Toxoplasma’s Dark Side: The Link Between Parasite and Suicide

We human beings are very attached to our brains. We’re proud of them – of their size and their complexity. We think our brains set us apart, make us special. We scare our children with tales of monsters that eat them, and obsessively study how they work, even when these efforts are often fruitless. So, of course, we are downright offended that a simple, single-celled organism can manipulate our favorite organ, influencing the way we think and act.

Toxoplasma gondii is arguably the most interesting parasite on the planet. In the guts of cats, this single-celled protozoan lives and breeds, producing egg-like cells which pass with the cats bowel movements. These find their way into other animals that come in contact with cat crap. Once in this new host, the parasite changes and migrates, eventually settling as cysts in various tissues including the host’s brain, where the real fun begins. Toxoplasma can only continue its life cycle and end up a happy adult in a cat’s gut if it can find its way into a cat’s gut, and the fastest way to a cat’s gut, of course, is to be eaten by a cat. Incredibly, the parasite has evolved to help ensure that this occurs. For example, Toxoplasma infection alters rat behavior with surgical precision, making them lose their fear of (and even become sexually aroused by!) the smell of cats by hijacking neurochemical pathways in the rat’s brain.

Of course, rats aren’t the only animals that Toxoplasma ends up in. Around 1/3 of people on Earth carry these parasites in their heads. Since Toxoplasma has no trouble affecting rats, whose brains are similar in many ways to our own, scientists wonder how much the parasite affects the big, complex brains we love so much. For over a decade, researchers have investigated how this single-celled creature affects the way we think, finding that indeed, Toxoplasma alters our behavior and may even play a role in cultural differences beween nations.

The idea that this tiny protozoan parasite can influence our minds is old news. Some of the greatest science writers of our time have waxed poetic about how it sneaks its way into our brains and affects our personalities. Overall, though, the side effects of infection are thought to be minor and relatively harmless. Recently, however, evidence has been mounting that suggests the psychological consequences of infection are much darker than we once thought.

In 2003, E. Fuller Torrey of the Stanley Medical Research Institute in Bethesda, Maryland his colleagues noted a link between Toxoplasma and schizophrenia – specifically, that women with high levels of the parasite were more likely to give birth to schizophrenics-to-be. The hypothesis given for this phenomenon is that while for most people who are infected, Toxoplasma has minor effects, for some, the changes are much more pronounced. The idea has gained traction – a later paper found, for example, that anti-psychotics worked just as well as parasite-killing drugs in restoring normal behaviors in infected rats, affirming the similarities between psychological disorders and Toxoplasma infection.

Continuing to work with mental patients, scientists later discovered a link between suicide and parasite infection. But, of course, this link was in people who already have mental illness. Similarly, a study found that countries with high Toxoplasma infection rates also had high suicide rates – but the connection between the two was weak, and there was no direct evidence that the women who committed suicide were infected.

What scientists really wanted to understand is whether Toxoplasma affects people with no prior disposition to psychological problems. They were in luck: in Denmark, serum antibody levels for Toxoplasma gondii were taken from the children of over 45,000 women as a part of a neonatal screening study to better understand how the parasite is transmitted from mother to child. Since children do not form their own antibodies until three months after birth, the antibody levels reflect the mother’s immune response. Thus the scientists were both able to passively screen women not only for infection status, but degree of infection, as high levels of antibodies are indicative of worse infections. They were then able to use the Danish Cause of Death Register, the Danish National Hospital Register and the Danish Psychiatric Central Research Register to investigate the correlation between infection and self-directed violence, including suicide.

The results were clear. Women with Toxoplasma infections were 54% more likely to attempt suicide – and twice as likely to succeed. In particular, these women were more likely to attempt violent suicides (using a knife or gun, for example, instead of overdosing on pills). But even more disturbing: suicide attempt risk was positively correlated with the level of infection. Those with the highest levels of antibodies were 91% more likely to attempt suicide than uninfected women. The connection between parasite and suicide held even for women who had no history of mental illness: among them, infected women were 56% more likely to commit self-directed violence.

While these results might seem frightening, they make sense when you think about how Toxoplasma is known to affect our personalities. In 2006, researchers linked Toxoplasma infection to neuroticism in both men and women. Neuroticism – as defined by psychology – is the “an enduring tendency to experience negative emotional states,” including depression, guilt and insecurity. The link between neuroticism and suicide is well established, thus if the parasite does make people more neurotic, it’s not surprising that it influences rates of self-violence.

