ICYMI, Part VIII
“A genetic component exists for all generalized epilepsies and, specifically, for absence epilepsy. The inheritance pattern is not strictly autosomal recessive or dominant and is considered to be multifactorial and polygenic. In 1951, Lennox reported that 66% of monozygotic twins showed concordance for the EEG pattern of 3-Hertz spike and wave discharges. These can be voltage-gated (CACNA1H, CACNG3, CLCN2) or ligand-gated (CHRNA4, GABRA1, GABRB3, GABRG2, GRM4).[7] CAE is linked to many genetic variations, including at the following locations: [7]
Calcium-channel genes: CACNA1H and CACNG3 (especially in Han Chinese) [8]
GABA-A and GABA-B receptors: GABA is an inhibitory neurotransmitter highly involved in epileptogenesis. GABRA1, GABRB3, and GABRG2 are variants relating to CAE.[3][4][9]
Glutamate receptor: Mutations in GRM4 alter glutamate and GABA regulation.
µ-Opioid Receptor: OPRM1 is an opioid receptor where mutations can cause thalamic hyperexcitability
Solute transfer receptor: SLC6A3/DAT1 are 2 genes in this category encoding a dopamine transporter.
Also, some copy number variants (CNVs), for example, 15q11.2, 15q13.3, and 16p13.11 microdeletion, have been described in patients with CAE.[10] However, the mode of inheritance and the majority of genes implicated in CAE are still unknown.[4].”
National Library of Medicine
-Ana C. Albuja; Eseosa T. Ighodaro, Emory Unversity Hospital; Gulam Qutubuddin Khan, University of Kentucky
***
That moment when you call the suicide hotline and tell the rep your story, in a series of parables and acorns, expecting him to catch the drift without your full name and address, and he says:
“Man, that sounds like a lot, sounds like you feel defeated even though you’re trying to do the right thing, and yea, I can see how you’d feel like that [giving up]... man. What are you going to do with the rest of your day?”
It’s 6/30/26 and I can see how people's faces thin, their masks slide like water from a duck’s ass. I meet the Strawberry Moon, again, further away at the intersection of 9th & Pearl. I need to admit I can't see 5” from my face much less initiate a decisive course of action without able bodied assistance. There’s a fenhead jacking off next to a green dumpster in a red tee that does not fit his ectomorphic frame. Axxtion by Freddie Gibbs is gassing me up and that’s probably the last thing I need right now.
Someone else was shot near 19th & little raven last night. I remember having several one way conversations with LL about Arapahoe Chief Hinono'ei and Colorado’s buried ties between genocide and expansion. Everyone has an illustrious front porch setup; marble lions guarding the stairway to wealth and padded existence because heaven is too quiet; their lawns are barren and the water mains are dug out like my grip on the pace I'm walking.
The governor's lawn is still lush. Misha gets easily entertained with tall wet grass and lone reign over the hillsides.
When I make it back to consciousness it takes me leaning my head against the cold sink in the bathroom, the brim drenched in wet pet dander from the AC filter and periodontal blood from my gums, to regain focus on the mission of the morning.
Things escalate further when I am still caught in the admin circle of, let me transfer you to someone who can help, via Denver Health. The police and a DH rep show up at the gate outside my building and call from a private number, wanting me to come down just to verify I’m okay, I’m not under arrest or anything. I’m just very frustrated with nothing working out, with Dr. Zer’s refusal to fill out a fucking form letting the unemploymeny department check my medical records so a nigga can get paid…
There are a few people in this gamut of modern civilization who intimately know phrases like:
You just have to be [a] patient, work the process. It takes time.
Sedona Lynn is one of those people and in person, you wouldn’t know this because she holds strong in the face of mounting adversity. She knows what it’s like to constantly plug the holes of a leaky boat in the middle of a swelling tide. I had the fortune of meeting her in the notorious Pigeon Pit (IYKYK) during a massive reading festival held in Albuquerque some years ago. The Pigeon Pit was a feather dusted catacomb where I started an ever-growing and meaningful discourse with a woman I am enamored with on so many levels.
Now, we catch up when time’s available.
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