter than the time it takes our patient to purchase their next hit.
There are no effective pharmacologic treatments for methamphetamine use disorder.7 The recommendations of cognitive-behavioral therapy, family and group therapy, contingency management, and a 12-step program may be sufficient for the most motivated and well-supported patients but are inadequate for the vast majority.8 As much as we want to laud the merits of community psychiatry and the ACT [assertive community treatment] model of care, it is hard to carry that banner while confronted with the reality these patients face on a day-to-day basis during any shift in the emergency room. Eventually the countless encounters with homeless, helplessly meth-addicted patients ending in discharge back to the streets begins to tarnish the bright rhetoric surrounding community care, which starts to sound more and more like abandonment of patients to suffer in futility.9
It is not up to forensic psychiatrists, or even psychiatry as a whole, to fix the myriad of inadequacies surrounding how society handles those suffering from methamphetamine addiction. However, it is essential for psychiatry to study and educate society on the interaction of methamphetamine use and sexual behavior. There has been some exploration into other risk factors for paraphilic behavior while under the influence of substances, but there is a dearth of information on this topic. Establishing a nomenclature called “substance-induced paraphilia” might be a way to bring clarity to such instances in both a forensic and general psychiatric setting.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Compton has no conflicts of interest. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Psychol Addict Behav. 2016;30(2)147-57.
2. Monitor Psychol. 2019;50(6).
3. IK’s case has been modified in certain ways to maintain confidentiality.
4. J Psychoactive Drugs. 2000;(2):137-41.
5. Acad Emerg Med. 2020 Nov;27(11):1116-25.
6. Swanson JW. Mental disorder, substance abuse, and community violence: An epidemiological approach, in: Monahan J and Steadman HJ, eds. “Violence and Mental Disorder: Developments in Risk Assessment” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994, pp. 101-36).
7. Addiction. 2004 Jun;99(6)708-17.
8. Am Fam Physician. 2007 Oct 15;76(8):1169-74.
9. Perspect Biol Med. 2021;64(1)70-81.
The dopamine receptors of the brain get their fair share amid the didactics we receive in residency. From discussions of antipsychotics and schizophrenia to stimulants and ADHD, dopamine plays a key role. Depending on the program and interest of faculty, methamphetamine may get its own lecture or be mixed in with other stimulants of abuse. During that discussion, a comment might be made in passing on the impact of methamphetamine on sexual desire and activity.
Experiences in the emergency department caring for patients who are intoxicated from methamphetamine then effectively make up for any gaps in trainees’ knowledge base. From patients engaging in self-pleasing pursuits in the emergency room to unfiltered reports of sexual exploits and desires, the impact of methamphetamine on sexual behavior quickly becomes apparent. Those experiences are later reinforced when residents are exposed to more long-term rehabilitation programs and have more in-depth conversations with patients about the sex-culture surrounding methamphetamine.
It is common to hear that, under the influence of methamphetamine, any available body will become an acceptable sexual partner – at times resulting in significant regrets, dangerous sexual activity, and complicated questions surrounding consent. Some early studies have found up to 72% increase in risky sexual behavior in methamphetamine users.1 This is particularly problematic as society has recently taken on the difficult and important work to re-examine the role and nature of consent in sexual activities. This falls within the larger #MeToo movement and has led to advocating for harsher sentencing of sexual offenders.
Yet simultaneously, society has also reconsidered its approach to apportioning blame on drug users.2 This shift to a more compassionate stance has resulted in a desire to treat and care for a disorder, rather than punish and condemn a poor choice. As forensic psychiatrists, we have noted this significant change. Where substance use disorders were once considered a risk factor for recidivism, they are now considered a disability that not only warrants treatment but can also diminish the share of blame one may be responsible for.
The convergence of those two societal movements often plays out in the courtroom, and in our experience when faced with those two opposing viewpoints, triers of fact (judges and juries) often favor punishing sexual offense over empathizing with an addictive disorder. While certainly not implying methamphetamine use condones sexual offense, we do posit the particular relationship between methamphetamine use and sexual activity should be explained to those entrusted with deciding guilt.
Examples of such problems are extremely common. A routine case involves IK,3 a 48-year-old male without significant history of legal problems, arrested for indecent exposure. His history of mental illness is closely intertwined with a history of substance use, leading to many psychiatric hospitalizations for methamphetamine-induced psychosis. After many hospitalizations he was placed in an assertive community treatment (ACT) team.
One day, IK is approached by an industrious drug dealer who frequents multiple board-and-cares in search for customers interested in relapsing. IK uses methamphetamine and within hours finds himself having walked miles away, naked, in the middle of an RV park. He subsequently describes the experience of unrelenting sexual desire, accompanied by ideas of reference involving billboards encouraging him to demonstrate his sexual prowess, as well as auditory hallucinations of women cheering him on. This leads to him pleasing himself publicly and his subsequent arrest.
Interviewing IK, 3 months later, he is embarrassed and apologetic. He is cognizant of the inappropriate nature of the incident and the foolishness of his actions. However, when asked whether he considers himself a sexual offender, he protests that he would never act in such a manner if not under the influence of methamphetamine. He points to his lack of significant sexual urges when sober, his lack of prior sexual offense, his lack of sexually violent offense, and his lack of unusual sexual interests.
It is unclear to us how society will or should adjudicate on such a case. It is not under the purview of forensic psychiatry to become a trier of fact. However, psychiatry should have a better working framework of how to discuss and conceptualize such situations, especially considering the dire consequences for those involved.
While any criminal conviction already has the potential to destroy a person’s life, sexual crimes bring particularly serious consequences. Entry into the national sex offender registry, in addition to carrying an unshakable stigma, comes with additional degrees of lost freedom. These individuals are prohibited from living or working in areas that have children in proximity, subjecting them to the outskirts of society and greatly restricting any chance of economic escape from poverty. Parks, libraries, and shopping malls can become off limits. Privacy for these individuals is nonexistent; from websites they visit to where they travel physically can be monitored. Even where they live and a detailed physical description are often easily accessible by members of their community.
When should it be permissible to consider sex offender status for someone on the grounds of a mental illness? A patient with obsessive-compulsive disorder might have sadistic obsessions and compulsions to commit violent sexual acts, which, along with being repugnant to society, are entirely ego-dystonic to the suffering patient. Psychosis is often characterized as involving a loss of insight and impaired reality testing. If society accepts insanity as grounds to mitigate sentencing, then why not permit it for grounds to wave the designation of sex offender to those with certain disorders, including substance use disorder? Wherever we come down on this issue,
Should IK have to register as a sex offender? Regardless of the circumstances, he did publicly masturbate. Society has determined that public sexual displays are a crime worth carrying the pariah status of sex offender – why should an exception be made for methamphetamine use? On the other hand, it is difficult to claim that IK’s behavior was entirely of his own free will. Most triers of fact will have never experienced that amount of dopamine reward. They can’t attest to the remaining free will after experiencing more pleasurable salience and positive reinforcement than ever naturally possible.
How we deal with the behavioral consequences, and other sequelae, of methamphetamine use is a growing problem. Access to and use of methamphetamine is no longer reserved for soldiers patrolling the jungles of Vietnam. Once thought to be a scourge of the West Coast, methamphetamine is now widely available throughout the United States.4 The use of methamphetamine is likely to continue to expand as society keeps pursuing the decriminalizing of drug use. Psychiatrists practicing in areas heavily affected by methamphetamine see firsthand the burden it places on community resources in the form of increased psychosis, emergency room utilization, medical resource strain, and encounters with police.5
The presence of mental illness is tied to a small but statistically significant risk of violence. However, substance use is a well-established risk factor for violence.6 What is often missed is that many sexual offenders have not committed a violent offense. However, like IK, they have been charged with indecent exposure or other nonviolent sexual offenses, such as prostitution and solicitation. Those nonviolent offenses are driven by poor judgment and impulsivity, the trademarks of substance use. The answer cannot be to incarcerate, and eventually add to the sex offender registry, the growing number of these individuals.
Yet, as psychiatrists, we seem at a loss for how to treat these patients. The prescription of allowing them to spend a night in the ED with a complementary sandwich garnished with olanzapine often feels like enabling. Substance use treatment programs are too limited, and the wait list is rarely shorter than the time it takes our patient to purchase their next hit.
