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Monday, June 6, 2016

50% of Prescribed Antidepressants Are Not for Depression Treatment │ Harmful Food-Container Chemicals That Microwaves Leach into Food │ Artificial Sweeteners INCREASE Risk of Diabetes

My wife Jack came home fairly late last evening, bringing home some food she had prepared earlier at Mango Thai Restaurant ─ I had been stalling in turning off the T.V. because I was expecting her.  I even watered the front yard garden.

She didn't hang around long before returning to Vancouver ─ her youngest son Pote was in bed with his girlfriend, and her oldest son Tho was away ─ since the early afternoon, actually.

As I recall, it was midnight when I got to bed.

These past two nights have certainly been warm in the house insofar as sleep is concerned.

The clock-radio read 7:33 a.m. when I checked the time and opted to rise this morning ─ it took a few minutes, though, for I felt like I could lapse back into sleep.  But that would have delayed the start of my day.

I had thought that I might get out to do some local shopping, but I spent far too long setting up a new post at my Latin Impressions website; I'll undoubtedly be involved over the next three mornings supplying it with content.

That's a lot of work, though ─ especially considering that when I checked its statistics for visitors over the course of the past 28 days, the website had absolutely none on each of May 9, 20, 23, and 26.

Pote was up when I got up, but he never had to start work until fairly early into the afternoon.

His brother Tho never got up until around 2:00 p.m.  By then, I had finished sunning out on the backyard sundeck, spending just over 70 minutes there beginning at 12:40 p.m.

Roughly a quarter of an hour of that sunning was under light cloud cover.

After I had come back into the house, while I was boiling water for my second hot beverage of the day, Tho came into the kitchen to make himself an instant coffee, and mentioned that he had experienced a bad dream.

It seems that he had dreamt of getting up from bed and coming to the kitchen to make himself a coffee...only to discover that there was no "coffee powder," and he was confronted with starting his day without that enjoyable boost.

I have only ever been free of my adult caffeine addiction just three times ─ in early 2003, early 2004, and  late May/early June 2005.

Those were the only three times that I had ever been in Thailand.

Coffee is available there, but anytime I was in a hotel where breakfast was available, the hotel tended only to have the teeniest little cups in which coffee was served.

I didn't tend to eat breakfast in hotels, though.

So I only rarely had any exposure to coffee.

Actually, I became quite adept at enjoying at least one very cold big bottle of beer whenever I ate.  And over the course of a day, I sometimes managed to keep a pretty good buzz going.

I think it was after I was home from the first trip to Thailand and back onto coffee again, it struck me why I had initially been plagued with such lassitude during the first week or so when I got to Thailand ─ even suffering a vague headache over the early days.

It was caffeine withdrawal; but I had thought that I was suffering the effects of extended jet-lag.

That withdrawal is not at all severe if one is drinking beer throughout the day, and thus perpetually buzzed from it.

And perhaps that is a good cue to post this photo, whose description is from the Google album where I have the photo stored:

This photo is from sometime in January 2003, at a park whose identity I never knew located somewhere near Udon Thani City.

The gal taking the photo ─ Tukta ─ had tricked me into going out from my hotel garbed like this.

I had no bloody idea that the gals were taking me on a tour that day.  I would have worn jeans and a decent top.

I think that I thought we were just nipping out for something to eat and drink (for me, that was generally beer).

Instead, Tukta just kept driving and driving.

Anyway, the short gal is Tumma ─ the most affectionate dear creature who never knew any English.

The taller gal is Jack (Supranee).  She and I have been married since May 30, 2005.
As I have said before, I wish that it had been possible for me to have just remained in Thailand once Jack and I were married.  The woman I am married to here now in Canada is little like the original Jack from the large village of Nong Soong, roughly a 15-minute drive from Udon Thani (City).

I miss the old Jack so very, very much.  I wish that I could have her back, but she may be lost to me forever.


Sometimes I'll be watching a comedy or light drama in which there will be a very attractive lass who's always ready to glom onto any sort of prescription antidepressant that she can get her lovely little fingers around.