How does a parasite affect how we think? The authors suggest that our immune system may actually be to blame. When we are infected with a parasite like Toxoplasma gondii, our immune system goes on the offensive, producing a group of molecules called cytokines that activate various immune cell types. The trouble is, recent research has connected high levels of cytokines to depression and violent suicide attempts. The exact mechanism by which cytokines cause depression and other mental illnesses is poorly understood, but we do know they are able to pass the blood-brain barrier and alter neurotransmitters like serotonin and dopamine in the brain.

But the authors caution that even with the evidence, correlation is not causation. “Is the suicide attempt a direct effect of the parasite on the function of the brain or an exaggerated immune response induced by the parasite affecting the brain? We do not know,” said Teodor T. Postolache, the senior author and an associate professor of psychiatry and director of the Mood and Anxiety Program at the University of Maryland School of Medicine, in a press release. “We can’t say with certainty that T. gondii caused the women to try to kill themselves.”

“In fact, we have not excluded reverse causality as there might be risk factors for suicidal behavior that also make people more susceptible to infection with T. gondii,” Postolache explained. But given the strong link between the two, there is real potential for therapeutic intervention. “If we can identify a causal relationship, we may be able to predict those at increased risk for attempting suicide and find ways to intervene and offer treatment.” The next step will be for scientists to affirm if and how these parasites cause negative thoughts. Not only could such research help target at-risk individuals, it may help scientists understand the dark neurological pathways that lead to depression and suicide that the sinister protozoan has tapped into. But even more disconcerting is that scientists predict that Toxoplasma prevalence is on the rise, both due to how we live and climate change. The increase and spread of this parasitic puppeteer cannot be good for the mental health of generations to come.

 

Citation: Pedersen, M.G., Mortensen, P.B., Norgaard-Pedersen, B. & Postolache, T.T. Toxoplasma gondii Infection and Self-directed Violence in Mothers, Archives of General Psychiatry, DOI: 10.1001/archgenpsychiatry.2012.668

Photos: Toxoplasma gondii parasites in rat ascitic fluid from the CDC’s Public Health Image Library; Brain MRI Scan in Patient with Toxoplasma Encephalitis from the University of Washington’s HIV Web Study

Using cannabinoids to overcome fear in the brain

We all know exactly what fear feels like. Without our consent, our hearts begin to beat a little faster. The hairs on the back of our neck prickle. Our palms sweat through clenched fingers. Fear is so much more than an emotion; it is a whole body experience. But it doesn’t start that way – it starts in our brains.

When we sense danger or threat, a signal is sent to the walnut sized structure in our forebrains called the amygdala, which is responsible for alerting the rest of our body to prepare for fight or flight. Once the threat is removed, the signal relaxes, and so do we. But for those who suffer from anxiety disorders, it takes much longer for the brain to sound the all clear.

“We’ve learned a fair amount of the circuitry that’s involved in generating the initial fear response. We really know relatively little about the circuitry that’s involved in turning it off,” explains neuroscientist Richard Davidson. Now, in a study published this week in Molecular Psychiatry, researchers from Duke university have found that marijuana-like compounds and the enzyme that degrades them may be the key to understanding fear’s off switch.

Previous research has connected endocannabinoids – naturally-produced compounds that are structurally similar to the active ingredients in marijuana – to the fear response. In mice, for example, brain-wide deletion of cannabinoid receptor type 1 results in a loss of ability to regulate fear. The brains cannabinoid system, though, has a wide variety of important functions, so clinicians are hesitant to use it as a target for potential anxiety therapies.

Researchers have found, though, that one particular cannabinoid – anandamide – seems to play a large role in modulating fear responses. Since anandamide levels in the brain are regulated by a single enzyme, fatty acid amide hydrolase (FAAH), researchers wondered if they could boost anandamide levels by turning off this one enzyme without too many negative side effects.

To test this, the team used a highly selective FAAH inhibitor, AM3506, to knock down the activity in a fear-prone mice (a commonly used model for treating anxiety disorders). They found that the drug not only helped the mice recover from fear faster, the research team specifically traced the drug’s effects to the amygdala. When they looked for unwanted side effects, including altered appetite and depression, they found no evidence for them. This is good news for potential clinical uses of AM3506, though the researchers were careful to note that testing across a broad range of assays will be needed to ensure the drug is safe and effective in people.

While their results were promising, they didn’t answer the real question the Duke team was asking: whether regulating FAAH in people could help treat anxiety disorders.

As luck would have it, in 2009 the same team discovered some people have a common variant in the FAAH gene that affects how well it functions. Now, using fMRI scans of people’s brains, the researchers were able to compare how people with each type of gene reacted to threatening images. As predicted, those with lower FAAH activity levels – like the mice who received the inhibitor – were able to overcome their fear more quickly. A survey of 1,000 New Zealanders further supported these results by showing that those with the low-functioning variant were more level-headed and calm in the face of stress.