There are no effective pharmacologic treatments for methamphetamine use disorder.7 The recommendations of cognitive-behavioral therapy, family and group therapy, contingency management, and a 12-step program may be sufficient for the most motivated and well-supported patients but are inadequate for the vast majority.8 As much as we want to laud the merits of community psychiatry and the ACT [assertive community treatment] model of care, it is hard to carry that banner while confronted with the reality these patients face on a day-to-day basis during any shift in the emergency room. Eventually the countless encounters with homeless, helplessly meth-addicted patients ending in discharge back to the streets begins to tarnish the bright rhetoric surrounding community care, which starts to sound more and more like abandonment of patients to suffer in futility.9
It is not up to forensic psychiatrists, or even psychiatry as a whole, to fix the myriad of inadequacies surrounding how society handles those suffering from methamphetamine addiction. However, it is essential for psychiatry to study and educate society on the interaction of methamphetamine use and sexual behavior. There has been some exploration into other risk factors for paraphilic behavior while under the influence of substances, but there is a dearth of information on this topic. Establishing a nomenclature called “substance-induced paraphilia” might be a way to bring clarity to such instances in both a forensic and general psychiatric setting.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Compton has no conflicts of interest. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Psychol Addict Behav. 2016;30(2)147-57.
2. Monitor Psychol. 2019;50(6).
3. IK’s case has been modified in certain ways to maintain confidentiality.
4. J Psychoactive Drugs. 2000;(2):137-41.
5. Acad Emerg Med. 2020 Nov;27(11):1116-25.
6. Swanson JW. Mental disorder, substance abuse, and community violence: An epidemiological approach, in: Monahan J and Steadman HJ, eds. “Violence and Mental Disorder: Developments in Risk Assessment” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994, pp. 101-36).
7. Addiction. 2004 Jun;99(6)708-17.
8. Am Fam Physician. 2007 Oct 15;76(8):1169-74.
9. Perspect Biol Med. 2021;64(1)70-81.
The dopamine receptors of the brain get their fair share amid the didactics we receive in residency. From discussions of antipsychotics and schizophrenia to stimulants and ADHD, dopamine plays a key role. Depending on the program and interest of faculty, methamphetamine may get its own lecture or be mixed in with other stimulants of abuse. During that discussion, a comment might be made in passing on the impact of methamphetamine on sexual desire and activity.
Experiences in the emergency department caring for patients who are intoxicated from methamphetamine then effectively make up for any gaps in trainees’ knowledge base. From patients engaging in self-pleasing pursuits in the emergency room to unfiltered reports of sexual exploits and desires, the impact of methamphetamine on sexual behavior quickly becomes apparent. Those experiences are later reinforced when residents are exposed to more long-term rehabilitation programs and have more in-depth conversations with patients about the sex-culture surrounding methamphetamine.
It is common to hear that, under the influence of methamphetamine, any available body will become an acceptable sexual partner – at times resulting in significant regrets, dangerous sexual activity, and complicated questions surrounding consent. Some early studies have found up to 72% increase in risky sexual behavior in methamphetamine users.1 This is particularly problematic as society has recently taken on the difficult and important work to re-examine the role and nature of consent in sexual activities. This falls within the larger #MeToo movement and has led to advocating for harsher sentencing of sexual offenders.
Yet simultaneously, society has also reconsidered its approach to apportioning blame on drug users.2 This shift to a more compassionate stance has resulted in a desire to treat and care for a disorder, rather than punish and condemn a poor choice. As forensic psychiatrists, we have noted this significant change. Where substance use disorders were once considered a risk factor for recidivism, they are now considered a disability that not only warrants treatment but can also diminish the share of blame one may be responsible for.
The convergence of those two societal movements often plays out in the courtroom, and in our experience when faced with those two opposing viewpoints, triers of fact (judges and juries) often favor punishing sexual offense over empathizing with an addictive disorder. While certainly not implying methamphetamine use condones sexual offense, we do posit the particular relationship between methamphetamine use and sexual activity should be explained to those entrusted with deciding guilt.
Examples of such problems are extremely common. A routine case involves IK,3 a 48-year-old male without significant history of legal problems, arrested for indecent exposure. His history of mental illness is closely intertwined with a history of substance use, leading to many psychiatric hospitalizations for methamphetamine-induced psychosis. After many hospitalizations he was placed in an assertive community treatment (ACT) team.
One day, IK is approached by an industrious drug dealer who frequents multiple board-and-cares in search for customers interested in relapsing. IK uses methamphetamine and within hours finds himself having walked miles away, naked, in the middle of an RV park. He subsequently describes the experience of unrelenting sexual desire, accompanied by ideas of reference involving billboards encouraging him to demonstrate his sexual prowess, as well as auditory hallucinations of women cheering him on. This leads to him pleasing himself publicly and his subsequent arrest.
Interviewing IK, 3 months later, he is embarrassed and apologetic. He is cognizant of the inappropriate nature of the incident and the foolishness of his actions. However, when asked whether he considers himself a sexual offender, he protests that he would never act in such a manner if not under the influence of methamphetamine. He points to his lack of significant sexual urges when sober, his lack of prior sexual offense, his lack of sexually violent offense, and his lack of unusual sexual interests.
It is unclear to us how society will or should adjudicate on such a case. It is not under the purview of forensic psychiatry to become a trier of fact. However, psychiatry should have a better working framework of how to discuss and conceptualize such situations, especially considering the dire consequences for those involved.
While any criminal conviction already has the potential to destroy a person’s life, sexual crimes bring particularly serious consequences. Entry into the national sex offender registry, in addition to carrying an unshakable stigma, comes with additional degrees of lost freedom. These individuals are prohibited from living or working in areas that have children in proximity, subjecting them to the outskirts of society and greatly restricting any chance of economic escape from poverty. Parks, libraries, and shopping malls can become off limits. Privacy for these individuals is nonexistent; from websites they visit to where they travel physically can be monitored. Even where they live and a detailed physical description are often easily accessible by members of their community.
When should it be permissible to consider sex offender status for someone on the grounds of a mental illness? A patient with obsessive-compulsive disorder might have sadistic obsessions and compulsions to commit violent sexual acts, which, along with being repugnant to society, are entirely ego-dystonic to the suffering patient. Psychosis is often characterized as involving a loss of insight and impaired reality testing. If society accepts insanity as grounds to mitigate sentencing, then why not permit it for grounds to wave the designation of sex offender to those with certain disorders, including substance use disorder? Wherever we come down on this issue,
Should IK have to register as a sex offender? Regardless of the circumstances, he did publicly masturbate. Society has determined that public sexual displays are a crime worth carrying the pariah status of sex offender – why should an exception be made for methamphetamine use? On the other hand, it is difficult to claim that IK’s behavior was entirely of his own free will. Most triers of fact will have never experienced that amount of dopamine reward. They can’t attest to the remaining free will after experiencing more pleasurable salience and positive reinforcement than ever naturally possible.
How we deal with the behavioral consequences, and other sequelae, of methamphetamine use is a growing problem. Access to and use of methamphetamine is no longer reserved for soldiers patrolling the jungles of Vietnam. Once thought to be a scourge of the West Coast, methamphetamine is now widely available throughout the United States.4 The use of methamphetamine is likely to continue to expand as society keeps pursuing the decriminalizing of drug use. Psychiatrists practicing in areas heavily affected by methamphetamine see firsthand the burden it places on community resources in the form of increased psychosis, emergency room utilization, medical resource strain, and encounters with police.5
The presence of mental illness is tied to a small but statistically significant risk of violence. However, substance use is a well-established risk factor for violence.6 What is often missed is that many sexual offenders have not committed a violent offense. However, like IK, they have been charged with indecent exposure or other nonviolent sexual offenses, such as prostitution and solicitation. Those nonviolent offenses are driven by poor judgment and impulsivity, the trademarks of substance use. The answer cannot be to incarcerate, and eventually add to the sex offender registry, the growing number of these individuals.
Yet, as psychiatrists, we seem at a loss for how to treat these patients. The prescription of allowing them to spend a night in the ED with a complementary sandwich garnished with olanzapine often feels like enabling. Substance use treatment programs are too limited, and the wait list is rarely shorter than the time it takes our patient to purchase their next hit.
There are no effective pharmacologic treatments for methamphetamine use disorder.7 The recommendations of cognitive-behavioral therapy, family and group therapy, contingency management, and a 12-step program may be sufficient for the most motivated and well-supported patients but are inadequate for the vast majority.8 As much as we want to laud the merits of community psychiatry and the ACT [assertive community treatment] model of care, it is hard to carry that banner while confronted with the reality these patients face on a day-to-day basis during any shift in the emergency room. Eventually the countless encounters with homeless, helplessly meth-addicted patients ending in discharge back to the streets begins to tarnish the bright rhetoric surrounding community care, which starts to sound more and more like abandonment of patients to suffer in futility.9
It is not up to forensic psychiatrists, or even psychiatry as a whole, to fix the myriad of inadequacies surrounding how society handles those suffering from methamphetamine addiction. However, it is essential for psychiatry to study and educate society on the interaction of methamphetamine use and sexual behavior. There has been some exploration into other risk factors for paraphilic behavior while under the influence of substances, but there is a dearth of information on this topic. Establishing a nomenclature called “substance-induced paraphilia” might be a way to bring clarity to such instances in both a forensic and general psychiatric setting.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Compton has no conflicts of interest. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. He has no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Psychol Addict Behav. 2016;30(2)147-57.
