The Banana Peel Project

Neurophilosophy has posted a tremendously ghoulish and thoroughly fascinating interview with Heather Perry, the Gloucester woman who in 2000 decided to trepan herself in order to attain “more mental energy and clarity.”  She denies a suggestion made by the BBC that the bathroom surgery, performed with local anaesthetic and an electric drill, was nearly fatal.  Instead, she argues that her “consciousness expansion experiment” was at least a temporary success.

It certainly seemed to help with mental clarity and overall well-being, and I remember that feeling lasting for quite a while. Afterwards I reduced my dose of antidepressants for a while. But I don’t think it’s long-lasting, because it’s probably healed over. I don’t know whether that’s because I need a bigger hole or because of my under-active thyroid.

Perry’s story reveals several amazing things about the choices people make about their selves and their brains, and about the kinds of technologies that we turn to in order to make ourselves into the kinds of people we’re supposed to be.  Her story is gory and gruesome, to be sure–the kind of experiment that we will probably not soon be watching on Mythbusters–but is self-trepanation any more violent than dumping atypical antipsychotics into the brains of 2-year-olds?

Trepanation is hardly a new practice.  Whether we consider it as an archaeological oddity or a viable medical alternative, trepanation is a uniquely direct and powerful way of literally opening up one’s mind to the world.  Thus we see old ways of working on our selves continuing to be prevalent and relevant in the 21st century.

In the interview, Perry repeatedly turns to her many experiences with LSD as a way of explaining, justifying, and otherwise contextualizing what she recognizes to be a rather odd way of doing a psychiatric self-treatment.  But for her, electric drills and synthetic chemical compounds both offer ways of directly–physically, mechanically–intervening into her own mental processes.  She turns to experts, doctors, friends, and myths as she seeks ways of understanding trepanation.  So whether or not we accept her suggestion that trepanation can be a cure for autism, it’s clear that at least for some people it represents just one more kind of technology of the self.

Of course, there’s also the sad side to the story.  Although varieties of trepanation are still used in medical practice for treating pressure related to bone cysts, Perry performed her experiment far from a sterile operating room (although she claims to have used an autoclave to sanitize her “instruments”).  It takes a certain understanding of technology, the self, and the nature of disease to drill a hole into your skull.  The kinds of work we do on ourselves in the service of making ourselves better, happier, and healthier are not always safe.

(I also want to highlight Neurophilosophy’s amazing illustrated history of trepanation.  It can be found, dissected, and enjoyed here.)