To avoid an early and painful, potent termination of my enraged procedure to remove the manhole cover of this disgraceful sewer which penetrates and permeates human societies, human families, members that are our precious, precocious infants to our treasured, dignity-seeking elderlyI am writing this under the nom de plume, Bartholomew Identity. Also, to avoid avertable legitimate legal repercussions, unless I am quoting from another source (which will be always perceptible by my use of distinct references and the appropriate punctuation), never will I mention even one sole human persons name in relation to the burden I have endured and sought succor for via Western medical practitioners since 1964 and needed (actually) since I was very young. At the regular sanctioned-doctors only conventions held at diverse, global, extravagant venues, do those wealthy members beam out there each time with the excited catchphrase mantra: The only thing that stops a tired guy with a depressed (actually this simply means dispirited, downcast) appearance is a medical guy with a prescription for antidepressants? The scenario, which I am in this booklet depicting, was once my prevailing, appalling reality; however I know that I am not a sole victim; thus my hideous internment had not been unique! This type of incarceration by the effect of antidepressants (which is often almost laughingly, nearly callously, verbally mitigated by the delivery of the terminology side effects) has been a legally enacted operant of medical professionals at least since the first known use of even the word antidepressant in 1961.