2. Monitor Psychol. 2019;50(6).
3. IK’s case has been modified in certain ways to maintain confidentiality.
4. J Psychoactive Drugs. 2000;(2):137-41.
5. Acad Emerg Med. 2020 Nov;27(11):1116-25.
6. Swanson JW. Mental disorder, substance abuse, and community violence: An epidemiological approach, in: Monahan J and Steadman HJ, eds. “Violence and Mental Disorder: Developments in Risk Assessment” (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994, pp. 101-36).
7. Addiction. 2004 Jun;99(6)708-17.
8. Am Fam Physician. 2007 Oct 15;76(8):1169-74.
9. Perspect Biol Med. 2021;64(1)70-81.
‘substance-induced paraphilia?’
‘substance-induced paraphilia?’
Britney Spears – Reflections on conservatorship
If you are a psychiatrist who has done a public lecture in the past year, you likely encountered the question, “What about Britney’s conservatorship?” Many psychiatrists are far removed from conservatorship evaluations, doing the different yet still important work of alleviating mental suffering without paddling in the controversial waters of involuntary treatment. Others judiciously hide behind the veil of the prudent Goldwater Rule in avoiding such discussions altogether. Regardless of whether psychiatry attempts to stay out of such affairs publicly, our field remains intimately involved in the process itself. This can lead to negative views of psychiatry among the public – that of a medical specialty with ulterior motives operating at the behest of the state.
Some psychiatrists simplistically advocate against any form of involuntary treatment.1 In many ways, this may appear noble. However, the reality of mental illness, with its potential harm to self and others, introduces the potential for dire consequences of such a position. If society is unwilling to accept behavior that may lead to harm, but psychiatry is unwilling to intervene, then other avenues of restricting such behavior will emerge. Those avenues traditionally have included conscription of law enforcement and the incarceration of patients with mental illness.
Yet, therein lies the conundrum of Ms. Spears and other celebrities on conservatorship. At face value, they do not appear to require conservatorship. We do not think it violates the Goldwater Rule to render this observation. In fact, it may reassure the public if the American Psychiatric Association, as well as individual psychiatrists, were more open about the goal, intent, and limitations of conservatorships.
The process of establishing conservatorships is not driven solely by mental health professionals. Rather, conservatorship laws permit society to enact, through psychiatrists, its desire to alleviate behaviors considered unacceptable in the context of mental illness.
In California, it has resulted in our famous or infamous “5150,” which asks psychiatrists to comment on the danger to self, danger to others, and grave disability of our patients. It can be helpful to frame these criteria regarding the relationship between society and our patients. The criteria of danger to self represents society’s wish to intervene in cases of patients with imminent intent of self-harm, operating under the presumption that a suicide can be prevented. Danger to others represents the societal angst, at times exaggerated,2 about people with mental illness perpetuating homicides, especially when off their medication. Grave disability represents public shame at the thought of persons so lost to mental illness they are unable to provide for themselves or even accept food, clothing, and shelter.
While an involuntary hold is necessary at times, working against our patients engenders revolting feelings. We often rationalize involuntary holds as illustrative of sincere compassion for our patients’ suffering and an attempt to lift them out of such tragic conditions. Our patients regularly do not feel our compassion when we are making an argument in a hearing for the restriction of their rights. They see our efforts as an attempt to lock them away “for their own good” because of society’s discomfort with homelessness. As such, we wonder whether our role becomes one of doctors for society, prescribing a treatment for the emotional distress of the community, and at times for ourselves, rather than that of the patient.
One may be perplexed as to how a celebrity could be considered gravely disabled. Celebrities generally have enough income to afford food, clothing, and shelter. One could justifiably ask why an individual with no history of violence would be considered a danger to others. Similarly, one may wonder how, in the absence of any reported attempts to engage in self-harm, with no visible marks of self-harm, someone is determined to be a danger to himself or herself. The bafflement on the part of one on the outside of these determinations can be sharply contrasted by the desperation felt by family members whose loved ones with mental illness appear to meet those criteria yet are consistently turned away by mental health programs and hospitals.
Not uncommonly, it is families advocating for involuntary hospitalization – while lamenting our strict criteria – that prevent doctors from intervening until some tragic fate befalls their loved ones. They criticize what they consider to be too-stringent mental health laws and are infuriated by seemingly obtuse insurance policies limiting care to patients. Most of our colleagues working with those who have severe mental illness share the frustration of these families over the scarcity of psychiatry beds. Therefore, it is particularly shocking when the most mediatized story about conservatorship is not about how hard it is to obtain. The story is about a singer who was seemingly safe, caring for herself, and yet still ended up on a conservatorship.
We wonder whether there is a question of magnitude. Are homeless patients more difficult to place on conservatorship because society sees a lesser stake? One could argue that Ms. Spears and other celebrities would have so much to lose in a single episode of mental illness. A week with mania or psychosis could cause irreparable damage to their persona, opportunity for employment, and their fortune. On the contrary, many of our patients on conservatorship have little to their names, and no one keeping up on their reputation. Triers of facts should ask themselves about the nature of their motivations. Envy, a desire to live vicariously through celebrities, or even less ethical motivations – such as a desire to control and exert authority over those individuals – can influence our decisions.
Throughout the past year, when asked about Ms. Spears, we have pointed out the obvious – she seemingly has a life incompatible with meeting criteria for a psychiatric conservatorship. We have outlined the role, history, and limitations of psychiatric conservatorship. We have shared how such cases are often approached, when required for our own patients or when asked by the court to do so. We have discussed the significant oversight of the system, including the public conservator’s office, which frequently refuses petitions outright. There are hearing officers, who, in the early stages of this process, weigh our case against that of the patients, aided by passionately driven patient advocates. There is the public defender’s office, which, at least in San Diego, vigorously defends the rights of those with mental illness. Most importantly, there are judges who adjudicate those cases with diligence and humility.
As the story has continued to be in the news, we have had numerous conversations about Ms. Spears’ conservatorship with colleagues sharing strong opinions on her case. Many of these colleagues do not have forensic practices and we inevitably find ourselves responding along the lines of, “It is easy to say this, but quite a different thing to prove it in court.” It is hard not to imagine testifying in such a high-profile conservatorship case; testifying, in front of jurors, about a celebrity who may have engaged in what some considered to be unusual behavior.
Conservatorship laws are not about the minutia or criteria of a specific mental health disorder. Patients do not meet criteria for conservatorship by having a certain number of delusional thoughts or a specific type of hallucination. Patients meet criteria for conservatorship because of state-enacted laws based on social factors – such as danger and self-care – the population wishes to treat, even if against the will of those treated. Under this light, one must recognize that a conservatorship trial is not just about mental illness but about how society wants to care for human beings. Psychiatric illness itself is not grounds for conservatorship. Oftentimes, severely ill patients win a hearing for grave disability by simply accepting a referral for housing, showing up to court clothed, and eating the meals provided at the hospital.
With understanding that these laws pertain specifically to behaviors resulting from mental illness that society finds unacceptable, the narrative of a celebrity conservatorship can be considered differently. The stories of celebrities being used and abused by deleterious beings and deleterious conditions have become a genre. Paul Prenter’s treatment of Freddie Mercury documented in the 2018 movie “Bohemian Rhapsody” and John Reid’s alleged betrayal of Elton John, who was suffering from a substance use disorder, documented in the 2019 movie “Rocketman,” are recent examples, among many.
Imagine yourself, as a juror, deciding on the fate of a celebrity. Would you require them to have lost all property, including the clothing on their backs, before intervening? Consider the next time you hear of a celebrity swindled from his or her fortune in a time of crisis and whether it would have been righteous to prevent it. We personally have, at times, argued for restraint in psychiatry’s desire to have more power. This concern extends not only to our ability to control people, but also our ability to force them into being subjected to psychotropic medications with well-known side effects.