It seems innocent and playful ─ and the gal is always the epitomization of sexy wholesomeness (visually, at least).

And it's all good fun.

But the sorry truth is that there is nothing funny about these drugs.  No one should be taking them ─ the darned things shouldn't exist.  

It's all in your head.

Your doc won't say that out loud. He won't dare.

But he's thinking it!

When he can't figure out what's wrong with you, it's a heckuvalot easier on his ego to blame YOU rather than admit that his own skills are lacking.

So when you've got a problem with no obvious diagnosis or solution, he'll assume it's in your head -- and even if he won't say it out loud, there's a way you can know for sure that he's thinking it.

Because that's the moment he'll hand you a prescription for an antidepressant!

New research finds that nearly HALF of all antidepressant prescriptions are written for conditions OTHER than depression.

Just 55 percent of the meds handed out are for actual cases of depression.

The rest are for things like chronic pain conditions -- especially fibromyalgia and migraines -- and insomnia.

You KNOW these conditions aren't in your head. And you KNOW you're not depressed.

At least, you weren't depressed. But by the time your doc is through with you -- giving you drugs that don't work for conditions you don't even have -- you might end up depressed!

The mainstream claims they have no choice. Boo-hoo-hoo. This medicine stuff is just too hard for them to figure out.

"Some of these conditions are things where there is no exact treatment," lead author Jenna Wong of McGill University complained to TIME magazine. "The patients may be desperate for something to treat their ailments."

She's right about one thing: Patients are desperate.

If you had the all-over pain of fibromyalgia and a doc clueless about how to treat it... if you were tired all the time because you can't sleep... if you had to battle migraines so often you could [count] the "good" days each month of one hand... you'd be desperate, too!

But she's wrong about the other, because there ARE treatments for all these conditions and more, and some of them are a whole lot simpler than your clueless doc realizes.

For example, all of those conditions mentioned earlier -- fibromyalgia, migraines and insomnia -- can be triggered or worsened by magnesium deficiency, which strikes up to 80 percent of Americans (especially seniors).

Instead of taking an antidepressant, try a chelated form of magnesium and see if it helps. If it doesn't, you're likely battling some other issue that needs attention.

Whatever the real cause, it's NOT in your head... and mood meds WON'T make it better.

You need a doc who knows how to figure out what's wrong and what it'll take to turn it around.

I recommend an experienced member of the American College for Advancement in Medicine.

Getting in your doctor's head....
This is the Time article that report mentioned:


If I lived alone, I would not own a microwave.  

But even so, I know that any food that comes in a plastic or Styrofoam container ─ or any other kind of packaging ─ is having chemicals from the container leach into the fare.

And so many of those darned chemicals wreak nothing but ill ─ even if we think we are not noticing anything wrong.

The label on your favorite food container may say "microwave-safe."

But a shocking new investigation has found there may be no such thing.

Every time we heat up a bowl of soup or last night's leftovers, we could be getting toxic doses of dangerous chemicals that can lead to everything from heart disease to cancer.

That's why you need to take three important steps before you use your microwave again.

And this is especially urgent if you're expecting a baby or preparing food for children.

I'm sure if microwave ovens suddenly disappeared, most of us wouldn't know what to do.

We've gotten so used to zapping every kind of dish imaginable -- and expecting it to be ready in 15 seconds -- that we'd be left eating cold soup and a PB&J sandwich every day!

But if you're putting your microwaved food in any kind of plastic, you're most likely getting some nasty extras that you didn't count on.

Even if that plastic is labeled as being "BPA-free" it can still be leaching dangerous chemicals into your food.

An investigation by Time Magazine found that when over 450 plastic products were analyzed, 70 percent of them tested positive for releasing compounds that had estrogen-like activity.

And when those plastic containers, glasses and plates were subjected to "real-world conditions" like going in the microwave, the number jumped to over 95 percent!

So almost all of them, even the BPA-free ones, were adding chemicals to our food that can wreak absolute havoc on our health.

