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Sunday, July 16, 2017

💀 ☠ Often Depression Can Be Remedied with Magnesium Supplementation │ Probiotic-Rich Beer, Anyone?

Rather than sensibly getting to bed last evening after I was done watching T.V., I submitted to that accursed sordidness which often has me sitting up until far too late into the night.

I was not to bed until well beyond 1:00 a.m. I just don't happen to recall the precise time.

I had been annoyed that both of my stepsons remained home, sometimes creating such racket in the kitchen that the conversation of the movie I was watching was drowned out ─ I hated escalating the volume beyond its already loud level, for my ears already suffer tinnitus to an uncomfortable degree.

But what is it with soundtracks in recent years where it becomes practically impossible sometimes to clearly hear what is being said? Yet sound effects are outrageously and ridiculously loud.

I have no life; but my stepsons are supposed to have friends. Why do the two remain here at home on a Saturday night just because their girlfriends were otherwise engaged? Do bloody something else!

Lord, I wish that I had friends to fellowship with...but I do not.

Anyway, the movie was certainly engrossing and even thought-provoking.

Titled The Belko Experiment, it revolved around 80 mostly American employees who found themselves working in their office building in a remote area of Bogotá, Colombia, but without so many other employees who would normally have been there.

Armed security guards had denied the others access to the building, but no one knew why.

Well, we were soon enough to learn the reason ─ an insane experiment was about to be conducted which chillingly may apparently have had American government sanction.

Once it was established that all 80 employees were helplessly confined within the building that had almost magically become encased in some sort of impervious metal sheeting that developed in successive stages all over the exterior right up to ─ but not covering ─ the roof, a voice broadcast that everyone had to...well, Wikipedia covered it well enough, so I will let you refer to the article on the movie that I linked to above.

After it was fathomed that people were going to have their heads randomly exploded if instructions to start killing off certain numbers of each other were not obeyed, as a viewer it was difficult not to be drawn into wondering just what could possibly be done to survive this scenario without becoming homicidal and abandoning all humanity.

I seem to have a knack of late for finding movies that finish without providing the sense of triumph I so badly need in my pathetic life.

Why do filmmakers feel this need to offer us such hopelessness?

I hate it.

Heck, I had even broken open a second can of strong (8% alcohol) beer instead of regulating myself to the usual single can that has generally been my limit since back in mid-February or so.

I should have just gone to bed, but I feel so socially isolated and cut off from intimate human contact that I weakly surrendered to the only substitute there is for me, and therewith sat up late in thrall to my computer.

It escapes me now just when it was that I commenced my morning, but it was well before 7:00 a.m. ─ perhaps even closer to 6:00 a.m. than to 7:00 a.m.

Of course no one else was up. My younger brother Mark had spent the night at the home of his girlfriend Bev, so he would be showing up later in the morning.

I got busy putting the final touches to the post I have been developing for the past 10 or so days at my hosted website Thai-Iceland, and I was to publish the post around mid-morning or soon after: Iceland Plane Tickets.

But before Mark's arrival home, I wanted to ensure that I got my exercise out in the backyard tool shed. I probably went out there between 8:30 a.m. and 9:00 a.m.

I did well. I had what currently constitutes a full exercise session, which is probably just about a half-hour in duration. I felt rather strong.

Upon coming back into the house, I stripped down and weighed myself: roughly 187 or 188 pounds.

The early morning seemed to have far more cloud cover than blue sky.

I never paid attention to when my youngest stepson Poté rose and left to drive himself to work, but it was probably between 9:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. Mark was home by then.

I had my day's first meal toward 11:00 a.m.

And then not too long afterward, I decided that I had best seek a nap. I entered my bedroom and closed the door just as Mark appeared to be about to do the same, for I heard his bedroom door close right thereafter.

It was 11:42 a.m. when I was back in bed, and I remained there for an hour with earplugs and blindfold in place. I definitely napped.

Upon emerging from my bedroom, I found Mark's bedroom door to be wide open. And he was in fact no longer home ─ only my eldest stepson Tho was present, having at last gotten up from bed.

