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Nederlog

January 13, 2014

On over twenty years of living alone


In every human society, at any time, and any place, there have been rational and reasonable men and women. Alas, in every human society, at any time, and any place, they so far have were a small minority, that was often persecuted, and nearly always in danger.

MM - Comments on Chamfort's Maximes-1.29

If men in majority were good or intelligent, history would be completely different from what it is.

MM - Comments on Chamfort's Maximes-1.31




Sections
Introduction   

1. On over twenty years of living alone


About ME/CFS



Introduction:

This again is not a crisis item, but is a brief sketch that started to be about over twenty years of living alone, but in fact is mostly about my illness.

Living alone is fairly widely regarded as "not healthy", but the main reason for me to live alone is not that I cannot find women, for I have lived with 5 different women (in serial monogamy, to be sure), but that I have been ill for over 35 years now.

The rest of this Nederlog will be about my illness and why I prefer living alone, at least while being ill. I will also say a few words about psychiatry, but the main subjects are being ill for over 35 years now and living alone, which are two things nearly all people would not want to be or do, and which also are fairly rare.

And again I have kept the quotes, because I like them, and because they are relevant to what follows - which is not quite as I expected or planned it to be, but I can only do so much on a day.

1. On over twenty years of living alone

I have been living alone for over 20 years now, and have been ill since 1.1.1979, when I was 28. This is the 36th year of my illness. This also - perhaps - means I have not been living alone from falling ill till 1991, but this is not quite correct: In 1984 and 1985 I also lived alone, but the rest of these thirteen years I lived with two women, one from July 1978 till the end of 1983, and another from early 1986 till the end of 1991.

Since the main reason I live alone is that I am ill, which I am now for the 36th year in succession, let me start with being ill.

Being ill:

I fell ill, completely out of the blue, on January 1, 1979. At that time I was living with Anna in a studentflat in Diemen, and we both were in the first year of the university study of psychology, and I also was in my second year of the other main study I did, philosophy, although this depends on how you count: I had arrived in August of 1977 in Holland to study in my own country (after the fact, this was the major mistake of my life: to return to Holland, once having escaped it), and I had returned then from Norway, where I had lived very well and very healthy for nearly three years, but after nearly 4 months of studying philosophy, my grant was  completely withdrawn, which forced me to work from January 1, 1978, which I did. The reason I count it for "a full year" is that I did get all the necessary points for the whole first year in the first three months. I had continued with philosophy in 1978 as a fulltime study, and at the same time chose psychology as another fulltime study, mostly because Anna wanted to study it, and I was interested in it, though not very much, and that mostly because I, quite correctly, thought it wasn't much of a real science. (It turned out to be even less of a real science than I thought.)

Also, Anna and I were living together since July 1978, and we were very happy, because our relation went very well, and we were young, healthy and most of the things we had wanted, for a long time also, at least in my case, were finally being fulfilled: We both studied; it was obvious we would easily make our M.A.'s and also probably our Ph.D.s in five to ten years at most [1], after which the world would be ours, and we would still be around 30 or in our early 30ies (for Anna was 3 1/2  years younger than I was).

January 1, 1979 was quite cold - minus 15 or so, or even less - and it had snowed rather a lot, and so we decided on the New Year's First Day to go cycling in the polders near
Diemen (which is a small village lying against Amsterdam, in the South). While doing that, I suddenly fell ill, in the middle of some polder, that also rapidly worsened, and therefore I decided, since I could not lay down in the snow at minus 15 and wait till Anna had succeeded to get some help, to cycle home as soon and as fast as I could, which I did, halfly conscious, with a sky that seemed like a remarkable filthy brown, rather like this:



This picture comes from a video on ME/CFS, and I do not know what it meant in that video. It is here because the sky I cycled under looked a lot like this, and unlike any other sky I have ever seen.

As I was aware at the time, the sky I saw only existed inside me, and was probably caused by forcing myself to do the utmost while falling quite ill, which I did because it was really cold outside, and I simply could not allow myself to lay down in 15 degrees of frost.

In any case, as soon as I was home I went to bed, and stayed there for 10 or 12 days, and was quite ill the first days and week, when also something else started that did not leave me for the next 25 years or so: I had enormous night sweats, in which I could sweat three or four pyamas totally wet, and still awoke in the morning in a drenched pyajama and in a wet bed. (These are a whole lot less the last 10 or 15 years. I do not know why.)

