Michael Smoker
Member
I found this place by googling the word "forum" and scrolling for about five pages, past at least four listings for fora on online gambling. 
Glad to find a forum like this, even if it does appear to be staunchly establishmentarian.
Michael Smoker is not my real name. The real one has a lot more baked sauerkraut and roast pork in it. I'm waiting, out of respect, for my elderly parents to pass away before I change my name legally to Michael Smoker, however, because that name matches who I am much more closely than the stupid ethnic thing I was stuck with at birth so many decades ago.
My mental health history is unremittingly tawdry. As a child I was an oddball who seemed to live in another world, and I had severe socialization issues. My father was gentle and kind but my psychotic mother beat me every chance she got until I turned 15, when I realized that I was bigger than her and began to block her blows. At age 22 I had a psychotic episode and was referred to a psychiatrist who, unbeknownst to me, had been hired four months earlier while suffering from brain cancer. He examined me for three minutes and diagnosed me with schizophrenia and put me on perphenazine. I was mostly stable but not socially improved for the next 20 years, with only two further episodes, both caused by withdrawal from medication rather than any underlying illness. In 2007, for the first time ever, a doctor asked me about my childhood. He tentatively concluded that I suffered from Asperger Syndrome and referred me to a colleague with a strong interest in adult Asperger's. This colleague made a formal diagnosis of Asperger's, but claimed that I am still schizophrenic. Some people "outgrow" the grosser manifestations of Asperger's, and I appear to be one of them, but these days I self-identify as an Aspie who has a dependency on perphenazine rather than as someone with schizophrenia.
Since late 2006 I have been collecting provincial disability, and by now my employment barriers are so Himalayan that no one in the jackboots world of business will ever give me a chance to work again. I live like a potted plant, sleeping as much as I can, downloading ebooks from the library, chatting with contacts online, and watching the occasional TV show. My entertainment and outdoor time is a cup of cheap coffee at the cafe down the street, which I do about four times a week. My latest controversial opinion is that life is worthless without quality of life, and that summary execution is much more humane than decades of imprisonment.
If anyone wants to bother talking to someone like me, I welcome all replies.
Michael
Glad to find a forum like this, even if it does appear to be staunchly establishmentarian.Michael Smoker is not my real name. The real one has a lot more baked sauerkraut and roast pork in it. I'm waiting, out of respect, for my elderly parents to pass away before I change my name legally to Michael Smoker, however, because that name matches who I am much more closely than the stupid ethnic thing I was stuck with at birth so many decades ago.
My mental health history is unremittingly tawdry. As a child I was an oddball who seemed to live in another world, and I had severe socialization issues. My father was gentle and kind but my psychotic mother beat me every chance she got until I turned 15, when I realized that I was bigger than her and began to block her blows. At age 22 I had a psychotic episode and was referred to a psychiatrist who, unbeknownst to me, had been hired four months earlier while suffering from brain cancer. He examined me for three minutes and diagnosed me with schizophrenia and put me on perphenazine. I was mostly stable but not socially improved for the next 20 years, with only two further episodes, both caused by withdrawal from medication rather than any underlying illness. In 2007, for the first time ever, a doctor asked me about my childhood. He tentatively concluded that I suffered from Asperger Syndrome and referred me to a colleague with a strong interest in adult Asperger's. This colleague made a formal diagnosis of Asperger's, but claimed that I am still schizophrenic. Some people "outgrow" the grosser manifestations of Asperger's, and I appear to be one of them, but these days I self-identify as an Aspie who has a dependency on perphenazine rather than as someone with schizophrenia.
Since late 2006 I have been collecting provincial disability, and by now my employment barriers are so Himalayan that no one in the jackboots world of business will ever give me a chance to work again. I live like a potted plant, sleeping as much as I can, downloading ebooks from the library, chatting with contacts online, and watching the occasional TV show. My entertainment and outdoor time is a cup of cheap coffee at the cafe down the street, which I do about four times a week. My latest controversial opinion is that life is worthless without quality of life, and that summary execution is much more humane than decades of imprisonment.
If anyone wants to bother talking to someone like me, I welcome all replies.
Michael