At the same time, we remain cognizant of the magnified impact of adverse outcomes on public figures. John Hinckley Jr. did not attempt to murder a bystander; he attempted to kill the president of the United States when he shot at President Ronald Reagan in 1981. That incident led to considerable changes in our laws about insanity. More recently, society was particularly affected by Tom Hanks’ COVID-19 diagnosis. Mr. Hanks’ illness led to scientifically measurable changes in the public’s beliefs regarding the pandemic.3
On the other hand, and of equal importance to the desire to protect public figures from adverse events, is the risk that those same laws intended to protect will harm. From unsanitary asylums to disproportionate placements of minorities on psychiatric holds, we are concerned with unbridled control in the hands of those meant to cure and care. Sadly, there is also a cinematic genre of unprincipled and detrimental mental health treatment, from Brian Wilson’s treatment by his psychologist documented in “Love & Mercy,” to the upcoming “The Shrink Next Door,” featuring a psychiatrist swindling his patient.
With this additional understanding and analysis, we now ask our colleagues what it would take for them to intervene. Would a celebrity losing $100,000,000 because of mental illness constitute a form of grave disability despite remaining dressed? Would a celebrity engaging in significant drug use constitute a form of self-harm despite still recording albums? Would a celebrity failing to fulfill a social commitment to others, including children, constitute a form of harm to others? Those are not trivial questions to answer, and we are glad the Goldwater Rule reminds us of the limitations of speculating on people we do not know.
Nonetheless, the question of conservatorship is more complex than simply saying: “They make money; they have clothes on; this is absurd.” While this may be a catchy, compelling, and relevant argument, when confronted with a more complete narrative, triers of facts may feel compelled to intervene because, in the end, conservatorship laws are about what society is willing to accept rather than an enumeration of psychiatric symptoms.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research.
References
1. Badre N et al. “Coercion and the critical psychiatrist.” In Critical Psychiatry. Springer, Cham, 2019. doi: 10.1007/97-3-030-02732-2_7.
2. Barnes SS and Badre N. Psychiatr Serv. 2016 Jul 1;67(7)784-6.
3. Myrick JG and Willoughby JF. Health Commun. 2021 Jan 14;1-9.
If you are a psychiatrist who has done a public lecture in the past year, you likely encountered the question, “What about Britney’s conservatorship?” Many psychiatrists are far removed from conservatorship evaluations, doing the different yet still important work of alleviating mental suffering without paddling in the controversial waters of involuntary treatment. Others judiciously hide behind the veil of the prudent Goldwater Rule in avoiding such discussions altogether. Regardless of whether psychiatry attempts to stay out of such affairs publicly, our field remains intimately involved in the process itself. This can lead to negative views of psychiatry among the public – that of a medical specialty with ulterior motives operating at the behest of the state.
Some psychiatrists simplistically advocate against any form of involuntary treatment.1 In many ways, this may appear noble. However, the reality of mental illness, with its potential harm to self and others, introduces the potential for dire consequences of such a position. If society is unwilling to accept behavior that may lead to harm, but psychiatry is unwilling to intervene, then other avenues of restricting such behavior will emerge. Those avenues traditionally have included conscription of law enforcement and the incarceration of patients with mental illness.
Yet, therein lies the conundrum of Ms. Spears and other celebrities on conservatorship. At face value, they do not appear to require conservatorship. We do not think it violates the Goldwater Rule to render this observation. In fact, it may reassure the public if the American Psychiatric Association, as well as individual psychiatrists, were more open about the goal, intent, and limitations of conservatorships.
The process of establishing conservatorships is not driven solely by mental health professionals. Rather, conservatorship laws permit society to enact, through psychiatrists, its desire to alleviate behaviors considered unacceptable in the context of mental illness.
In California, it has resulted in our famous or infamous “5150,” which asks psychiatrists to comment on the danger to self, danger to others, and grave disability of our patients. It can be helpful to frame these criteria regarding the relationship between society and our patients. The criteria of danger to self represents society’s wish to intervene in cases of patients with imminent intent of self-harm, operating under the presumption that a suicide can be prevented. Danger to others represents the societal angst, at times exaggerated,2 about people with mental illness perpetuating homicides, especially when off their medication. Grave disability represents public shame at the thought of persons so lost to mental illness they are unable to provide for themselves or even accept food, clothing, and shelter.
While an involuntary hold is necessary at times, working against our patients engenders revolting feelings. We often rationalize involuntary holds as illustrative of sincere compassion for our patients’ suffering and an attempt to lift them out of such tragic conditions. Our patients regularly do not feel our compassion when we are making an argument in a hearing for the restriction of their rights. They see our efforts as an attempt to lock them away “for their own good” because of society’s discomfort with homelessness. As such, we wonder whether our role becomes one of doctors for society, prescribing a treatment for the emotional distress of the community, and at times for ourselves, rather than that of the patient.
One may be perplexed as to how a celebrity could be considered gravely disabled. Celebrities generally have enough income to afford food, clothing, and shelter. One could justifiably ask why an individual with no history of violence would be considered a danger to others. Similarly, one may wonder how, in the absence of any reported attempts to engage in self-harm, with no visible marks of self-harm, someone is determined to be a danger to himself or herself. The bafflement on the part of one on the outside of these determinations can be sharply contrasted by the desperation felt by family members whose loved ones with mental illness appear to meet those criteria yet are consistently turned away by mental health programs and hospitals.
Not uncommonly, it is families advocating for involuntary hospitalization – while lamenting our strict criteria – that prevent doctors from intervening until some tragic fate befalls their loved ones. They criticize what they consider to be too-stringent mental health laws and are infuriated by seemingly obtuse insurance policies limiting care to patients. Most of our colleagues working with those who have severe mental illness share the frustration of these families over the scarcity of psychiatry beds. Therefore, it is particularly shocking when the most mediatized story about conservatorship is not about how hard it is to obtain. The story is about a singer who was seemingly safe, caring for herself, and yet still ended up on a conservatorship.
We wonder whether there is a question of magnitude. Are homeless patients more difficult to place on conservatorship because society sees a lesser stake? One could argue that Ms. Spears and other celebrities would have so much to lose in a single episode of mental illness. A week with mania or psychosis could cause irreparable damage to their persona, opportunity for employment, and their fortune. On the contrary, many of our patients on conservatorship have little to their names, and no one keeping up on their reputation. Triers of facts should ask themselves about the nature of their motivations. Envy, a desire to live vicariously through celebrities, or even less ethical motivations – such as a desire to control and exert authority over those individuals – can influence our decisions.
Throughout the past year, when asked about Ms. Spears, we have pointed out the obvious – she seemingly has a life incompatible with meeting criteria for a psychiatric conservatorship. We have outlined the role, history, and limitations of psychiatric conservatorship. We have shared how such cases are often approached, when required for our own patients or when asked by the court to do so. We have discussed the significant oversight of the system, including the public conservator’s office, which frequently refuses petitions outright. There are hearing officers, who, in the early stages of this process, weigh our case against that of the patients, aided by passionately driven patient advocates. There is the public defender’s office, which, at least in San Diego, vigorously defends the rights of those with mental illness. Most importantly, there are judges who adjudicate those cases with diligence and humility.
As the story has continued to be in the news, we have had numerous conversations about Ms. Spears’ conservatorship with colleagues sharing strong opinions on her case. Many of these colleagues do not have forensic practices and we inevitably find ourselves responding along the lines of, “It is easy to say this, but quite a different thing to prove it in court.” It is hard not to imagine testifying in such a high-profile conservatorship case; testifying, in front of jurors, about a celebrity who may have engaged in what some considered to be unusual behavior.
Conservatorship laws are not about the minutia or criteria of a specific mental health disorder. Patients do not meet criteria for conservatorship by having a certain number of delusional thoughts or a specific type of hallucination. Patients meet criteria for conservatorship because of state-enacted laws based on social factors – such as danger and self-care – the population wishes to treat, even if against the will of those treated. Under this light, one must recognize that a conservatorship trial is not just about mental illness but about how society wants to care for human beings. Psychiatric illness itself is not grounds for conservatorship. Oftentimes, severely ill patients win a hearing for grave disability by simply accepting a referral for housing, showing up to court clothed, and eating the meals provided at the hospital.
With understanding that these laws pertain specifically to behaviors resulting from mental illness that society finds unacceptable, the narrative of a celebrity conservatorship can be considered differently. The stories of celebrities being used and abused by deleterious beings and deleterious conditions have become a genre. Paul Prenter’s treatment of Freddie Mercury documented in the 2018 movie “Bohemian Rhapsody” and John Reid’s alleged betrayal of Elton John, who was suffering from a substance use disorder, documented in the 2019 movie “Rocketman,” are recent examples, among many.
