Finding HopeDopamine Land: A Multisensory Experience
Posted on November 11, 2023
Over the summer, I was able to go (twice!) to this cool, immersive exhibition called Dopamine Land: “Dopamine Land is a multisensory experience that combines media, technology and play in one place. It’s an interactive museum made up of colourful installations that channel the limitless imagination of your inner child into reality. Take a break from your everyday life, have some fun, take some photos and boost your happy emotions!” (x) It’s made up of, I think, eleven rooms, each with a different artistic and sensory-stimulating environment inside. Some of them I absolutely loved, some of them I simply enjoyed, and some that I actively struggled with. But I loved the experience, first with my Mum and then with a friend of mine who also has ADHD (something which I do think made it a slightly different experience, although I’m not sure I could clearly explain why).
Before you enter the exhibition, there are two signs on the wall, explaining what dopamine is and how their rooms boost it, which I found super interesting: “Here at Dopamine Land we aim to trigger a gentle release of Dopamine in each of the spaces in different ways as you travel through the gallery. But what is dopamine? Dopamine is a chemical released in the brain that makes you feel. It is responsible for allowing you to feel pleasure, satisfaction, and motivation. A dopamine ‘reward’ can be caused by many pleasant experiences, including eating nice food, feeling loved, winning a game, and earning money, and having the right amount of dopamine is important both for your body and your brain. When you feel good that you have achieved something, it’s because you have a surge of dopamine in the brain.” and “How do the spaces trigger dopamine? There are many different types of triggers for dopamine, across all your senses, and each individual will experience dopamine in different ways. Therefore we have designed the experience to go through a variety of types of spaces, from energetic, to nostalgic, to meditative rooms. You may feel joy in a childhood memory, or from a wonderful aroma. You may experience a warmth from visually satisfying images, or a creative moment may trigger your feel-good hormone. Or perhaps a mesmerising, calming environment is best for you to find your happy place.”
There will be major spoilers in this post so, if you want to go and want to be surprised by the experience, don’t read any further because I will be talking about the different rooms and the fun little details and basically the whole experience. However, if you’re interested, please read on…
The first room (I forgot to take a photo of its name and description) was deeply reminiscent of Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Rooms, which I always completely adored so I loved that room and just wished I could’ve stayed longer (it was one of the few that had a time limit)…
As I said in my Week In My Life post a few weeks back, I can’t really explain why I love this environment so much. There’s just something about it that makes my brain feel so right and joyful, like a symphony finally in harmony (that metaphor just flowed out as I was writing and it really took me by surprise – it’s a very apt metaphor given that my brain often feels very noisy). It is deeply pleasing on a sensory level in a way that I rarely experience.
I also forgot to take a photo of the sign outside this room with the name and description of it but I’ll do my best to explain it. There were square panels in the floor throughout the room and when you stepped on one, it changed colour. It’s a bit disconcerting though because they look like there is just endless space below, like you could fall through it and just keep going. My friend and I had a good time though, trying to step on different ones and getting the colours to sync up. Yes, we’re actual children…
Another of my favourites was called Lucid Dreams with a looping video of all these different visual effects with different colours, different sounds, and what looked like different textures. The explanation outside read: “Let your mind immerse you into an infinite dreamscape and allow your imagination to fly free. This space explores the concept of ASMR content (Auto Sensory Meridian Response): something that evokes light and pleasurable tingles, sparkles, fuzziness or waves of relaxation in the neck, spine, and body.” I’ve never been a huge fan of ASMR but I loved this room. It was definitely one of my favourites; I could’ve watched it all day. It was definitely the room I spent the most time in. It was just gorgeous and oddly compelling and as I said when I talked about it before, I didn’t just want to touch it – I wanted to live inside of it. I tried to find out who designed and created it but when I contacted Dopamine Land to ask, they said that they didn’t give out that information. It seems unfair to me, that the artists aren’t getting clear credit for the work that they’ve done.
I honestly couldn’t choose a favourite moment of it; I loved the whole thing.
The Writing Room wasn’t a favourite but I thought it was kind of cool, although I would’ve put it at the end for people to write about their Dopamine Land experiences if they wanted to: “Pause for reflection and give a moment for gratitude. Tell us what makes you full of lust, love, and laughter, tell us what you’re grateful for or what you dream of. Write a note to yourself, recalling a feel-good moment of joy, the warmth of love, or perhaps something a little more primal. Post it to yourself in one of the post boxes, or leave it for others to enjoy.”