Bound together, these results strongly suggest that regulating the activity of FAAH may be a novel way to treat difficult anxiety-based disorders such as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). “What is most compelling is our ability to translate first from mice to human neurobiology and then all the way out to human behavior,” said Ahmad Hariri, co-author of the study and a neurobiologist at the Duke Institute for Genome Sciences & Policy. “That kind of translation is going to define the future of psychiatry and neuroscience.”

Reference: Gunduz-Cinar, O., et al (2012). Convergent translational evidence of a role for anandamide in amygdala-mediated fear extinction, threat processing and stress-reactivity Molecular Psychiatry DOI: 10.1038/mp.2012.72

Image by Victor Bezrukov c/o Wikimedia Commons

Time – and brain chemistry – heal all wounds

I know I’m not physically hurt. Though it feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach with steel-toed boots, my abdomen isn’t bruised. Spiking cortisol levels are causing my muscles to tense and diverting blood away from my gut, leading to this twisting, gnawing agony that I cannot stop thinking about. I can’t stop crying. I can’t move. I just stare at the ceiling, wondering when, if ever, this pain is going to go away.

It doesn’t matter that my injuries are emotional. The term heartache isn’t a metaphor: emotional wounds literally hurt. The exact same parts of the brain that light up when we’re in physical pain go haywire when we experience rejection. As far as our neurons are concerned, emotional distress is physical trauma.

Evolutionary biologists would say that it’s not surprising that our emotions have hijacked the pain system. As social creatures, mammals are dependent from birth upon others. We must forge and maintain relationships to survive and pass on our genes. Pain is a strong motivator; it is the primary way for our bodies tell us that something is wrong and needs to be fixed. Our intense aversion to pain causes us to instantly change behavior to ensure we don’t hurt anymore. Since the need to maintain social bonds is crucial to mammalian survival, experiencing pain when they are threatened is an adaptive way to prevent the potential danger of being alone.

Of course, being able to evolutionarily rationalize this feeling doesn’t make it go away.

I lie flattened, like the weight of his words has literally crushed me. I need to do something, anything to lessen this ache. The thought crosses my mind to self medicate, but I quickly decide against that. Mild analgesics like ibuprofen would be useless, as they act peripherally, targeting the pain nerves which send signals to the brain. In this case, it is my brain that is causing the pain. I would have to take something different, like an opioid, which depresses the central nervous system and thus inhibits the brain’s ability to feel. Tempting as that might be, painkillers are an easy – and dangerous – way out. No, I need to deal with this some other way.

Slowly, I sit up and grab the guitar at the foot of my bed.

Where music comes from, or even why we like and create music, is still a mystery. What we do know is that it has a powerful effect on our brains. Music evokes strong emotions and changes how we perceive the world around us. Simply listening to music causes the release of dopamine, a neurotransmitter linked to the brain’s reward system and feelings of happiness. But even more impressive is its effect on pain. Multiple studies have shown that listening to music alters our perception of painful stimuli and strengthens feelings of control. People are able to tolerate pain for longer periods of time when listening to music, and will even rate the severity of the sensation as lower, suggesting that something so simple as a melody has a direct effect on our neural pathways.

So, too, does self expression. Expressive writing about traumatic, stressful or emotional events is more than just a way to let out emotion – college students told to write about their most upsetting moments, for example, were found to be in remarkably better health four months later than their counterparts who wrote on frivolous topics. These positive results of self-expression are amplified when the product is shared with others. While negative emotions may have commandeered our pain response, art has tapped into the neurochemical pathways of happiness and healing.

So, I begin to write. At first, it is just a jumble of chords and words, haphazardly strung together. But, slowly, I edit and rewrite, weaving my emotions into lyrics. I play it over and over, honing the phrasing, perfecting the sound. Eventually, it begins to resemble a song:

    (lyrics)

The rush of dopamine loosens the knot in my stomach ever so slightly. For now, the agony is dulled. Still, I can’t help but think that I’m never going to really feel better – that the memory of this moment will be seared into my brain, and a mental scar will always be there, torturing me with this intense feeling of loss.

Scientifically, I know I’m wrong. As I close my eyes, I am comforted by the thought that the human brain, though capable of processing and storing ridiculous amounts of information, is flawed. The permanence of memory is an illusion. My memory of this moment will weaken over time. It will be altered by future experiences, until what I envision when I try to recall it will be only a faint reflection of what I actually feel. Eventually, this pain won’t overwhelm me, and I will finally be able to let go.