BPA is part of a group of chemicals known as endocrine disruptors that can do some nasty things to our body's hormones. And that's doubly true for babies still in the womb. These toxins actually mimic estrogen, and have been linked to everything from heart and brain damage to breast and prostate cancer.

But our children are especially vulnerable.

Last year I told you about the epidemic of early puberty in little girls. It's something that has doubled in the last generation, and is being blamed in large part on the huge amount of estrogen-like chemicals these kids are constantly exposed to.

And then manufacturers tried to pull the wool over our eyes by making a huge deal about ditching BPA in plastics. They even put big stickers on those products saying the BPA was gone -- as if that made them perfectly safe.

But it turns out that one of the chemicals it got replaced with, called BPS, is also incredibly dangerous.

When researchers from UCLA exposed zebrafish (which are transparent and easily studied) to a tiny bit of BPS, it caused significant problems in brain development and damage to the reproductive systems of the baby fish.

And it's not just fish or laboratory rats in which we've seen this sort of damage. Almost the same exact health issues, including obesity, diabetes, heart disease and hyperactivity, have been found in babies who were exposed to the chemical before birth.

That's why it's more important than ever to be super careful with what you put in the microwave, especially if you're expecting a little one.

So here are three important tips to help you do that:

Tip #1: Only microwave food in glass or ceramic containers.

Tip #2: If you must cover something never, ever use plastic wrap. Instead, use a piece of paper towel.

Tip #3: Don't reuse plastic food containers. And especially, never repurpose food or take-out containers for use in the microwave.
Pseudo-endocrines may be bringing on puberty in little girls, but they're also effeminizing boys and helping cause erectile dysfunction and even impotence in men. 

Thanks, food-manufacturing industry!

People who use artificial sweeteners are reaping problems they likely never imagined.  A latest study on them finds that they actually increase the risk of diabetes over that faced by sugar-users!

Safer than a newborn kitten!

That’s what Big Food wants you to think when it comes to their no-cal chemical sweeteners.

If you’ve got diabetes… or if you’re at risk for the disease… they want you to think you can just swap sugary soft drinks for their diet versions and keep slurping away.

Well, my friend, the industry can lie all it wants — but the science never lies, and the latest research exposes the ugly truth about the popular chemical sweetener aspartame: It can ultimately do MORE damage to your glucose control than plain old sugar!

If you don’t have diabetes, no-cal sweeteners can put you in the express lane to getting it.

And if you have the condition, “diet” soda will help ensure you struggle to keep it under control.

It’s not that aspartame causes blood sugar levels to spike. Of course it doesn’t, and that’s why they want you to think it’s “safe.”

But it does something far worse — something that could permanently CRIPPLE your body’s ability to handle glucose, setting the stage for insulin resistance and diabetes.

As a result, the new study finds that in some ways aspartame can be WORSE for your glucose control than plain old sugar!

The study looked at more than 2,800 men and women who were asked to record absolutely everything they ate and drank for 24 hours.

Then they were divided into three groups: Folks who had aspartame… folks who had saccharin… and folks who had ordinary sugar.

And wouldn’t you know it, the biggest problems with glucose tolerance were in overweight folks who consumed aspartame.

Not sugar… and not even saccharine.

But don’t consider that an endorsement of either — because plain old sugar WILL ultimately lead to diabetes, and saccharine has been linked to cancer.

The study doesn’t spot the reason for the link between aspartame and glucose problems, but the likely culprit is what happens inside your gut.

Big Food wants you to believe aspartame passes right through like it’s invisible, since it brings no calories or glucose along for the ride.

But the bacteria in your gut aren’t fooled by this disappearing act.

They spot the chemical and go to work on it the way they work on everything else, trying to break it down and put it to use. And as the new study shows, it’s getting used in all the wrong ways.

That helps explain why other studies have found that folks who drink diet soda have a HIGHER risk of diabetes.

So here’s the real deal on “safe” sweets: There’s no such thing!

Aspartame… saccharin… sucralose… and all the rest each have their own problems. And don’t even get me started on table sugar and high-fructose corn syrup.

Avoid them. Avoid them all.

Tough? Yes. But living with diabetes is a whole lot tougher.