These were my messages that I left tucked into various corners.
The next room, Creating Calm, was pretty nostalgic, with fridge magnet words to rearrange and lights for shadow puppets: “Let’s get busy and create something! Brash, bold, thoughtful, creative, artistic, or beautifully silly; all creations welcome here! A creative act can focus the mind due to its calming effects on the brain and body, releasing dopamine, a natural antidepressant. It is also thought that higher dopamine levels drive our motivation to explore and boost creativity. So let’s get making!”
I find shadow puppets all but impossible to do but it was fun to watch other people try and I had fun with the fridge magnet words. I like how, when the word you want isn’t available, you have to take the sentence in a different direction, usually ending up with something you never expected. Sometimes it ends up being nonsense but sometimes it ends up being really cool.
The next room was the ball pit but I forgot to take a picture for the explanation. Having said that, I think it’s safe to say that a ball pit turns everyone into a kid; there’s something very nostalgic about them and I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically as I ended up flailing around like an idiot when I couldn’t get back up again. It wasn’t at the top of my favourites list but there’s something wonderfully childlike about flopping into a big container of plastic balls and burying yourself in them until not even your face is visible; it’s just so joyful.
That one was probably the hardest on my back though, when the pain was bad. The whole thing wasn’t great for my back pain but I was wearing a brace and the support was a life-saver. I wasn’t pain-free but between the brace and my industrial strength painkillers, I was just about coping (a favourite coming up was the perfect antidote to all the standing and throwing myself into the ball pit). As I said, the ball pit was the most painful and I did regret my enthusiasm a little afterwards; the strain it put on my back was just a bit too much.
Another of my absolute favourites was called Fire Lantern: “Give a moment to appreciate those around us, and those who are not, as you bask under our canopy of glimmering light. Dopamine plays a part in encoding and consolidating memories and fire lanterns hold an important role in many cultures social events and festivities, lighting the way for souls of the ancestors. Contemplate the beauty of these mesmeric lanterns and remember fondly those with whom you have parted ways.” I thought that was really beautiful and I was absolutely mesmerised by the space, by staring up at the lanterns as I lay on the big bean bags on the floor. The quiet – just the low voices of the other people talking as they lay on their own bean bags – was really soothing and I honestly could’ve stayed there all day. It would’ve been easily done too because time seemed to move differently in there. I’d love a space like that in my house, just to decompress in. I don’t think that’s gonna happen though.
I was so excited to see it a second time and it was nice to start with but then two different families arrived with their kids, none of whom could’ve been older than ten, and they were running around the room and shouting and dragging the bean bags from place to place and it just completely ruined the gentle atmosphere. It was really disappointing.
The penultimate room, Keep Calm, looked like an abstract forest: “When dopamine is released it can produce a reaction where you feel calm yet also energised. Experience an immersive digital nature; a forest of the surreal! A natural space of great calm and beauty conjured through lights, mirrors, and the scent of natural wood, yet contrasted by hard lines, creating a shifting, shimmering, layered forest.” It was weird but beautiful and reminded me of wandering through the woods as a kid.
It wasn’t at the top of my list but I did really like it; it was very soothing. But then, again during my second visit, the families with kids ruined that. The kids were running around and shrieking and kicking up the wood chips covering the ground, sending them spraying in our direction. It was deeply frustrating, and more so that their parents didn’t seem to care that they were disrupting the experience for everyone else.
The final room, apart from the social space on the way out, was called Pillow Fight! and the explanation outside read: “The penultimate stop on our voyage. Release your inhibitions and dance in the eye of the storm! Euphoria will wash over you as the energy levels are raised. Take the pillows, giggle and release some tension as you return to your childhood, and settle some old scores in a friendly pillow fight.”
(x)
It looked super cool and I liked the idea but the music was so loud – too loud. It was overwhelming. Even the people I went with, neither of whom are autistic, found it unbearably loud. It was just too much so we didn’t linger long in that room either time. That was a shame because it looked amazing and I loved the idea of a pillow fight. But I just couldn’t handle the noise.
The last space was The Bubble Bar where you could get drinks and snacks, named to fit the theme of the exhibition. Around the room, there were little corners with what were essentially cute photo opportunities.
Some of them were fun but we didn’t spend very long there. I can’t speak for anyone else but I was still holding the special moments close and didn’t really want to hang around, letting them dilute in a halfway space before leaving. I understand the appeal of finishing the exhibition with an opportunity to sit and eat and drink but it wasn’t for me.
