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Living with Schizoaffective Disorder

Giver of Delight:
Euterpe Horked

"In Greek mythology, Euterpe was the one of the Muses, presiding over music.
In late Classical times, she was named muse of lyric poetry."
-- Wikipedia

Michael David Crawford, Baritone,
mdcrawford@gmail.com

Monday, December 17, 2018

Regarded by the ancients to have come Thracia, at first the Babylonians, then the Greeks, then the Romans regarded the sources of all Creativity to be not us mere mortals, but Goddesses known as "Muses". Variously regarded as three as well as nine in number, Hesiod reported that they were the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne.

In modern English parlance when one writes, when one composes or performs music, when one dances or the like one is said to be "Channelling" one's muse.

To Wit:

An Angel By Any Other Name

Some smoke weed,
Some drink rum,
Some shoot Dope,
Some chew gum.

Some men fight,
Some men run,
Some men fear,
Some have fun.

What do I do?
Wish I knew.
For it I did,
It would get done.

Monday, November 26, 2018.

After my Caltech Schoolmate Rod Schmidt and I watched not "Lady Gaga" but Stefani Germanotta and Bradley Cooper's remake of A Star Is Born at the Living Room Theater in Southwest Portland, Oregon, he and I walked to the Starbucks cafe at Pioneer Courthouse Square so he could give me a knitting lesson. I Am Absolutely Serious.

At closing time, Rod and I stepped out to find sitting on the step just to one side a tall, thin young woman being violently ill.

"You look like you're having a rough time." I sat on the step just to her left with Rod to her right, then "Would it help to have someone to talk to?"

She seemed to regard that as helpful. I asked, "Would you like medical attention?"

"No. I need Dope."

"If you go too long without getting any, it could kill you. They could give you something at the hospital to ease your craving."

She didn't seem to think that it would help. "I'll go inside and get you a cup of ice water."

I stepped back in then out of her sight.

9-1-1 "Portland 9-1-1. If this is an emergency, press any key or...
9-1-1 "Please don't hang up as we may not be able to call you back."

"All operators are busy. Please hold."

"9-1-1. Do you need Police, Fire or Medical?"

"Medical."

"Where are you calling from?"

"At Broadway and Morrison, just in front of the Pioneer Square Starbucks. A young woman is vomiting heavily."

"An ambulance is on its way. What's your number?"

That some might not hear me clearly I always enunciate my cell number, that is, to speak slowly and clearly with a brief pause between each digit:

"Nine. Seven. One.
Three. Eight. Six.
Three. Nine. Nine. Six."

"(971) 386-3996?"

"Your name?"

"Mike. Michael. Michael Crawford."

"Are you a Starbucks employee, or a customer?"

"Customer."

"Is she vomiting up blood?"

"Yes." I realized later she actually wasn't then pointed that out to the Dispatcher.

Just then I saw the ambulance's blue flashing lights as it approached South Broadway from South-West Morrison. "The ambulance is here; I'll step outside."

"Is she still there?"

"Yes."

"Are you OK for me to hang up?"

"Yes."

I went back out then sat just to her right. "They're closed, I wasn't able to get your water," I lied. Then: "I called for your ride".

To Be Continued.

Herr Schmidt,

I like the cut of your jib.

While I was at first concerned about our suspicious friend, I regarded it as helpful that he for the most part kept his distance.

In the end, he thanked me for having helped "Sarah" (not her real name) out, then quite gratefully shook my hand when I offered it to him.

I think the two of them run together; as the three of us were chatting after you left, he made plain that he wanted to get clean, however he's not presently in a position to do so because of the ready availability of "Triggers":

For heroin addicts in particular, such a Trigger doesn't so much as make them use rather it gives them an overpowering urge to do so.

While many can overcome their own particular Demon in the presence of Triggers, I don't think that's possible for Dope addicts.

Sarah's going to crash at Club Mischa for most the day, then late this afternoon she and I will come back downtown so her father can buy her a phone card.

Right around now is the very hardest time for every homeless person: she's been on the streets for just two months, her parents having thrown her out.

In Psychiatrist Eric Berne MD's Games People Play, Sarah as well as I expect our suspicious friend are the Protagonists in "The Game Of Alcoholic". Her Dad and I are "Patsies"; as Dr. Berne writes, he and are are the friendly Delicatessen clerk who gives the Protagonist a free sandwich from time to time.

Just now she's on her way back from "Scoring", that is, obtaining her Drug Of Choice:

"Do you mind? I can meet you back here" - at my office.

"No, I'll come with you then chill somewhere" - at a Starbucks just off the Rose Quarter.

"But the decision is yours, and yours alone, and always will be."

As we parted, I turned her to face me then quite sternly said:

"I want you to..."

"I'll come back."

"I want you to come back always. Every Single Day."

It happens that one of the very finest friends I have ever known, Anthony Richard Perez, ran into me downtown then said, "I have to go do something."

"Stick around, I'll be pack in an hour."

I expect you know what became of Anthony Richard Perez, one of the very finest friends I have ever known.

Sorrowfully,

Mischa

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