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Living with Schizoaffective Disorder

Good-Bye Everyone!
I Shall Not See
The Sun Go Down.

“Many a man has decided to stay alive not because
of the will to live, but because of the determination not to give
assorted surviving bastards the satisfaction of his death.”
— Brendan Francis

Michael David Crawford, Baritone,

Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Vancouver, Washington

Copyright © 2019 Arabella Wallingford-Newman. All Rights Reserved.

Mom? Aunt Peggy? Jean? Scotty?

Right Now would be a good time to show right up at an airline ticket counter then pay for a No-Advance Notice One-Way Ticket.

Likely what's left of me would still strictly speaking have cerebral activity by the time you reach my bedspace, but the way I feel just now it's as if I'm walking town Telegraph Street in the late sixties accepting then eating handfulls from everyone I meet.

My brain is having a meltdown right now. It's hard to describe. Just imaging a neuro-surgeon opened your skull then reached in there with a cake-batter mixer.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:

I went back in, and this time I brought my laboratory notebook.

I do not fear death for I know my death is not for naught: I've been writing about my experience this way since the Fall of 1984. By the time you dredge up all the essays, articles, rants and manifestos that I have not posted simply because I just don't have the headspace to deal with it, they're going to name a Research Institute after me!

Consider that twenty-one year-old Évariste Galois wrote one of the very finest Mathematics books in all of human history the night before he perished in a truly ignorant duel over a pretty girl. Consider that I myself have been writing this way since the ago of sixteen!

My brain is rapidly shattering now. It is exceedingly difficult to spell correctly as I feel just like a dozen sadistic torturers have fallon upon me with wall mains current. Humanit's only hope for survive is that my Ambulance Crew either keep me awake until the hospital or perhaps awaken me when we get there, as my signature and those of three other witnesses are required for my Will to be valued:

My entire brain is totally shot through with Toxoplasma Gondii, which makes mice fearless of cats. The quite strong correlation between childhood cat ownership and adult Schizophrenia has been widely discussed in the Peer-Reviewed Literature since the 1950s.

I advance The Cat Shit Hypothesis:

What makes me so crazy, what makes me so smart, what makes me neither courageous, blind to danger rather like the sort of heroic firefighter who runs back in to a burning home to save the very life of a Goldfish is that my entire body's Myelin - the Lipid Sheath of Fats or Oils that electrically insulates our Neurons from our Blood - has a Mother Fucking Whole Lot O' Ion Channels.

Between my First-Grade Pasttime of sticking my finger into a 220 VAC light bulb socket - we lived in Formia, Italy, Childhood Mercury Vapor Inhalation Poisoinging when I was twelve and thirteen - it evaporates, but slowly, if you spill it you cannot get it out of the carpet, to inhale the vapor is so subtly toxic that it doesn't kill nor sicken you rather it totally and randomly re-wires your entire brain, that on January 14th, 2011, Clark County Deputy Sheriff Prather jolted me twice with his Eight Hundred Thousand Volt Tazer and that when Deputy Kerr induced great pain by bending my life elbow backwards with the result that I calmly entered Shambhala

I could see the wild panic in that joker Prather's eyes as his hand drew slowly toward his gun.

I must call while I still can.

Loved Ones: I will request they take me to Neurology Intensive Care at Oregon Health and Sciences University.

My Triage and Emergency Room Nurse, and my ER Attending Physician were arguably correct when they struct down upon me with great vengeance and furious anger my attempt to poison and destroy my Medical Caregivers with my own - quite-innocently and very-modestly - incorrect diagnosis of Cheyne-Stokes Respiration or " The Death Breath" due to the Breathing Abnormalities Diagram in the Cheyne-Stokes Article depicting but four such abnormalities rather than six. The additional two would have clued me in to what Azuma Hazuki quite astutely Over The Fucking Series Of Tubes Not In An Exam Room With No Test Reports diagnosed as Agonal Breathing with what in the Summer of 2013 I dialed 9-1-1 and in Spring of 2015 I asked me to drive me to the ER for what I regarded quite incorrectly as Brain Seizures, upon cluing in to that they're not seizures but due to going days without sleeping I denoted as the undiagnosed and so untreatible "Drop-Outs", then last week as Syncope or Fainting.