Apart from the annoying kids during the second visit, both experiences were really cool and I really enjoyed it as an exhibition. So many of the rooms just made my dopamine-deprived brain really happy and that was really special. I think my only qualm was that we don’t get to know who created each room; I’d love to know what they go on to do.
Changing Therapist
Posted on November 5, 2023
TW: Mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts and urges.
It’s been a year since I started therapy again after an unintentional break, essentially starting again with a new therapist. It’s been a hard and emotional process, and at times a distressing one; just going to therapy can make you feel so vulnerable and so open to further hurt as you dig into the hard stuff – wading into dark waters that you’d rather ignore and pretend don’t exist, even as they’re eroding your mental health – that adding difficulties to that already difficult thing can feel unfairly cruel. So, given that I’m me, I thought that, perhaps, writing about it might be helpful and maybe not just for me but for anyone going through a similar transition. And if not helpful, then hopefully validating in some way.
I’d been seeing Therapist A for almost seven years when everything changed. She was taking leave and I was on my own.
Pre-2021, I’d seen Therapist A once or twice a week pretty consistently since early 2016. Even when the UK went into lockdown due to COVID-19 at the beginning of 2020, we continued our sessions online; I didn’t find them as productive but it was better than nothing. We continued that way for a while, trying to manage my crippling anxiety over the pandemic, working on issues that came up as I persisted with my now online Masters classes, and continuing to work on the issues that had landed me in therapy in the first place. But then the schedule began to slip: Therapist A’s home life was pulling her away from work and I was working myself into the ground in order to complete the final project of my Masters. I barely saw her in the last four months of the course, which I really struggled with: I was digging into some pretty hard stuff, writing song after song about my experience of being autistic, and I craved that safe space to play them to her, to hear her perspective on what I was saying, talk about the feelings they were bringing up, and she wasn’t there. I told myself that it was a short term thing and that, once the Masters was over and her stuff was resolved, the schedule of our sessions would go back to normal. I think it’s safe to say that, given the title of this post, it didn’t.
I finished the Masters in September 2021 and officially graduated, walking the stage, a few months later in November. I had reduced and stopped taking Phenelzine at this point, in preparation for trying ADHD meds (and we all know how appallingly that went), and my depression was creeping back in; the situation was getting pretty desperate. But luckily, that was when Therapist A reached out and we started having sessions again. We had a lot of catching up to do but, by mid-December, we were up to date. Unfortunately, the ADHD medication was already hitting me hard and my depression had gone from a state I recognised to a whole new level of despair with increasingly overwhelming suicidal thoughts. My most vivid memory from that time is sitting in Therapist A’s new office, staring at the unfamiliar rug and hearing my voice in my ears as I confessed to those thoughts, my voice completely flat (this is known as ‘flat affect,’ a recognised symptom of depression and other mental health conditions). It still makes me nauseous to think about, even though so much time has passed and my depression has gotten so much worse since; I think, in my head, that was the beginning of this awful, awful time.
My last session was on New Years Eve and I was drowning, all of the impending new beginnings feeling more like a threat than a promise. When we hung up, I felt achingly hollow and that was only the beginning of a terrible night. But that’s a story for another time. January was passing around me, aimless and anxious, when I finally heard from Therapist A. But instead of setting up our next session, she was letting me know that she was taking leave indefinitely. Her reasons aren’t mine to tell but, between those, my ongoing abandonment issues, and my overwhelmingly bad mental health, I was devastated, spiralling into some grotesque hybrid of a meltdown and a panic attack that went on for hours: I screamed, I cried, I scratched at my face, I tore at my hair, I shrieked like an animal in pain. I guess that’s what I was. I felt like I was trying to exorcise a corrosive demon from my body but nothing helped, nothing alleviated the pain. I was shattered as brutally as if I’d been hit by a wrecking ball. That’s what it felt like, what my life felt like.
Eventually I physically ran out of energy and fell asleep, too tired and emotionally drained to even engage with the world. My depression became more and more overwhelming, compounded by the devastating effects of the ADHD medications and the loss of a massive source of support in my life, and, for months afterwards, I barely got out of bed, barely ate, barely talked. I abandoned social media and I avoided mirrors at every opportunity, to the point where I started to forget what I looked like. The suicidal thoughts were only getting stronger, stronger than they’d ever been in my life, and the feeling of being intrinsically, irreparably broken was – and is – a constant weight in my chest.