I do not expect to be seeing Mark until he is home from the bar early in the evening.

I certainly wasted no time in getting outside to sit in a chair in the backyard to confront the Sun ─ it was 12:49 p.m. I only wore cut-offs after doffing the top I was wearing.

I spent just over 40 minutes out there. Only once did a cloud obscure the Sun, and perhaps for little more than a minute.

It was impossible not to contemplate my lot as I sat out there. The state of my life is so bleak, it seems. I am witnessing my physical decline, as well as that of my ever-clouding vision. Hopes and dreams I had nurtured over my lifetime for this period of my life were all in vain.

I am 67, and growing older far quicker than I am comfortable about. The realization kept recurring that I will not dare to be living this same life at the age of 70.

It ─ this fouled and futile life of mine ─ must end before that.

Google notified me that it had created a photographic commemoration of this date exactly one year ago (it was of course a Saturday back then):

July 16, 2016, was the memorial for my maternal cousin Jock (John) Halverson, who died due to cancer on July 1st earlier that same month.

I have never seen Google create one of these commemorations before using just a single photo ─ usually there are anywhere from three to five of them in a sort of collage.

This is the original photo:

That is me in the centre with my arms across the shoulders of brothers Shane (left) and Brady Halverson (wearing sunglasses), the sons of my cousin Randy Halverson ─ Jock's oldest brother.

The photo was taken around 3:38 p.m., and there were quite a few people in attendance.

It was well into the evening when things started breaking up and people heading off for home. It had been dark for quite some time. I was the last of those still remaining outside ─ the final drinking relatives of mine had just left, going into the house to bid their farewells to the women within.

My brother Mark had left in the latter afternoon.

I was definitely drunk; but after all of the camaraderie I had enjoyed over the afternoon with my drinking relatives, I now found myself feeling like an outsider. Abandoned.

I quietly explored the side of the house in the darkness and then worked my way out to the street, and then I set off afoot for home without a word to anyone in the house ─ home for me was well over four kilometres away.

I hadn't even eaten anything ─ a vast 'pot luck' buffet had been available in the house. Since I never contribute to such larders, I always feel unwelcome to participate in them as a consequence.

I had only brought beer, so that was all that I had consumed. In spades.

There is something within me that at the very core makes me feel out of place even amongst my own relatives.

It is why I know that I am a threat to myself for self-termination.

I never wanted to hurt my mother by putting an end to myself ─ my father had died in 1983, but my dear mother managed to live on into 2006.

All that remains of my immediate family is my younger brother Mark, who is now 65 years old.

He is socially mobile and has numerous friends. I have none. And although I am married, my wife and I have not been physically intimate in over four years.

We do not even indulge in a token good-bye kiss anymore.

So...yes...I see my time running out. I have lived under the pressure of debt and isolation far, far too long.

I don't want to be depressed, but I seem to have lived with it for most of my life.

If only it was as simple as having a magnesium deficiency ─ believe it or not, research has found that just such a thing can be at the root of some depressions.

Note these reports on a recently published study:




Unfortunately for me, the basis of my depression is that debt that I spoke of. But even if I was out of debt, I just do not have an adequate income ─ I cannot provide for my wife.

If I had financial means, then life would be exhilarating ─ I would not have to be isolated as I am. And I would want and be able to afford to have various medical issues that are amiss with me investigated and possibly even corrected.   

People with depression who are able to seek counseling and who can talk about their problems are certainly fortunate. I am not a talker, despite how I may drone on and on here in my blog.

But this is more like a journal for me ─ a place where I can say much of what I cannot speak of in person to anyone I know.

I was curious about the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) that was used to assess the study subjects' states of mind. A video of better than six minutes clarifying it nicely is available at the following article:


The article has a link to more information about the questionnaire. I even found two .pdf versions of the nine-question PHQ-9 here and here.

I haven't bothered going over it for myself ─ I already know that I am feeling especially depressed today. I do not require a questionnaire to bring the fact of it to light, but maybe someone out there feels less forsaken than do I and something like the questionnaire may prove of galvanizing benefit.