What has three times led me to call 9-1-1 and once for Mom to hand-deliver me to Emergency wasn't actually by disrupted breathing, rather that my alleged Seizures, Drop-Outs or Syncope were in reality Negative Myoclonus, in which I for less than one second have a profoundly - as if on The Chair - Hallucinatory Experience with every muscle in my body completely relaxing, then re-tensing with my regaining full consciousness again.

For as long as I can remember - even as a young boy - just about always when I lay in bed awaiting the onset of sleep, I as well experience - often, my entire body, violently experienced Positive Myoclonus, in which the muscles most commonly in just one leg twitch as if - and this is my own internal, mental and sensory experience - I've been plugged into Mains Power with a Suicide Cord.

"I Feel Happy!"

[Ataxic Respiration] is caused by damage to the medulla oblongata due to strokes or trauma. It generally indicates a poor prognosis, and usually progresses to complete apnea.

Eupnea : Complete Apnea :: Laga Gaga : Michael Jackson

Note that since May 2010 I have suffered all manner of the symptoms of Stroke, Brain Trauma, Brain Hemorrhage and Brain Cancer as Short- (set fire to my frying pan on a damn near daily basis), Long- (I can remember what happened but not when it happened) and Subject-Specific (specifically Given Names, not just First Names but for East Asians, their Last Names), Expressive Aphasia, deafening Tinnitus - for me a high-pitched hiss, not ringing in my ears - Vertigo - severe Dizziness that causes Nausea - Motion Sickness without Vertigo while riding C-TRAN buses or the TriMet MAX Light Rail...

... I gotta run.


I'll Just Jeave These Here...

At the time of this Last Will & Testament, I am unmarried, but divorced from Frances Bonita Hatcher, last known with an address at 2697 Agricola Street, Halifax Nova Scotia B3K 4CY in Canada. To the best of my knowledge I have no children however am unsure. After payment of all of personal debts, expenses and liabilities, and the bequethment of my property as stipulated herein, any remaining property I give, devise and bequeath equally among each child who establishes my legal paternity of him or her.

I hereby nominate and appoint Lawrence Calvin Foster III, with an address at 308 Fore Street Portland, Maine 04101 in the United States Of America as Executor/Personal Representative of this Last Will & Testament.

In the event I am the sole parent or legal guardian of my non-adult children at the time of my death, then I hereby nominate and appoint Arabella Wallingford-Newman, a homeless individual with no fixed address, as legal guardian of my children. Should the aforementioned individual be unavailable, unable or unwilling to serve as legal guardian when needed, then I nominate and appoint Roderic Malcom Schmidt as the alternate legal guardian of my children.

I give, devise and Bequeath to SOYLENTNEWS PBC, a Delaware Public Benefit Corporation, the Copyrights to each file, including but not limited to Text, Digital or Silver Halide Firm or Paper Image, Word Processor, Spreadsheet that any one or more of:

... have marked with my Personal Copyright Notices or the Copyright Notices of any of my Sole Proprietorships, Partnerships or Corporations whether Non-Profit or For-Profit, either of:


Upon my death, I direct that my remains be refrigerated but not frozen then expeditiously transported to Ralph Reynaud, 3138 Wai'alae Ave, Suite 531 Kaimuki, Hawaii 96816 in the United States Of America.