I’m not sure when or why I started getting out of bed, why I decided that I needed to go back to therapy. I think I knew I was getting into a very precarious position mentally and the excruciating pain of being inside my head was getting so unbearable that I was willing to do anything to lessen the pressure. I did see a consultant at the local mental health unit but the experience was another traumatic one: after a panic attack at the front door, a junior doctor took my history and then brought in the consultant who told me about ECT and the Ketamine trials before telling me why I shouldn’t do them and recommending doing more of the things I love (which I’d already told him I couldn’t engage with because I was so depressed). So that didn’t improve my relationship with doctors and the medical profession.
For a short while, I worked with a therapist I’d met several years previously but the sessions only made me feel worse and while I have no doubt that it wasn’t intentional, I ended up feeling more broken and more traumatised by some of the things he said, trauma that I’m still carrying around with me. So I stopped seeing him and met with several new therapists, trying to get a feel for them and their methods before committing to someone new. But, just like with Therapist A, Therapist B was the first of the group that I met (a year ago yesterday, I believe) and between her therapeutic approach, her personality, and the fact that she’d brought along a dog she knew in order to put me at ease, she was the obvious choice.
As therapists, they both trained in several of the same disciplines and their skillsets overlap to a certain degree but, when discussing a particular issue, there were differences to how they’d approach it; there has been a fair amount of whiplash in getting use to Therapist B’s approach after so many years with Therapist A. But the point of this post isn’t to compare them – they’re both lovely people and very good at what they do, at least as far as I can tell – but rather to reflect on the process of moving from one to another and the feelings that that kicked up. And a lot of feelings there were – I even wrote a song about it called ‘Grave Digger.’ During the early sessions with Therapist B, we made a timeline of my life and discussed some of the biggest moments, many of which were difficult and distressing (and remain so to this day). Revisiting and recounting the hardest parts of my life was gruelling but I did my best to push through the internal resistance and breathe through the resulting turmoil; between that and the ongoing mental anguish, it was a difficult few months. I don’t mean to make it sound like one continuous torture because that isn’t true -we’ve talked about the good experiences that’ve made me who I am, of course, and there have been sessions where we’ve laughed a lot – but I think that building a strong relationship with a therapist and making progress will always involve periods of incredible vulnerability, which is always scary and, at times, painful.
Sometimes – okay, often – I feel like I’m not making any progress at all, partly because of all the disruption and the distress it’s caused. A year ago, I hadn’t expected to see 2023 and my depression and chronic suicidal thoughts haven’t lessened, even though I am taking Phenelzine again (at a higher dose, in fact) – after many discussions with Therapist B. It has made me more functional, to a certain degree, but the decision came with a price tag: my self harming escalated from cutting my arm to cutting my face. I’m not convinced anything’s changed; I don’t feel any better. But I can see that some things have changed and changed for the better, even though I can’t feel the effects yet: something has allowed me to start talking about some of the worst stuff in my brain, even if only a little. It’s something I could never have imagined doing so I know that that’s progress, even though I struggle to feel it.
I have heard from Therapist A several times now; the news has generally been positive, which has been a great relief (and I appreciate having a little less uncertainty in my life). Therapy is continuing as normal – the current version of normal at least – which I’m pretty sure is a good thing: the idea of trying to work my way through all of the emotions that I know would come up as a result of any potential change makes me feel physically nauseous.
I’m not always convinced that I’ve adjusted and sometimes I forget that I’m not going to see Therapist A, my body moving in the direction of that office as the car turns down a different road; that experience is more ingrained than I had realised at the time. And I know I’m still carrying a lot of hurt and anger over the whole thing, even though over a year has passed. I’m not angry at the people involved – nobody chose any of this – but there is anger and, although I’ve been slower to realise it, hurt too. I think it’s easier to be angry than to be hurt. Not always but sometimes. And, as I said, I have abandonment issues, issues that I’ve struggled with for a long time, which – unsurprisingly – have been exacerbated by this whole thing. It’s hard to lose someone that you trusted to never leave (a naïve ideal, I know) and it’s hard to trust someone new, ignoring the whispers that they’re just another person who will inevitably walk away. I think these issues are important to mention but they probably need their own blog post rather than taking up space here: when talking about changing therapists, it’s not something that everyone has mixed into the equation. All of that said, I’m trying to trust and I think that, for the most part, I am, even if it does sometimes feel like a conscious, concentrated effort. The progress isn’t as fast as I’d hoped it would be when I committed to therapy again last year but the proof is there. I’m sharing things I never thought I’d share and that’s certainly not nothing.
Finding Hope 