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Schizophrenia – A Misdiagnosis of Hyper-Ammonemia

The title of this exposé says it all. Since the beginnings of psychiatry, a mystery has been artificially
built up surrounding this illness keeping all of us in suspenseful ignorance beholden to these wizards of
the medical establishment dispensing psychotropic medications churned out by the lofty pharmaceutical
industry and naively supported by the Social Security Administration under false pretenses.
If you were to stand up an alcoholic alongside a schizophrenic and all you knew about their condition
was their symptoms without any clues concerning their lifestyle habits, you would not be able to tell them
apart. Symptomatically, their conditions are one and the same. Psychiatry would prefer you not know
what I am divulging to you. They would prefer an aura of mystery be maintained surrounding this illness
so as to keep all of us dependent upon their expertise dispensing medications for a non-existent illness.
The time for this charade to continue has come to an end.
The key to this mystery is that alcoholics drink booze and schizophrenics do not. Therein lies their
distinction. Yet, both have a bad liver. For if the liver had an infinite ability to process alcohol,
immediately, as a carbohydrate source of calories, there would be no residual effects from its
consumption, no psychological impairment and no drunk driving – we'd all be sober and a little
overweight.
How does a person acquire a bad liver when they don't drink alcohol?
I don't know about you, but I acquired mine before birth.
My mother and my brother were fasting for ten years on a raw diet of fruits and vegetables, plus nuts
and seeds, with heavy emphasis made upon the daily consumption of sweet carrot and grape juices. The
only reason why our father didn't also suffer, likewise, was due to his habit of smoking a pipe. The
nicotine in his pipe tobacco stimulated his metabolic rate just enough to be able to process the mild
alcohol in our diet and not adversely suffer from any of its ill effects to any remarkable degree. He was
clueless what form of abuse he was wrecking upon the three of us.
If you know anything about fasting, or the meditative practices of yoga, then you would know that both
practices will slow down the metabolic rate. Their difference is that fasting – even mild fasting – for any
extended period of time, will slow down the metabolism – not merely during the period of meditation, but
all the time if the yogi is engaging in a dietary regimen of restricted food. In either case, this reduction of
metabolism slows the breath rate and, thus, can be classified under the auspices of Hatha Yoga: one of the
eight limbs of Yoga practice. Yet, marrying this to alcoholism is double jeopardy since the yogi cannot
process alcohol – not even mild alcohol consumption – when the metabolic rate is severely reduced
during a fast.
In contrast, extended meditation has the unique capacity of increasing the efficiency of the metabolism
so as to bypass the effects of alcohol to a remarkable degree. This will eventually break the habit of an
alcoholic by providing a renewed lease on life. Thus, fasting is an inferior technique for yoga practice yet
produces similar benefits.
All of our foodstuffs were purchased in bulk by our father and stored in the garage of a single-family
home to ferment every summer for lack of cold storage. And every winter, our mother became more sick
than the previous winter and miscarried the pregnancy between myself and my brother of seven years the
elder. And my brother was a head shorter than his cousin Michael of merely three weeks difference in
their ages. My brother was the right weight for his age group; just the wrong height. He grew out of his
developmental disability since he was not formed in our mother's womb under the same set of
circumstances as myself. Since he was the eldest child, his fetal development occurred while our parents
were “transitioning” towards this exclusively, raw vegan regimen by including baked potatoes for the first
year of their diet. This inclusion of cooked food stimulated our mother's metabolism just enough to be
able to process the mild alcohol in our diet and not suffer from any of its ill effects to any large degree.
Certainly not enough to severely impair my brother's natal developmental. Yet, my brother grew up
malformed since our parents terminated their transition diet almost coincident with my brother's birth. I,
on the other hand, grew up sickly on a standard American diet emphasizing red meat since our parents
split up after ten years of this dietary regimen. I never grew out of my congenital defects. I'm stuck with
them. In fact, had my mother's prenatal adviser not convinced my mother to add cooked foods to her diet
at the end of my second trimester of genesis within her womb, I would not have been born at all since this
is when her prior pregnancy had miscarried.
Hyper-ammonemia is a liver condition in which an enzymatic procedure for converting ammonia into
urea is missing. The kidneys cannot filter ammonia from out of our blood. They must be assisted by a
healthy liver to prepare ammonia by way of its conversion into urea. Lacking this enzyme, an over-growth
of candida (yeast) develops resulting in the production of an excess of alcohol. We do not produce
ammonia. Ammonia is the byproduct of parasitic metabolism living in our guts and within other areas of
our body after they've finished digesting and metabolizing the protein in our food and tissue systems since
some parasites feast themselves upon our living flesh outside of our gut. Mother Nature, in Her infinite
wisdom, has relegated a healthy liver capable of dematerializing ammonia so as to bypass human
suffering. But some races, most notably the Native American, cannot.
Neither can I. I have to go to a little extra trouble to prevent this default condition from slowly
destroying myself or else continually suffer from an unnecessary stigma which pervades me.
I could extensively exercise to boost my liver, or else swim once a week in a cold swimming pool of
75° Fahrenheit temperature or less. Or, I can inhale a mild aroma of chlorine fumes emanating from out of
several plastic bottles of tap water containing dilute Clorox distributed throughout my home since an
excess of chlorine converts ammonia into harmless nitrogen gas. I also consume extra potassium iodide to
quicken the metabolic rate of my sluggish liver since its condition is not absolute. It can process
ammonia, but takes forever to do it. Meanwhile, the candida in my body is also racing to process the
presence of ammonia in an endeavor to beat out my liver so that they can get access to my ammonia
before it is erased by my liver – and they usually win unless I do something about it.
Now, why should I go to all this bother? Because I am also branded, falsely, as being unfit for
parenthood. I lost my son to foster care simply due to my having allowed my mother to have spawned a
lie about me 32 years ago to erase my civil liberties by eliminating the freedom to express myself in a
manner in which I could be taken seriously and also negate my legal right to defend myself in court
should anyone (like my brother) use this trump card against me claiming that I am unfit to be treated as a
normal individual with certain unalienable rights. This has been replaced with free Medicare health
benefits plus Social Security disability for myself by a psychiatrist hired by my mother to claim (privately
to me, alone) that: “All Bel Air mothers do this for their children”. She knew this is fraud and I let us get
away with it thinking to myself that she gave me the gift of life so why should I complain?
Little did I know or foresee that my brother would use this against me by spawning the confiscation of
my son, stigmatizing myself equivalent to a felon – should I attempt to contact my son – without any hope
of parole or redemption: a lifetime of guilt.
Warranted? Perhaps. Yet, fraudulent nonetheless.
Thus, do I confess my participation in this fraud to clear my name and educate anyone else suffering
from this misdiagnosis.
Stand up and fight for your honor and your dignity.
You are not alone.