Ralph is a fellow member of the Fairfield California Armijo High School Class of '82. Now a close friend to me as well as a mentor, he and I had in common our cherished but sadly departed Friend, Military Veteran, Humanitarian and "Hair Band" Heavy Metal Drummer Victor "Vic" Agnello. Ralph went on to study Medicine but for reasons of which I am as yet unaware, did not actually obtain his Medical Doctor License. While arguably "Honorable" Doctor Reynaud is eminently qualified to Practice Medicine including the Prescription of Medication, for strictly Legal, Regulatory and Liability Reasons he is not permitted to actually do so. Ralph "Bruddah Keahi" Reynaud thus teaches Psychiatry at a Hawaiian Language School rather than in an Inpatient our Outpatient Setting such Mentally Ill Folk as myself.

Ralph: Medical Degrees are for Poseurs. Doctorates Of Philosophy are where its at! Do Yer Worst.

I quite seriously considered having by stiff dumped on the driveway of my dear UCSC/Santa Cruz friend Ann Brolly. While she would be heavily into it, her young daughter, sister and mother would have been... dismayed.

I at first asked Ralph to see that my ashes be scattered over the wheat and pea fields of the Idaho Panhandle's Palouse Empire, where my family lived while my father was a Graduate EE Student at the U of I in Moscow and where my sister is now, if I understand correctly, the U of I Library's Head Library Loan Clerk.Mom and Dad met over the Summer after their freshmen year in Portland, Oregon where he was on Active Duty as a Naval Enlisted Man - and not a Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps Cadet, though he attended the U of I's NROTC with them, while Mom was - at the time - studying for her Early Childhood Education Teaching Credential at Lewis And Clark College in South-East Portland. Dad's roommate at the time was a blind engineering student; Russ Crawford and Patty Ann Speelmon met when Mom - this is just like my beloved Mother - got a part-time job reading his textbooks to Dad's blind roommate.

They became engaged, Mom transferred to Moscow, the two of them after they wed rented a trailer in the very same North Central Moscow Trailer Park where Jean and Stanley Evans live now, and where Mom, Dad, Jeannie and I lived over the Summer of 1975 when Dad resigned his Lieutenant's Commission after Vietnam.

Jean was born there in Moscow while Mom and Dad were still Undergrads. The young, likely desperately impoverished couple looked after their infant daughter yet graduated on-time, my father with a 3.9 Grade Point Average in Electrical Engineering, mostly focussed on Analog Vacuum Tubes.

When I was seventeen, Mom went to visit Grandma, where she, her twin sister Martha Jean "Aunt Peggy" Speelmon were all born, and where my Paternal Grandfather, during the War United States Army Air Forces Medical Corps Surgeon when he Committed Suicide in the Summer of 1948, when Patty and Peggy were but Seven Years Old.

That left my Grandmother Florence a single mother of two young daughters with no Life Insurance. Grandpa Speelmon's spectacular suicide made headlines all over the entire Pacific Northwest because, as the Chief Surgeon at Deaconess Hospital where Mom returned for my birth on February 24th, 1964, Grandpa Speelmon totally flummoxed the Spokane County Medical Examiner with his "Perfect Suicide".

Grandma Speelmon's Maiden Name was Stevens. She is descended from one of the very earliest British Colonists in its New World Colony of New Hampshire, in what is now the town of Jaffrey, New Hampshire. Through Florence's people I count among my ancestors Roger Sherman, one of Connecticut's Representatives to the Signing of the Declaration Of Indendence, and William Techumseh Sherman, the second of the two Generals-In-Chief - they reported to Commander-In-Chief Lincoln - during the second part of the American Civil War.

Grandma Mabel Crawford ne Gilstrap was part French: her people pronounced "Beauchamp" as "Bow-Camp, but we don't know much about the Beauchamps as they were Hugenots Protestants who fled for their very lives from Catholic France. Neither do I know anything at all about the Gilstraps.

Grandpa Herbert Crawford was a General Contractor when he retired, having built his, Grandma's Dad's, my father's older brother Herb and younger brother Ben a fine custom home with a well-outfitted Carpentry and Auto Repair Shop for himself and his boys. Uncle Herb went on to be the Vice President of Accounting for Boswell Cotton Corporation and was highly regarded in the Orange County Republican Party.