Also, on January 10 Anna got ill, and she went quite rapidly to the doctor, who took a test and concluded she had the Epstein-Barr virus, that is, we had infectious mononucleosis, which she also was told could last two or three months, and which happened to be quite common in the student population we lived in.

This was quite inhibiting for us, because we were both first year students, and had to be present at quite a few courses. This we mostly succeeded in doing, but in neither of our cases had we gotten much better after three or four months, indeed perhaps because we absolutely needed to follow courses and do homework.

In any case, the same young doctor who had diagnosed Anna with EBV (which also extended to me: we clearly had the same disease) sometimes in May of 1979 succeeded in getting Anna quite angry, namely by telling her that because she hadn't gotten better, she must be suffering from a psychosomatic disorder - on the basis of absolutely no knowledge of her (she had seen him only once before, when he ordered the test), nor of her circumstances, and also not aware of the fact that she had worked for four years as a psychological assistant in one of the major madhouses in Amsterdam, the Jellinek clinic, and knew quite well what madness is, and isn't.

So we were not helped, and he was ditched as a doctor. But happily one of the mentors of the University of Amsterdam did take our disease seriously, and offered us a studentflat in Amsterdam, not far from the Psychological Laboratory also, which we therefore accepted quite gladly, and moved into in 1980.

Also, in 1980-1982 we saw quite a few doctors, because we wanted to know what we had if we did not have
infectious mononucleosis, since we both rejected the "diagnosis" that we had some form of "psychosomatosis", which indeed we both considered as a bullshit diagnosis - in which we were quite right: In Holland, at the time, and since some ten years then, almost everything an ordinary doctor could not diagnose was "diagnosed", nevertheless, as "psychosomatic". (This is still the case, though the term now may be different.)

To be sure, this is bound to have been "somewhat correct" in a percentage of the cases, but in those cases it nearly always coincided with significant gains through being ill, whereas we did not gain anything at all: We lost most of our first year; we struggled very hard to attend the courses we had to attend to; we had continuous pains, nightsweats, and diarrhea; we had far less energy than healthy people; and we got no money of any kind through being ill, and no help in any form, apart from the house in Amsterdam, without which we certainly could not study psychology. [1a]

Apart from that, the diagnosis "it is psychosomatic" is not a medical diagnosis: There corresponds no disease to it, and by and large should be seen as an effort (and also as a very dishonest game) of medical professionals who try to save face, and who do not honestly want to admit their own ignorance. [1b]

At the time our disease started, we both were very healthy, in our twenties, and had had very little experience with medical doctors. By 1982, we had seen several tens of them, and learned nothing: The good ones investigated us and concluded "we can't find anything, sorry", which we accepted easily, knowing medicine does not know a lot, even if it has been a real science since the second half of the 19th century (i.e. about 100 years, in the 1970ies); and the bad ones either investigated or not and concluded
"medicine can't find anything, so "therefore" it must be psychosomatic".

By 1982 Anna had had enough, and refused to go to more doctors, on the ground that most of them were incompetent, that it took her a whole lot of trouble to go visit them, that it wasted time and money, and that she did not believe in medicine anymore. I agreed with everything but the last point (and the reader should realize we both had an IQ above 140: we may have been medically naive, but it is also true we did not find many competent doctors, though we did find some), but while I still hoped to find a decent doctor, I also agreed that I did not know how, and anyway had very little energy.

One reason is that there was no internet and indeed no computers for either of us till 1987; another reason was that I had grown quite sick from hearing the easy pseudo-diagnosis "it is psychosomatic", the more so since this was invariably based on nearly complete lack of any knowledge of both of us.

Meanwhile, we had continued our studies as well as possible, and had both made our B.A.'s in psychology, and I my B.A. in philosophy, between 1980 and 1983, and in fact all B.A.'s were quite good, which was less due to our intellectual efforts, and much more due to our native intelligences which were much higher than average, In fact, I found in 1988, to my considerale amazement, that the average IQ of Amsterdam students then was 115 in 1984 - and indeed my only real problems with studying were the great amounts of physical trouble it cost me to go to any lecture, joined with the extreme lousiness of most - nearly all - of the lectures I have attended.

Also, we lived next to a neighbor in the studentflat in Amsterdam who was completely insane, it turned out, and who threatened us with murder, attacked me physically, and kept us from sleeping from 1981 onwards, by playing opera-records extremely loudly till 4 o'clock in the night, next to the room we slept in. And he threatened Anna many times (I found out later, not at the time) by waiting for her until she got home, and then telling her he rather liked her, but that he hated me, and that he was (I quote) "a perfect beast".