Imagine yourself, as a juror, deciding on the fate of a celebrity. Would you require them to have lost all property, including the clothing on their backs, before intervening? Consider the next time you hear of a celebrity swindled from his or her fortune in a time of crisis and whether it would have been righteous to prevent it. We personally have, at times, argued for restraint in psychiatry’s desire to have more power. This concern extends not only to our ability to control people, but also our ability to force them into being subjected to psychotropic medications with well-known side effects.
At the same time, we remain cognizant of the magnified impact of adverse outcomes on public figures. John Hinckley Jr. did not attempt to murder a bystander; he attempted to kill the president of the United States when he shot at President Ronald Reagan in 1981. That incident led to considerable changes in our laws about insanity. More recently, society was particularly affected by Tom Hanks’ COVID-19 diagnosis. Mr. Hanks’ illness led to scientifically measurable changes in the public’s beliefs regarding the pandemic.3
On the other hand, and of equal importance to the desire to protect public figures from adverse events, is the risk that those same laws intended to protect will harm. From unsanitary asylums to disproportionate placements of minorities on psychiatric holds, we are concerned with unbridled control in the hands of those meant to cure and care. Sadly, there is also a cinematic genre of unprincipled and detrimental mental health treatment, from Brian Wilson’s treatment by his psychologist documented in “Love & Mercy,” to the upcoming “The Shrink Next Door,” featuring a psychiatrist swindling his patient.
With this additional understanding and analysis, we now ask our colleagues what it would take for them to intervene. Would a celebrity losing $100,000,000 because of mental illness constitute a form of grave disability despite remaining dressed? Would a celebrity engaging in significant drug use constitute a form of self-harm despite still recording albums? Would a celebrity failing to fulfill a social commitment to others, including children, constitute a form of harm to others? Those are not trivial questions to answer, and we are glad the Goldwater Rule reminds us of the limitations of speculating on people we do not know.
Nonetheless, the question of conservatorship is more complex than simply saying: “They make money; they have clothes on; this is absurd.” While this may be a catchy, compelling, and relevant argument, when confronted with a more complete narrative, triers of facts may feel compelled to intervene because, in the end, conservatorship laws are about what society is willing to accept rather than an enumeration of psychiatric symptoms.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research.
References
1. Badre N et al. “Coercion and the critical psychiatrist.” In Critical Psychiatry. Springer, Cham, 2019. doi: 10.1007/97-3-030-02732-2_7.
2. Barnes SS and Badre N. Psychiatr Serv. 2016 Jul 1;67(7)784-6.
3. Myrick JG and Willoughby JF. Health Commun. 2021 Jan 14;1-9.
If you are a psychiatrist who has done a public lecture in the past year, you likely encountered the question, “What about Britney’s conservatorship?” Many psychiatrists are far removed from conservatorship evaluations, doing the different yet still important work of alleviating mental suffering without paddling in the controversial waters of involuntary treatment. Others judiciously hide behind the veil of the prudent Goldwater Rule in avoiding such discussions altogether. Regardless of whether psychiatry attempts to stay out of such affairs publicly, our field remains intimately involved in the process itself. This can lead to negative views of psychiatry among the public – that of a medical specialty with ulterior motives operating at the behest of the state.
Some psychiatrists simplistically advocate against any form of involuntary treatment.1 In many ways, this may appear noble. However, the reality of mental illness, with its potential harm to self and others, introduces the potential for dire consequences of such a position. If society is unwilling to accept behavior that may lead to harm, but psychiatry is unwilling to intervene, then other avenues of restricting such behavior will emerge. Those avenues traditionally have included conscription of law enforcement and the incarceration of patients with mental illness.
Yet, therein lies the conundrum of Ms. Spears and other celebrities on conservatorship. At face value, they do not appear to require conservatorship. We do not think it violates the Goldwater Rule to render this observation. In fact, it may reassure the public if the American Psychiatric Association, as well as individual psychiatrists, were more open about the goal, intent, and limitations of conservatorships.
The process of establishing conservatorships is not driven solely by mental health professionals. Rather, conservatorship laws permit society to enact, through psychiatrists, its desire to alleviate behaviors considered unacceptable in the context of mental illness.
In California, it has resulted in our famous or infamous “5150,” which asks psychiatrists to comment on the danger to self, danger to others, and grave disability of our patients. It can be helpful to frame these criteria regarding the relationship between society and our patients. The criteria of danger to self represents society’s wish to intervene in cases of patients with imminent intent of self-harm, operating under the presumption that a suicide can be prevented. Danger to others represents the societal angst, at times exaggerated,2 about people with mental illness perpetuating homicides, especially when off their medication. Grave disability represents public shame at the thought of persons so lost to mental illness they are unable to provide for themselves or even accept food, clothing, and shelter.
While an involuntary hold is necessary at times, working against our patients engenders revolting feelings. We often rationalize involuntary holds as illustrative of sincere compassion for our patients’ suffering and an attempt to lift them out of such tragic conditions. Our patients regularly do not feel our compassion when we are making an argument in a hearing for the restriction of their rights. They see our efforts as an attempt to lock them away “for their own good” because of society’s discomfort with homelessness. As such, we wonder whether our role becomes one of doctors for society, prescribing a treatment for the emotional distress of the community, and at times for ourselves, rather than that of the patient.
One may be perplexed as to how a celebrity could be considered gravely disabled. Celebrities generally have enough income to afford food, clothing, and shelter. One could justifiably ask why an individual with no history of violence would be considered a danger to others. Similarly, one may wonder how, in the absence of any reported attempts to engage in self-harm, with no visible marks of self-harm, someone is determined to be a danger to himself or herself. The bafflement on the part of one on the outside of these determinations can be sharply contrasted by the desperation felt by family members whose loved ones with mental illness appear to meet those criteria yet are consistently turned away by mental health programs and hospitals.
Not uncommonly, it is families advocating for involuntary hospitalization – while lamenting our strict criteria – that prevent doctors from intervening until some tragic fate befalls their loved ones. They criticize what they consider to be too-stringent mental health laws and are infuriated by seemingly obtuse insurance policies limiting care to patients. Most of our colleagues working with those who have severe mental illness share the frustration of these families over the scarcity of psychiatry beds. Therefore, it is particularly shocking when the most mediatized story about conservatorship is not about how hard it is to obtain. The story is about a singer who was seemingly safe, caring for herself, and yet still ended up on a conservatorship.
We wonder whether there is a question of magnitude. Are homeless patients more difficult to place on conservatorship because society sees a lesser stake? One could argue that Ms. Spears and other celebrities would have so much to lose in a single episode of mental illness. A week with mania or psychosis could cause irreparable damage to their persona, opportunity for employment, and their fortune. On the contrary, many of our patients on conservatorship have little to their names, and no one keeping up on their reputation. Triers of facts should ask themselves about the nature of their motivations. Envy, a desire to live vicariously through celebrities, or even less ethical motivations – such as a desire to control and exert authority over those individuals – can influence our decisions.
Throughout the past year, when asked about Ms. Spears, we have pointed out the obvious – she seemingly has a life incompatible with meeting criteria for a psychiatric conservatorship. We have outlined the role, history, and limitations of psychiatric conservatorship. We have shared how such cases are often approached, when required for our own patients or when asked by the court to do so. We have discussed the significant oversight of the system, including the public conservator’s office, which frequently refuses petitions outright. There are hearing officers, who, in the early stages of this process, weigh our case against that of the patients, aided by passionately driven patient advocates. There is the public defender’s office, which, at least in San Diego, vigorously defends the rights of those with mental illness. Most importantly, there are judges who adjudicate those cases with diligence and humility.
As the story has continued to be in the news, we have had numerous conversations about Ms. Spears’ conservatorship with colleagues sharing strong opinions on her case. Many of these colleagues do not have forensic practices and we inevitably find ourselves responding along the lines of, “It is easy to say this, but quite a different thing to prove it in court.” It is hard not to imagine testifying in such a high-profile conservatorship case; testifying, in front of jurors, about a celebrity who may have engaged in what some considered to be unusual behavior.
Conservatorship laws are not about the minutia or criteria of a specific mental health disorder. Patients do not meet criteria for conservatorship by having a certain number of delusional thoughts or a specific type of hallucination. Patients meet criteria for conservatorship because of state-enacted laws based on social factors – such as danger and self-care – the population wishes to treat, even if against the will of those treated. Under this light, one must recognize that a conservatorship trial is not just about mental illness but about how society wants to care for human beings. Psychiatric illness itself is not grounds for conservatorship. Oftentimes, severely ill patients win a hearing for grave disability by simply accepting a referral for housing, showing up to court clothed, and eating the meals provided at the hospital.