On days like today, it would help me to be able to afford to drink. How I wish that it was as easy to brew up some natural homemade alcohol as it is to naturally ferment vegetables!

Apparently a young woman in the States has devised a beer that is probiotic-rich ─ I reckon that it's not sterilized like marketed beer is:




No doubt, I would never be able to afford this stuff if it gets commercialized.

I have lost my inclination to blog any further, so I am going to close now with a journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

At this point, I was over a month into a three-month contract of employment as a truck swamper for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today called Fraserside Community Services Society.

I had previously swamped with them on occasion back into 1974, I think. They only had a pick-up truck, but it seemed to meet their needs. The driver was generally a sweetheart in her early 40s named Esther St. Jean.
FRIDAY, July 16, 1976

I guess I slept reasonably well, but didn't get up till 7:15 a.m. cause I waited till the landlady was pretty active.

This morning I shall buy a $15 money order (for a ticket each of the lotteries Olympic, Western, and Lucky Leo) to be sent to St. Joseph's School, and at Woodward's I shall also buy some groceries. At National Meats I'll also shop, though it doesn't open till 10:00 a.m., I think; so I'll be rather late at S.A.N.E.

I blew $5.56 on groceries, but the meat store had nothing ground on display.

I had a boring day. but did get off 25 minutes early.

I spent $2.02 at Safeway. After dropping my stuff off, at the meat store I bought $2.04 worth of minced beef & chicken (59¢ lb.) for $2.09, conscious of the error, but allowing it.

On my way to mom's I'll mail my ticket orders and a $42 tithe. I'm going at 7:00 p.m.

I encountered Alex at Scott-Town where I stopped for a qt of yogurt (96¢), and so rode home with him. Mom was there. 

She fed me a light snack, but it on top of my granola supper filled me well.

My mail was a Lucky Leo lottery ticket (one of 2 mom & I got together), a Western Lottery ticket, and the July Good News.

Mom leaves tomorrow morn with Phyllis & Sherry for their 2 week Eastern vacation. Alex is going on Monday for a trip of a few days with a friend to Reno.

I left for home around 10:00 p.m.

Here, I had to eat a filling pancake with peanut butter; it was not a pleasure.

Bed at 12:40 a.m.
No doubt I meant that I remained in bed that morning due to the landlady being active elsewhere in the basement ─ her presence there would have deterred me from venturing to the toilet / shower cubicle I had to use that was outside of my room.

St. Joseph's School used to sell various lottery tickets as a fund raising venture ─ lottery tickets were not sold in stores like they are today.

Woodward's department store used to be located on Sixth Avenue where the Royal City Centre Mall is today.

National Meats is apparently still in business today, but I do not recall if its present location (619 Belmont Street) was the same location where it was in 1976. 

Apparently I bought nothing at National Meats that morning, but I did return there and shopped after I finished my day at work. 

I tithed to the Worldwide Church of God, even though I never attended a church service. I had tithed to them for years, whenever I had any income to do it with.

My main mailing address was my mother Irene Dorosh's home off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ a 1½-hour hike at a fast pace. The little house she shared with her husband Alex was eventually demolished, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue

I was nearly there when I stopped to shop at a supermarket (probably one I often wrote of as "O'Farrell's") that existed at the Scottown or Scott-Town shopping plaza (96th Avenue & Scott Road). Alex must have been doing some shopping there, too; and so I got a lift back to their house.

My mother grew up on a farm in Ontario, so that was where she was bound the next day with my older maternal half-sister Phyllis, and Phyllis's daughter Sherry. 

Following my visit, I would have walked all the way back to my room ─ another 1½ hours. I frequently walked great distances in my earlier young adulthood.

I am unsure why I did not enjoy the pancake I ate ─ maybe I was full, and only ate it because it might mould? It would have been a large pancake that I had made from scratch with whole wheat flour and baking powder. 

It may seem very odd to say, but I miss that younger version of me terribly. I wish that somehow I had that younger me in my life today ─ we would both benefit tremendously.

I could even live my life through for the sake of my younger self.
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