In the end, because absolutely no one helped us in any way, we refused to pay the rent, because we rented the house in order to study, which we could not do, and in the end, after 3 1/2 years, the court agreed with - but only in May of 1985, when it was too late for either of us, since we had both left the house then. (This is a good example of how the law works in Holland for ordinary people who are right: No help at all, until it is too late.)

In fact, Anna and I separated by the end of 1983, after 5 1/2 years living together, in part because we continued both being ill;
in part because I thought she had not supported me enough; and in part because I had fallen in love with another woman. But the main reason was the first one: I thought by then that we would both get destroyed through having an unknown illness that only gave us discrimination while "medical scientists" only produced nonsensical or useless diagnoses, and also because living with a chronically ill patient while one is a chronically ill patient oneself, and getting no help whatsoever, is very difficult. [2]

After that, I lived two years by myself in another flat, and these years - 1984 and 1985 - were somewhat to rather good especially because I had found something that helped: Vitamins in large doses.

At that time, I was one of the first Dutchmen who tried this, and indeed I had found this helped in 1983 in England, to which I had moved to sleep in the Spring, with an earlier girlfriend, Stephanie, who had her own friend and two small children at the time, but who was willing to let me sleep in her house, which offer I gladly and thankfully accepted.

I am quite certain that vitamins in large doses helped me, and I am as certain that neither I nor anyone else knows the real reason: Within two years I had grown a whole lot better, and these were the years in which I used vitamins in mega-doses, and also rather carefully tested them, by doing with and without them, and scoring the differences. [2a]

Indeed by 1987-8 I had decided I was fit enough to study again, and also had acquired another girlfriend, who at that time was also ill, but also got mostly cured within two years, and then got a job at the Psychological Laboratory, it seems mostly because of her looks, where she also had started studying.

Then the mayor of Amsterdam gave his personal friends, some dealers in illegal drugs, his personal permission to start dealing illegal drugs, not from his home, but from the bottom floor of the house I lived in, and generally did absolutely nothing about most of the things he needed to do, which also caused that by 1989 I had three cafés, each with a terrace in front of it, and one coffee-shop, also with a terrace, within 10-15 meters from where I slept, which meant that in general I had to sleep between 2 or 3 o'clock at night, and 7 or 7.30 in the morning, which was far too little, and anyway did not work.

This slowly broke me down, basically through not enough sleep, and made me more and more ill, until I was ready to commit suicide by April 1991, because absolutely no one as much as answered the many letters I wrote and many phonecalls I tried to make: In Amsterdam, everything turned around the illegal dealing of illegal drugs, which I found in 1996 was a trade worth ten billions (of dollars) a year, and most other things were simply neglected, including cafés, terraces, and the police. [2b]

Also, my girlfriend, once mostly cured, and once having a good job, wanted more from live than I could offer her, and decided to dump me. [3] About the only good thing my girlfriend had brought me was a very good G.P., who helped me cure my girlfriend, and who also helped me, eventually, to get a new place to live, to which I fled on February 10, 1992, the same day as a smoke-test was done in the house where I had lived, which showed that it had been a very dangerous place to live ever since 1988. [3a]

That house turned out to be too small and also very noisy, so that in fact I lived most of 1992, age 42, with my mother, after which I got another house in the Spring of 1993, again through my G.P., where I still live, and have lived quietly, and without any disturbance, and quite alone, now for over 20 years.

Living alone:

In fact, by 1991, all the good I had been able to do myself since 1984 had turned very sour and had completely disappeared: In 1991 and 1992 my physical situation was a lot worse than at any time during my disease, which had precisely one good outcome: A doctor who was sent to my place in 1992, to test whether I was really ill, and who found me there, agreed, nearly immediately also, that my hands were quite clearly infected with rheumatism, and that this made working for me quite impossible.

I think he was quite right, but should also add that since, and indeed by 1993, most of the rheumatism had disappeared, as I again could sleep from 1992 onwards, albeit that I mostly slept in my mother's house until the Spring of 1993.

In 1993, when I was 43, I also fell in love again, but nothing ever came from that, at least in part because I was too ill, and I also got, at long last, my M.A. in psychology - which in fact had taken me 6 years altogether, but spread over far more years, since from 1981 onwards I had been both ill, without help, and plagued by all manner of bureaucratic problems because I was ill, but no Dutch civil servant wanted to admit that, since it was so much cheaper to try to make me work, by hook or by crook. (So I also did not study most of the eighties.)