With understanding that these laws pertain specifically to behaviors resulting from mental illness that society finds unacceptable, the narrative of a celebrity conservatorship can be considered differently. The stories of celebrities being used and abused by deleterious beings and deleterious conditions have become a genre. Paul Prenter’s treatment of Freddie Mercury documented in the 2018 movie “Bohemian Rhapsody” and John Reid’s alleged betrayal of Elton John, who was suffering from a substance use disorder, documented in the 2019 movie “Rocketman,” are recent examples, among many.
Imagine yourself, as a juror, deciding on the fate of a celebrity. Would you require them to have lost all property, including the clothing on their backs, before intervening? Consider the next time you hear of a celebrity swindled from his or her fortune in a time of crisis and whether it would have been righteous to prevent it. We personally have, at times, argued for restraint in psychiatry’s desire to have more power. This concern extends not only to our ability to control people, but also our ability to force them into being subjected to psychotropic medications with well-known side effects.
At the same time, we remain cognizant of the magnified impact of adverse outcomes on public figures. John Hinckley Jr. did not attempt to murder a bystander; he attempted to kill the president of the United States when he shot at President Ronald Reagan in 1981. That incident led to considerable changes in our laws about insanity. More recently, society was particularly affected by Tom Hanks’ COVID-19 diagnosis. Mr. Hanks’ illness led to scientifically measurable changes in the public’s beliefs regarding the pandemic.3
On the other hand, and of equal importance to the desire to protect public figures from adverse events, is the risk that those same laws intended to protect will harm. From unsanitary asylums to disproportionate placements of minorities on psychiatric holds, we are concerned with unbridled control in the hands of those meant to cure and care. Sadly, there is also a cinematic genre of unprincipled and detrimental mental health treatment, from Brian Wilson’s treatment by his psychologist documented in “Love & Mercy,” to the upcoming “The Shrink Next Door,” featuring a psychiatrist swindling his patient.
With this additional understanding and analysis, we now ask our colleagues what it would take for them to intervene. Would a celebrity losing $100,000,000 because of mental illness constitute a form of grave disability despite remaining dressed? Would a celebrity engaging in significant drug use constitute a form of self-harm despite still recording albums? Would a celebrity failing to fulfill a social commitment to others, including children, constitute a form of harm to others? Those are not trivial questions to answer, and we are glad the Goldwater Rule reminds us of the limitations of speculating on people we do not know.
Nonetheless, the question of conservatorship is more complex than simply saying: “They make money; they have clothes on; this is absurd.” While this may be a catchy, compelling, and relevant argument, when confronted with a more complete narrative, triers of facts may feel compelled to intervene because, in the end, conservatorship laws are about what society is willing to accept rather than an enumeration of psychiatric symptoms.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research.
References
1. Badre N et al. “Coercion and the critical psychiatrist.” In Critical Psychiatry. Springer, Cham, 2019. doi: 10.1007/97-3-030-02732-2_7.
2. Barnes SS and Badre N. Psychiatr Serv. 2016 Jul 1;67(7)784-6.
3. Myrick JG and Willoughby JF. Health Commun. 2021 Jan 14;1-9.
Substance use or substance use disorder: A question of judgment
Substance use disorders can be a thorny topic in residency because of our role as gatekeepers of mental hospitals during our training. Intoxicated patients often get dismissed as a burden and distraction, malingering their way into a comfortable place to regain sobriety. This is extremely prevalent, often constituting the majority of patients seen during an emergency department call.
A typical interview may elicit any or all symptoms in the DSM yet be best explained by substance use intoxication or withdrawal. Alcohol and other CNS depressants commonly cause feelings of sadness and/or suicidality. Methamphetamine and other CNS stimulants commonly cause symptoms of psychosis or mania, followed by feelings of sadness and/or suicidality.
Different EDs have different degrees of patience for individuals in the process of becoming sober. Some departments will pressure clinicians into quickly discarding those patients and often frown upon any attempt at providing solace by raising the concern of reinforcing maladaptive behavior. A mystery-meat sandwich of admirable blandness may be the extent of help offered. Some more fortunate patients also receive a juice box or even a taxi voucher in an especially generous ED. This is always against our better judgment, of course, as we are told those gestures encourage abuse.
Other EDs will permit patients to remain until sober, allowing for another evaluation without the influence of controlled substances. We are reminded of many conversations with patients with substance use disorders, where topics discussed included: 1. Recommendation to seek substance use services, which are often nonexistent or with wait lists spanning months; 2. Education on the role of mental health hospitals and how patients’ despair in the context of intoxication does not meet some scriptural criteria; 3. Pep talks aided by such previously described sandwiches and juice boxes to encourage a sobering patient to leave the facility of their own will.
Methamphetamine, heroin, and alcohol are rarely one-and-done endeavors. We sparingly see our patients for their very first ED visit while intoxicated or crashing. They know how the system runs and which ED will more readily allow them an overnight stay. The number of times they have been recommended for substance use treatment is beyond counting – they may have been on a wait list a handful of times. They are aware of our reluctance to provide inpatient psychiatric treatment for substance use, but it is worth a shot trying, anyway – sometimes they get lucky. Usually it is the pep talk, relief from hunger pangs, and daylight that get them out the doors – until next time.
It is under this context that many trainees become psychiatrists, a process that solidifies the separation between drug use and mental illness. Many graduate from residency practically equating substance use disorder with malingering or futility. This can take on a surreal quality as many localities have recently adopted particular forms or requirements like the dispensation of naloxone syringes to all patients with substance use disorders. While the desire and effort are noble, it may suggest to a patient presenting for help that society’s main interest is to avoid seeing them die rather than help with available resources for maintaining sobriety.
Therein lies the conundrum, a conundrum that spans psychiatry to society. The conundrum is our ambivalence between punishing the choice of drug use or healing the substance use disorder. Should we discharge the intoxicated patient as soon as they are safe to walk out, or should we make every effort possible to find long-term solutions?
The calculation becomes more complex
A defining moment appears to have been society’s reconsideration of its stance on substance use disorders when affluent White teenagers started dying in the suburbs from pain pills overdoses. Suddenly, those children needed and deserved treatment, not punishment. We find ourselves far away from a time when the loudest societal commentary on substance use entailed mothers advocating for harsher sentences against drunk drivers.
More recently, as psychiatry and large contingents of society have decided to take up the mantle of equity and social justice, we have begun to make progress in decriminalizing substance use in an effort to reverse systemic discrimination toward minority groups. This has taken many shapes, including drug legalization, criminal justice reform, and even the provision of clean substance use paraphernalia for safer use of IV drugs. Police reform has led to reluctance to arrest or press charges for nonviolent crimes and reduced police presence in minority neighborhoods. The “rich White teenager” approach is now recommended in all neighborhoods.
Society’s attempt at decriminalizing drug use has run parallel with psychiatry’s recent attempts at reduced pathologizing of behaviors more prevalent in underprivileged groups and cultures. This runs the gamut, from avoiding the use of the term “agitated” because of its racial connotations, to advocating for reduced rates of schizophrenia diagnoses in Black males.1 A diagnosis of substance use disorder carries with it similar troublesome societal implications. Decriminalization, legalization, provision of substances to the population, normalization, and other societal reforms will likely have an impact on the prevalence of substance use disorder diagnoses, which involve many criteria dependent on societal context.
It would be expected that criteria such as hazardous use, social problems, and attempts to quit will decrease as social acceptance increases. How might this affect access to substance use treatment, an already extremely limited resource?
Now, as forensic psychiatrists, we find ourselves adjudicating on the role of drugs at a time when society is wrestling with its attitude on the breadth of responsibility possessed by people who use drugs. In California, as in many other states, insanity laws exclude those who were insane as a result of drug use, as a testament to or possibly a remnant of how society feels about the role of choice and responsibility in the use of drugs. Yet another defendant who admits to drug use may on the contrary receive a much more lenient plea deal if willing to commit to sobriety. But in a never-ending maze of differing judgments and opinions, a less understanding district attorney may argue that the additional risk posed by the use of drugs and resulting impulsivity may actually warrant a heavier sentence.
In a recent attempt at atonement for our past punitive stance on drug users, we have found a desire to protect those who use drugs by punishing those who sell, at times forgetting that these populations are deeply intertwined. A recent law permits the federal charge of distribution of fentanyl resulting in death, which carries the mandatory minimum of 20 years in prison. Yet, if the user whom we are trying to protect by this law is also the one selling, what are we left with?
Fentanyl has been a particularly tragic development in the history of mankind and drug use. Substance use has rarely been so easily linked to accidental death. While many physicians can easily explain the safety of fentanyl when used as prescribed and in controlled settings, this is certainly not the case in the community. Measuring micrograms of fentanyl is outside the knowledge and capabilities of most drug dealers, who are not equipped with pharmacy-grade scales. Yet, as a result, they sell and customers buy quantities of fentanyl that range from homeopathically low to lethally high because of a mixture of negligence and deliberate indifference.