Here are a couple of further reports on the study:


Closing out today's post is this entry from my journal of 41 years ago when I was 25 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

My room was in a home located at Ninth Street & Third Avenue.

I only worked one day a week, as a rule ─ Friday ─ for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that today calls itself Fraserside Community Services Society.

My role with them was truck swamper on their sole vehicle back then ─ a blue pick-up truck with wooden siding to extend the height of its carrying capacity.
FRIDAY, June 8, 1975

The morn is cloudy, but old Sol took over mostly.

Pre-lunch was just a trip to the dump; Bill S. who helped Bill A. & I load jammed a splinter 2/3s the distance of length of a finger nail.

I bought 3 loaves of bread (29¢ apiece) and some moldy cheese this morning, but Esther let me off for lunch at 3rd Ave. & 8th St., disallowing me to take my groceries home at that time.

My partner commented favourably on my new beard style when he saw me as I first strolled into S.A.N.E. a.m.

I ate a full cup of Red River cereal for my porridge lunch.

Back at S.A.N.E., the only work done was the filling of the truck via pick-ups, and its unloading.

Aaru I heard say Shirley is having a party tomorrow, and Heinz is to be present.

Anyway, I stayed at work till near 5:00 p.m.

At home I fed well on my rich hamburger feed.

I've had slightly mad itching sessions, but nothing yet unbearable.

About 8:00 p.m. I left for Art's; he was ill, and not drinking.  I had a shot of vodka, and later, when Chris & Ida came down, and the former bought some Villa sherry, I had a shot of that too.

Art drank nothing.

Seems he is getting along a bit better with working Angie.

I was the last of his guests to leave at around 12:15 a.m.; he gave me a hunk of meat loaf and 5 potato halves to take home after earlier feeding me some ice-cream.

Abed by 1:00 a.m.  
If I knew then the last names of "Bill S." and "Bill A.," I wish that I had recorded them ─ I remember neither man now.  

It was "Bill S." who jammed the sliver two-thirds of the way up his fingernail ─ ouch!  

It must have been "Bill A." who complimented me on my newly-trimmed beard.

Esther St. Jean was our truck driver ─ a very dear woman in her early 40s.

I frequently wrote of coming home for lunch; yet, I do not ever remember doing that.  For anyone who knows New Westminster, from where I lived on Ninth Street at Third Avenue, it was a bit of a walk ─ S.A.N.E. used to be located in a building on Carnarvon Street where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now spills out. 

For lunch, I fixed myself a porridge using a full cup of Red River Cereal ─ it would have been fairly filling.

I knew someone named "Aaru?"  Perhaps I was guessing on how the name was spelled; but I certainly don't remember any such person.

It would have been Shirley Johnston or Johnson who was said to be planning a party.  Heinz Kirchner was a German chap in his early 40s whom I had gotten to know when both of us were on a full-time eight-week Basic Job Readiness Training (BJRT) course late in the previous year.

I mentioned some itching I was experiencing ─ I had badly sunburned myself on June 1st, and the peeling had since begun.
Art Smith was someone else in his early 40s who worked part-time at S.A.N.E.  He had committed me a day or two before into coming by his place after I had finished work on Friday.

So I had a good meal of hamburgers I cooked up, and then headed over to keep my commitment.

Perhaps fortunately, Art was not drinking ─ it was normally his favourite thing to be doing.  But at least it kept me from having to get sloshed along with him.

I have no memory at all of the upstairs tenants apparently named "Chris & Ida" ─ I never even knew that there were upstairs tenants at the house the Smiths lived in until reading about it recently in those old journal entries. 

Art's wife Angie (Angelina) was working as a waitress at (I think) the Pacific Café on Columbia Street there in New Westminster.  She had been giving Art an incredible amount of deserved grief in recent weeks, and things were exceptionally bad as of the previous weekend. 

But there had been improvement in their relationship.

I wish that I had maintained some contact with Art and his brother Gerald ("Judd") after I moved from New Westminster in the late 1970s to live again in Surrey, but I left everything about my near-decade or so there in New Westminster behind me.
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