Anyway: since 1993, and for over 20 years now, I have lived quite alone, without help, and on minimal dole.

The main reasons for me to live alone are that I am ill, and quite seriously so, since I survived the drugsdealers, and that I am much more intelligent than most, which I say because it is true and relevant, and not to offend the quite healthy but less intelligent people I usually have to deal with.
[4]

Living alone these days is nearly a psychiatric condition, but the reason for that is that psychiatry these days is a deeply corrupt pseudoscience, that has succeeded in "medicalizing" almost everything that deviates from some average, which it has done for a perfectly good reason, at least if you abstract from all oaths, pretensions and noble intentions: it turned out to be very, very profitable. [4a]

There recently appeared a good paper in the Guardian on living alone by a woman who does so - see:
Why do we have such a problem with being alone? by Sara Maitland - and therefore I also want to explain a few reasons why living alone is for me not a burden. [5]

In the first place, I am ill, and I am ill for the 36th year, and I am also rather seriously ill since 1993. This is the main reason why I live alone, namely because I do not want to be anybody's burden. [5a]

In the second place, I am very intelligent, and the conversation and ideas of most, indeed nearly all, people I meet, is far from interesting to me, and is generally gladly avoided by me. This indeed was always the case, also before I was ill: I had good friends - of both sexes - and I also was fairly popular, but all of the real friends I had were quite intelligent, and nearly all had studied, and even their conversations and ideas were generally not very interesting to me. (My conversations often were to them, and that was the main interest.)

This does not mean I avoided them or did not socialize with them, for I did all of that, and with quite a few, and for quite a number of years, but it does mean that I almost never met anyone who could and did talk like I could and did (and can and do, if sufficiently stimulated and interested). [6]

In the third place, I am a serious philosopher and I have thought a lot and I can agree with very little that ordinary men desire and believe, also when I can see their reasons - usually ignorance - quite well. This does not mean I disagree with ordinary men and women, but it does mean I generally have little to talk about with them that really interests me, which also is the case since my late teens. And no, it is not that I am impopular, for I generally am rather liked, but that those who like me usually have little to offer that makes me like them more than (somewhat) superficially - which is not the fault of anyone.

There are other reasons why living alone is not a burden to me, such as my honesty, that is greater than most, and my sensitivity, idem, but these are less easy to talk really clearly about, for there are no good measures for them.

In any case: I do not mind living alone, as long as I am ill, but not so ill that I cannot take care of myself, and I can quite well amuse myself by myself, mostly through computing and the internet, which are two things that make living alone a lot easier than it would be without them.

Meanwhile, these past 20 years I have done very little that involved extertions: I go once a week shopping, which is 600-700 paces walking, all told; I generally walk every day some 200 paces outside - and nearly all the rest of the time I am inside, and am either sitting in front of my computer or laying in bed.

This is also almost all I can and all I could do these 20 years, in which I also might have cured myself, might have gotten a Ph.D., and might have done many other things - if only I had gotten some help, which is an elementary right which I am systematically denied in Amsterdam, now for the 36th year in succession, and always without any rational justification.

----------------------------------------------------
P.S. Jan 14, 2014: I have added several notes (all those with letters); added to some notes; added quite a few links; and made some corrections.

Notes

[1] I should say here that both the study of philosophy and of psychology at that time, when done fulltime, were six years in Holland - and that was to get an M.A. in either study. This is longer than it is now, and was too long anyway, but most of the time was needed simply because there was no interest in aligning any courses within a study, or aligning two studies, in any way. One had to do certain things to get the necessary points, and if one for some reason could not do them, one was supposed to wait till the next year. And I should also say that student lives then were rather different from what they are now, and that one had also to pay very little for the university: I think all I needed to pay in 1977 and in 1978 was 200 guilders, which is about 80 euroos, which paid for all the courses I took and anything I needed, which was mainly the University Library.

[1a] None of the things reported in this paragraph was ever seen by any doctor who decided we suffered from "a psychosomatic disease", and indeed that "medical" judgment was usually reached within the 10 minues an ordinary appointment takes, on the basis of zero knowledge of us, or our circumstances. And indeed there are no psychosomatic diseases, and the diagnosis is not a medical one, for there is no disease there at all - which anybody who had taken the trouble of actually seeing us would have denied, as indeed did most of the good doctors we saw: These persons are clearly ill, but not with a disease I can recognize. But neither the good nor the bad doctors gave or had the time to see our daily suffering, ever, and indeed nearly all doctors we met, who in fact practised a science with about 100 years of standing at best (!!), pretended to be, if not omniscientific, then at least not far removed from it as regards medicine and medical knowledhe. This is total rot: Far more is unknown about the human body, at present, than is known.