Another effort at atonement has been attempts at decriminalizing drug use and releasing many nonviolent offenders. This can, however, encourage bystanders to report more acts as crime rather than public intoxication, to ensure a police response when confronted by intoxicated people. Whereas previously an inebriated person who is homeless may have been called for and asked to seek shelter, they now get called on, and subsequently charged for, allegedly mumbling a threat by a frustrated bystander.
The release of offenders has its limits. Many placements on probation require sobriety and result in longer sentences for the use of substances that are otherwise decriminalized. The decriminalization and reexamination of substance use by society should widen the scope from simply considering crime to examining the use of drugs throughout the legal system and even beyond.
The DSM and psychiatry are not intended or equipped to adjudicate disputes on where the lines should be drawn between determinism and free will. We are knowledgeable of patients with substance use disorders, the effect of intoxicating substances, and the capacity of patients with substance use disorders to act in law-abiding ways. Our field can inform without simply advocating whether our patients should be punished. While society is currently struggling with how to apportion blame, psychiatry should resist the urge to impose medical solutions to social problems. Our solutions would almost certainly be grossly limited as we are still struggling to repent for lobotomizing “uppity” young women2 and using electroshock therapy to disrupt perverse impulses in homosexual males.3 Social norms and political zeitgeists change over time while the psychological and physiological principles underlying our understanding of mental illness should, in theory, stay relatively constant. Psychiatry’s answers for societal ills do not usually improve with time but rather have a tendency to be humbling.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research.
References
1.Medlock MM et al., eds. “Racism and Psychiatry: Contemporary Issues and Interventions” (New York: Springer, 2018).
2. Tone A and Koziol M. CMAJ. 2018:190(20):e624-5.
3. McGuire RJ and Vallance M. BMJ. 1964;1(5376):151-3.
Substance use disorders can be a thorny topic in residency because of our role as gatekeepers of mental hospitals during our training. Intoxicated patients often get dismissed as a burden and distraction, malingering their way into a comfortable place to regain sobriety. This is extremely prevalent, often constituting the majority of patients seen during an emergency department call.
A typical interview may elicit any or all symptoms in the DSM yet be best explained by substance use intoxication or withdrawal. Alcohol and other CNS depressants commonly cause feelings of sadness and/or suicidality. Methamphetamine and other CNS stimulants commonly cause symptoms of psychosis or mania, followed by feelings of sadness and/or suicidality.
Different EDs have different degrees of patience for individuals in the process of becoming sober. Some departments will pressure clinicians into quickly discarding those patients and often frown upon any attempt at providing solace by raising the concern of reinforcing maladaptive behavior. A mystery-meat sandwich of admirable blandness may be the extent of help offered. Some more fortunate patients also receive a juice box or even a taxi voucher in an especially generous ED. This is always against our better judgment, of course, as we are told those gestures encourage abuse.
Other EDs will permit patients to remain until sober, allowing for another evaluation without the influence of controlled substances. We are reminded of many conversations with patients with substance use disorders, where topics discussed included: 1. Recommendation to seek substance use services, which are often nonexistent or with wait lists spanning months; 2. Education on the role of mental health hospitals and how patients’ despair in the context of intoxication does not meet some scriptural criteria; 3. Pep talks aided by such previously described sandwiches and juice boxes to encourage a sobering patient to leave the facility of their own will.
Methamphetamine, heroin, and alcohol are rarely one-and-done endeavors. We sparingly see our patients for their very first ED visit while intoxicated or crashing. They know how the system runs and which ED will more readily allow them an overnight stay. The number of times they have been recommended for substance use treatment is beyond counting – they may have been on a wait list a handful of times. They are aware of our reluctance to provide inpatient psychiatric treatment for substance use, but it is worth a shot trying, anyway – sometimes they get lucky. Usually it is the pep talk, relief from hunger pangs, and daylight that get them out the doors – until next time.
It is under this context that many trainees become psychiatrists, a process that solidifies the separation between drug use and mental illness. Many graduate from residency practically equating substance use disorder with malingering or futility. This can take on a surreal quality as many localities have recently adopted particular forms or requirements like the dispensation of naloxone syringes to all patients with substance use disorders. While the desire and effort are noble, it may suggest to a patient presenting for help that society’s main interest is to avoid seeing them die rather than help with available resources for maintaining sobriety.
Therein lies the conundrum, a conundrum that spans psychiatry to society. The conundrum is our ambivalence between punishing the choice of drug use or healing the substance use disorder. Should we discharge the intoxicated patient as soon as they are safe to walk out, or should we make every effort possible to find long-term solutions?
The calculation becomes more complex
A defining moment appears to have been society’s reconsideration of its stance on substance use disorders when affluent White teenagers started dying in the suburbs from pain pills overdoses. Suddenly, those children needed and deserved treatment, not punishment. We find ourselves far away from a time when the loudest societal commentary on substance use entailed mothers advocating for harsher sentences against drunk drivers.
More recently, as psychiatry and large contingents of society have decided to take up the mantle of equity and social justice, we have begun to make progress in decriminalizing substance use in an effort to reverse systemic discrimination toward minority groups. This has taken many shapes, including drug legalization, criminal justice reform, and even the provision of clean substance use paraphernalia for safer use of IV drugs. Police reform has led to reluctance to arrest or press charges for nonviolent crimes and reduced police presence in minority neighborhoods. The “rich White teenager” approach is now recommended in all neighborhoods.
Society’s attempt at decriminalizing drug use has run parallel with psychiatry’s recent attempts at reduced pathologizing of behaviors more prevalent in underprivileged groups and cultures. This runs the gamut, from avoiding the use of the term “agitated” because of its racial connotations, to advocating for reduced rates of schizophrenia diagnoses in Black males.1 A diagnosis of substance use disorder carries with it similar troublesome societal implications. Decriminalization, legalization, provision of substances to the population, normalization, and other societal reforms will likely have an impact on the prevalence of substance use disorder diagnoses, which involve many criteria dependent on societal context.
It would be expected that criteria such as hazardous use, social problems, and attempts to quit will decrease as social acceptance increases. How might this affect access to substance use treatment, an already extremely limited resource?
Now, as forensic psychiatrists, we find ourselves adjudicating on the role of drugs at a time when society is wrestling with its attitude on the breadth of responsibility possessed by people who use drugs. In California, as in many other states, insanity laws exclude those who were insane as a result of drug use, as a testament to or possibly a remnant of how society feels about the role of choice and responsibility in the use of drugs. Yet another defendant who admits to drug use may on the contrary receive a much more lenient plea deal if willing to commit to sobriety. But in a never-ending maze of differing judgments and opinions, a less understanding district attorney may argue that the additional risk posed by the use of drugs and resulting impulsivity may actually warrant a heavier sentence.
In a recent attempt at atonement for our past punitive stance on drug users, we have found a desire to protect those who use drugs by punishing those who sell, at times forgetting that these populations are deeply intertwined. A recent law permits the federal charge of distribution of fentanyl resulting in death, which carries the mandatory minimum of 20 years in prison. Yet, if the user whom we are trying to protect by this law is also the one selling, what are we left with?
Fentanyl has been a particularly tragic development in the history of mankind and drug use. Substance use has rarely been so easily linked to accidental death. While many physicians can easily explain the safety of fentanyl when used as prescribed and in controlled settings, this is certainly not the case in the community. Measuring micrograms of fentanyl is outside the knowledge and capabilities of most drug dealers, who are not equipped with pharmacy-grade scales. Yet, as a result, they sell and customers buy quantities of fentanyl that range from homeopathically low to lethally high because of a mixture of negligence and deliberate indifference.
Another effort at atonement has been attempts at decriminalizing drug use and releasing many nonviolent offenders. This can, however, encourage bystanders to report more acts as crime rather than public intoxication, to ensure a police response when confronted by intoxicated people. Whereas previously an inebriated person who is homeless may have been called for and asked to seek shelter, they now get called on, and subsequently charged for, allegedly mumbling a threat by a frustrated bystander.
The release of offenders has its limits. Many placements on probation require sobriety and result in longer sentences for the use of substances that are otherwise decriminalized. The decriminalization and reexamination of substance use by society should widen the scope from simply considering crime to examining the use of drugs throughout the legal system and even beyond.