Herb's youngest child, Charles "Cousin Chuck" Crawford, was Valedictorian of his Huntington High School Graduating Class, studied Architecture at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo where I went on to be homeless, mostly in jail or in the Atascadero State Hospital for the Criminally Insane from Mid-Summer 2012 through late Spring 2013. Chuck earned his Masters in Architecture at Harvard, focussed on Commercial Office Interiors and now teaches at a Private Graduate Architure School in San Diego, where his mother Lyla White was from, and where my Second Cousin Melinda White is now a Surfer Chick and a School Teacher.

Chuck's Grad School's Website is naught but PDFs, Chuck codes FORTRAN yet cannot send me a Damn eMail, hence he and I are Facebook Friends, as are I and Melinda White, and Chuck's oldest Sister Cheryl Webb. I've long lost touch with Cousin Christie Crawford but Mom has her Contact Info.

In 2002 or so, Mom and Dad Tea with the Earl Of Crawford Lord Lindsay - Crawford/Lindsay by Marriage not by Force! - at the Lindsay Manor in Scotland. During their stay, they drove by the chain-link fence around Castle Crawford, chain-link because an irate tenant farmer know the true meaning behind Any Flavor Of Kool-Ade Mix Other Than Lemon.

My Grandfather Herbert Crawford, originally of West Side Santa Cruz on the North Shore of Monterey Bay, where I went on to live after getting expelled from Caltech for sleeping on a couch in a Ricketts House Hallway after somebody told me not to, counts among his direct ancestors our Civil War's first General-In-Chief, George B. McClellan:


Patty, Peggy, Jeannie, Mikey, Brother Chuck, Cousing Chuck, Christie, Cheryl and I are each of Royal Blood.


The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the Inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.

Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.

And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious Anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brother!

And you will know:

My name is THE LORD when I lay my vengeance down!

I Leave You With But A Few Questions:

"MOM! Why, in my entire life have I never been so much as permitted to meet MY OWN BROTHER?!?!"


Mom names her husband's first-born Son Charles Albert "Cousin Chuck" in her Will for no other reason than to completely cut him out of it.

"Professor Deutsch?" - Josh - Third-Term UCSC Physics Graduate Thermodynamics, "We do not yet know whether the Universe is Open, Flat or Closed". April 1st or so, 1994.

"If closed, the Universe will eventually collapse upon itself in The Big Crunch." Everyone in the class, including Deutsch, staring at me know as they after the previous all know me all too well, despite my smoking radioactive crater of failing grades:

They to a Man knew that I was the very finest Physics Graduate Student to have ever ascended the City On A Hill.

"That Entropy will Decrease as the Contraction proceeds will result in the Arrow Of Time being reversed," this because as not "Dick" as he far preferred, but "Doctor Feynman" was wont to shout, Maybe there's just one Electron!".

The panic filling the room was readily apparent.

"Will the people who live then experience Time going Forward or Backward?"


Finally, just next to me my close friend - who happily went on to do well for himself - as if he'd seen The Burning Bush said "That's very insighgtul".

On April 4th, a Friday, in the Patient Day Room in the East Wing of Dominican Santa Cruz Hospital's Mental Health Unit:

"Why are you here?" asked the MHU's Intake Psychologist Joan Junqueira.

"I have gone through The Looking Glass."

"I don't understand."

We are on a Chessboard.

"You are on the White Squares. I am on a Black one."

"I understand," remarked Joan, "that in more-traditional cultures the Schizoaffectives are the Shamans."

For Cousin Colleen
I Loved You From Afar,
Your Untimely Death
Ruled A Suicide.

Until, my beloved Cousin Colleen, we meet next week or so.

May God Have Mercy On Our Souls!

For Colleen Marie Applegate
May 30, 1963 to March 23, 1984


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