[1b] There is these days a whole class of "psychosomatic medicine", but it is all nonsense, and in the end reduces to the psychological impossibility of admitting "I don't know", from which quite a few medical doctors suffer. The reasons it is all nonsense is that the term "psychosomatic", to start with, is a non-scientific one, that combines the soul (psyche) with the body (soma), whereas real medicine is based on the decision to study and treat real diseases in real bodies, which are absent in the "psychosomatic" case, while extremely little is known about the mind: To this day no one know what consciousness is, or why we have it, or what is a personality or a self, or what is meaning, or how we think. Besides, denying help to someone with a label such as "it is psychosomatic" - which is always what it comes down to in practice - also means that many unknown diseases are not studied, simply because medical practitioners have bewitched themselves into all-knowing medical geniuses, who insist they can diagnose anything, while in fact really knowing few things.

[2] There were also some other reasons, but our shared disease was by far the most important, and that especially because we had received no support and no help of any kind for 5 years, which at that time was mostly because we could not find any decent doctor: Most of the doctors we had met had said "it is psychosomatic" because they were incapable of admitting that they or the medical science they professed could be ignorant of anything - after which they were all finished with us. (And as to the woman I fell in love with: By the end of 1983, and within 3 months, this had been changed to a friendship without sex because we both wanted it that way.)

Also, there was one other reason: I was quite certain Anna, who was 29 by the time we separated, could find another man (which she also did), because she was bright and attractive, and I knew I could find another woman, and was only 33 when we separated.

[2a] I am - I repeat - quit certain that megadoses of vitamins helped me, and also that no one knows why. The reason it helped me was that my condition improved a whole lot from 1984-1987 (which is four years), and that the only thing this could be due to where the vitamins I took, which also included the quite careful correlational studies I did. The reason no one knows why are mainly that the disease I have is not understood, and there remains far more to be known about the human body than is currently known, although most medical people I have talked with - at least 50-100 - have mastered the pretense that they know everything there is to be known about medicine remarkably well, especially given the fact that most of them were intelligent, and must have known that in fact no one knows more than a small part of what there is to be known, medically, and otherwise, and indeed nearly all one knows is guessed, uncertain, and will probably be overthrown or corrected within one or two generations.

[2b] I am quite certain this - the ten billion dollars a year that are being turned over in Holland in soft drugs (marijuana and hashish) alone - is the real reason for my total neglect by the mayors and aldermen of Amsterdam, and I am quite certain there is an enormous amount of falsehood and pretense that keeps this secret. For this I have many reasons, one of which is that I was investigated by an aldermen, Rob Oudkerk, who since was evicted because of his using cocaine and fucking junky prostitutes, all on the pretense of him being someone totally different, namely "a social worker". I can only explain that fraud because of a huge illegal financial interest, that is related to the billions of dollars of (soft) drugs that are yearly sold in Amsterdam, which are protected by Amsterdam's mayors and aldermen.

[3] This is the only relation I - deeply - regret. I know she probably would have died, and certainly would not have studied, without my intermission, but seeing how dismally she behaved I should have left her to her own - quite mad - devices. But I couldn't, or so it felt like, because I was in love with her, and besides, in 1986 and 1987 I thought I had mostly, though not fully, cured myself, and certainly had considerably better health than any time between 1979 and 1985, which was the reason I picked her up and helped her from 1986 onwards, and indeed spent nearly all my time helping her in 1986 and 1987, also with considerable success.

[3a] By February 1992 I had lived for 3 1/2 years in a house in which there was a huge hole in the chimney to which I was forced to connect the stove, because it was hacked there in August of 1988 to remove several sacks of stones after the chimney had collapsed and nearly killed me by gassing me with carbon monoxide. Since then I had complained, and complained, and complained - and was told, by the drugscorrupt civil servants of the Municipal Building Service [Dutch: "Bouw- en Woning-dienst"] that I was a liar and that there was no hole in the chimney. There even was an inspector, F. Mannaert, who came to inspect, but who refused to look to the chimney, and who then reported, in writing, that "at first sight, nothing is to be seen". The smoketest was the first real thing that happened in these 3 1.2 years, and was on my initiative. The whole house was blue: the chimney had been leaking like a sieve all these years, and I probably had not died because the house was not maintained for decades. (Again: 10 billion - 10.000.000.000 - dollars are turned over in illegal soft drugs in Holland each year.)