The DSM and psychiatry are not intended or equipped to adjudicate disputes on where the lines should be drawn between determinism and free will. We are knowledgeable of patients with substance use disorders, the effect of intoxicating substances, and the capacity of patients with substance use disorders to act in law-abiding ways. Our field can inform without simply advocating whether our patients should be punished. While society is currently struggling with how to apportion blame, psychiatry should resist the urge to impose medical solutions to social problems. Our solutions would almost certainly be grossly limited as we are still struggling to repent for lobotomizing “uppity” young women2 and using electroshock therapy to disrupt perverse impulses in homosexual males.3 Social norms and political zeitgeists change over time while the psychological and physiological principles underlying our understanding of mental illness should, in theory, stay relatively constant. Psychiatry’s answers for societal ills do not usually improve with time but rather have a tendency to be humbling.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research.
References
1.Medlock MM et al., eds. “Racism and Psychiatry: Contemporary Issues and Interventions” (New York: Springer, 2018).
2. Tone A and Koziol M. CMAJ. 2018:190(20):e624-5.
3. McGuire RJ and Vallance M. BMJ. 1964;1(5376):151-3.
Substance use disorders can be a thorny topic in residency because of our role as gatekeepers of mental hospitals during our training. Intoxicated patients often get dismissed as a burden and distraction, malingering their way into a comfortable place to regain sobriety. This is extremely prevalent, often constituting the majority of patients seen during an emergency department call.
A typical interview may elicit any or all symptoms in the DSM yet be best explained by substance use intoxication or withdrawal. Alcohol and other CNS depressants commonly cause feelings of sadness and/or suicidality. Methamphetamine and other CNS stimulants commonly cause symptoms of psychosis or mania, followed by feelings of sadness and/or suicidality.
Different EDs have different degrees of patience for individuals in the process of becoming sober. Some departments will pressure clinicians into quickly discarding those patients and often frown upon any attempt at providing solace by raising the concern of reinforcing maladaptive behavior. A mystery-meat sandwich of admirable blandness may be the extent of help offered. Some more fortunate patients also receive a juice box or even a taxi voucher in an especially generous ED. This is always against our better judgment, of course, as we are told those gestures encourage abuse.
Other EDs will permit patients to remain until sober, allowing for another evaluation without the influence of controlled substances. We are reminded of many conversations with patients with substance use disorders, where topics discussed included: 1. Recommendation to seek substance use services, which are often nonexistent or with wait lists spanning months; 2. Education on the role of mental health hospitals and how patients’ despair in the context of intoxication does not meet some scriptural criteria; 3. Pep talks aided by such previously described sandwiches and juice boxes to encourage a sobering patient to leave the facility of their own will.
Methamphetamine, heroin, and alcohol are rarely one-and-done endeavors. We sparingly see our patients for their very first ED visit while intoxicated or crashing. They know how the system runs and which ED will more readily allow them an overnight stay. The number of times they have been recommended for substance use treatment is beyond counting – they may have been on a wait list a handful of times. They are aware of our reluctance to provide inpatient psychiatric treatment for substance use, but it is worth a shot trying, anyway – sometimes they get lucky. Usually it is the pep talk, relief from hunger pangs, and daylight that get them out the doors – until next time.
It is under this context that many trainees become psychiatrists, a process that solidifies the separation between drug use and mental illness. Many graduate from residency practically equating substance use disorder with malingering or futility. This can take on a surreal quality as many localities have recently adopted particular forms or requirements like the dispensation of naloxone syringes to all patients with substance use disorders. While the desire and effort are noble, it may suggest to a patient presenting for help that society’s main interest is to avoid seeing them die rather than help with available resources for maintaining sobriety.
Therein lies the conundrum, a conundrum that spans psychiatry to society. The conundrum is our ambivalence between punishing the choice of drug use or healing the substance use disorder. Should we discharge the intoxicated patient as soon as they are safe to walk out, or should we make every effort possible to find long-term solutions?
The calculation becomes more complex
A defining moment appears to have been society’s reconsideration of its stance on substance use disorders when affluent White teenagers started dying in the suburbs from pain pills overdoses. Suddenly, those children needed and deserved treatment, not punishment. We find ourselves far away from a time when the loudest societal commentary on substance use entailed mothers advocating for harsher sentences against drunk drivers.
More recently, as psychiatry and large contingents of society have decided to take up the mantle of equity and social justice, we have begun to make progress in decriminalizing substance use in an effort to reverse systemic discrimination toward minority groups. This has taken many shapes, including drug legalization, criminal justice reform, and even the provision of clean substance use paraphernalia for safer use of IV drugs. Police reform has led to reluctance to arrest or press charges for nonviolent crimes and reduced police presence in minority neighborhoods. The “rich White teenager” approach is now recommended in all neighborhoods.
Society’s attempt at decriminalizing drug use has run parallel with psychiatry’s recent attempts at reduced pathologizing of behaviors more prevalent in underprivileged groups and cultures. This runs the gamut, from avoiding the use of the term “agitated” because of its racial connotations, to advocating for reduced rates of schizophrenia diagnoses in Black males.1 A diagnosis of substance use disorder carries with it similar troublesome societal implications. Decriminalization, legalization, provision of substances to the population, normalization, and other societal reforms will likely have an impact on the prevalence of substance use disorder diagnoses, which involve many criteria dependent on societal context.
It would be expected that criteria such as hazardous use, social problems, and attempts to quit will decrease as social acceptance increases. How might this affect access to substance use treatment, an already extremely limited resource?
Now, as forensic psychiatrists, we find ourselves adjudicating on the role of drugs at a time when society is wrestling with its attitude on the breadth of responsibility possessed by people who use drugs. In California, as in many other states, insanity laws exclude those who were insane as a result of drug use, as a testament to or possibly a remnant of how society feels about the role of choice and responsibility in the use of drugs. Yet another defendant who admits to drug use may on the contrary receive a much more lenient plea deal if willing to commit to sobriety. But in a never-ending maze of differing judgments and opinions, a less understanding district attorney may argue that the additional risk posed by the use of drugs and resulting impulsivity may actually warrant a heavier sentence.
In a recent attempt at atonement for our past punitive stance on drug users, we have found a desire to protect those who use drugs by punishing those who sell, at times forgetting that these populations are deeply intertwined. A recent law permits the federal charge of distribution of fentanyl resulting in death, which carries the mandatory minimum of 20 years in prison. Yet, if the user whom we are trying to protect by this law is also the one selling, what are we left with?
Fentanyl has been a particularly tragic development in the history of mankind and drug use. Substance use has rarely been so easily linked to accidental death. While many physicians can easily explain the safety of fentanyl when used as prescribed and in controlled settings, this is certainly not the case in the community. Measuring micrograms of fentanyl is outside the knowledge and capabilities of most drug dealers, who are not equipped with pharmacy-grade scales. Yet, as a result, they sell and customers buy quantities of fentanyl that range from homeopathically low to lethally high because of a mixture of negligence and deliberate indifference.
Another effort at atonement has been attempts at decriminalizing drug use and releasing many nonviolent offenders. This can, however, encourage bystanders to report more acts as crime rather than public intoxication, to ensure a police response when confronted by intoxicated people. Whereas previously an inebriated person who is homeless may have been called for and asked to seek shelter, they now get called on, and subsequently charged for, allegedly mumbling a threat by a frustrated bystander.
The release of offenders has its limits. Many placements on probation require sobriety and result in longer sentences for the use of substances that are otherwise decriminalized. The decriminalization and reexamination of substance use by society should widen the scope from simply considering crime to examining the use of drugs throughout the legal system and even beyond.
The DSM and psychiatry are not intended or equipped to adjudicate disputes on where the lines should be drawn between determinism and free will. We are knowledgeable of patients with substance use disorders, the effect of intoxicating substances, and the capacity of patients with substance use disorders to act in law-abiding ways. Our field can inform without simply advocating whether our patients should be punished. While society is currently struggling with how to apportion blame, psychiatry should resist the urge to impose medical solutions to social problems. Our solutions would almost certainly be grossly limited as we are still struggling to repent for lobotomizing “uppity” young women2 and using electroshock therapy to disrupt perverse impulses in homosexual males.3 Social norms and political zeitgeists change over time while the psychological and physiological principles underlying our understanding of mental illness should, in theory, stay relatively constant. Psychiatry’s answers for societal ills do not usually improve with time but rather have a tendency to be humbling.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com.
Dr. Compton is a psychiatry resident at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research.
References
1.Medlock MM et al., eds. “Racism and Psychiatry: Contemporary Issues and Interventions” (New York: Springer, 2018).
2. Tone A and Koziol M. CMAJ. 2018:190(20):e624-5.
3. McGuire RJ and Vallance M. BMJ. 1964;1(5376):151-3.