[4] In Holland, you can boast about a lot, especially about your riches or your looks or your popularity, but it is a major offense to say you are more intelligent than most, even though about half of the population is. Well... I don't boast: I explain.

[4a] By 1980, after the Freud wars and the anti-psychiatric movement, psychiatry was mostly dead, and deservedly so, because it was quite clear none of the psychiatric schools was a real science or real medicine in any rational or empirical sense: All they had was guesses and pretenses, without hardly any solid factual basis, combined with a gigantic ignorance about how the brain generates its marvels (which is shared with everybody: no one knows).

Then a couple of fraudulent crooks decided that they could save psychiatry - which should have been killed and thrown out of medical school - by throwing out all theory (which is a crazy idea and makes it definitely a non-science) and instead make a book of "diagnoses" that satisfied the teachings of behavioral psychology (which is not a science) combined with endless hullaballoo about the promises (not the facts) of "brain science". Another fraudulent crook hit upon the "theory" that "mental disease" (which is not a disease) is caused (somehow: never explained) by some (quite mysterious) "chemical imbalance", which then (quite miraculously) gets corrected, namely nearly always by the latest miracle drug, with an extremely high price and a patent - and behold, now you know what most psychiatrists know, and also who they work for: not you, but the pharmacological corporations, whose drugs they sell, for gigantic profits to themselves and the corporations.

In fact, this worked, and works for 33 years now, but this also is actually a very sick pseudoscience, that works only because of the ignorance of most patients, and the stunning lies and pretenses of most psychiatrists.

In fact, the real story is a lot dirtier than I have told here: You can find some (but definitely not all or most) of it in my series on the DSM-5. (And no, I am not a radical: By now enormous amounts of real filth are known about the practices of the pharmacological companies - but these are "punished", in the USA, time and again, by delivering a fairly small part of their profits to the DoJ, and thereby they get cleared of all wrong doings. As long as no executives and no psychiatrist get long prison sentences, I have concluded that little will change, alas: money rules nearly all.)

[5] That is, more precisely: Is not a burden as long as I can minimally take care of myself, which I can, so far.

[5a] This is quite important to me, but less so to most other persons, it seems, and there is a similar difference in my living together with women: I never lived with a woman I did not love. This also seems to be a rare practice, given the states of most marriages I know. (This is also the reason why I did live with five women, and never married, which I did not do because I never was in a position to want children.)

[6] This is quite true, and one of the main differences between me and other people: I almost never met anyone who is mostly like me. In fact, that is the main reason Stephanie Faulkner is so fondly remembered by me, even though the actual relationship lasted at most 1 1/2 years: She was the only one I met who could really talk as I can, and who had a good academic education and a similar workingclass very leftist background as I had.

Indeed, the similar background should also not be underestimated: Few people have been raised by intelligent communist revolutionaries, who were so nearly all their adult lives, but I was one of the few, and Stephanie was another one, and indeed I was also one of the few of these who studied in a university, as was Stephanie. (There are some who would like to claim the same as I did, and who are Dutch, but (i) they did not have the parents and grandparents I have, who were murdered or survived nearly 4 years in concentration camps for being in the resistance (ii) they did keep their communist faiths, albeit quite falsely and hypocritically, until the eighties or early nineties, and (iii) they all sold out, to get a little bit of power and influence.)

For more, I must refer you to Schopenhauer's, Lichtenberg's, La Rochefoucauld's and especially Chamfort's aphorisms (although I never met a man or woman who read all or most of these...).


About ME/CFS
(that I prefer to call M.E.: The "/CFS" is added to facilitate search machines) which is a disease I have since 1.1.1979:
1. Anthony Komarof

Ten discoveries about the biology of CFS(pdf)

2. Malcolm Hooper THE MENTAL HEALTH MOVEMENT:  
PERSECUTION OF PATIENTS?
3. Hillary Johnson

The Why  (currently not available)

4. Consensus (many M.D.s) Canadian Consensus Government Report on ME (pdf - version 2003)
5. Consensus (many M.D.s) Canadian Consensus Government Report on ME (pdf - version 2011)
6. Eleanor Stein

Clinical Guidelines for Psychiatrists (pdf)

7. William Clifford The Ethics of Belief
8. Malcolm Hooper Magical Medicine (pdf)
9.
Maarten Maartensz
Resources about ME/CFS
(more resources, by many)


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