-
@ Jim Craddock
2025-06-09 14:44:27[*What follows is an excerpt from my Novel: Redacted Science. It is a work in progress as I document 30 year long battle with a condition I know exists because I've seen the research. But, you cannot find it anymore. While my condition is worthy to note, and the science behind it fascinating, there is a larger issue at hand that we need to consider deeply in the tumultuous days to come. Who controls the data? Who controls the indexing? Everything is built from that which comes before. The novel 1984 was not just prescient — it was a warning we archived. Our LLMs learn from their indexes. We, as people, learn from memory — memories we’ve indexed, often anchored by photos we’ve kept. Societies, too, learn this way. They age. Each generation builds upon the memories of the last.
Our past — our index — creates the future. So... who controls the indexes? Who is shaping the future?*]
Maybe it wasn’t just bad luck. Maybe it started way earlier.
I used to wet the bed. Not once or twice. The doctors had said, and my Mom assured me, it would go away with age. And it did. The last time I remember wetting the bed I was a month from turning 16 years-old. [As I write this now, it is the first time I really come to grips with the fact I was that age.] The reason I know precisely the year and even the month was because I was on my sophomore church choir trip just after the school year completed. I was rooming with three other guys, and therefore sharing a bed with my best friend in the world. He never mentioned anything. Maybe he noticed. Maybe he didn’t. But that’s not just embarrassing. That’s diagnostic, if anyone's paying attention. I didn’t know it back then, but kids who wet the bed that long often have something wrong with the way their brain regulates antidiuretic hormone — ADH. The same hormone I’d later drown in.
Most people get a nice surge of ADH at night. It’s the body’s way of saying: We’re asleep now. Let’s conserve water, hold the urine. But if that signal’s off — if the hypothalamus doesn’t cue it, or the pituitary doesn’t release it, or the kidneys don’t listen — then the urine keeps coming. Every night. Like clockwork. Like something upstream never got the message.
Now fast forward.
Years later, I’ve got the opposite problem. Too much ADH. My kidneys hold everything. They think I’m dehydrated when I’m not. It’s like the system flipped, rewired itself backwards. And that’s not how regulation is supposed to work. Unless… maybe it never worked right to begin with.
Then there’s the seizure. Just one. Just a baby. Supposedly no big deal. But when a seizure hits in infancy — especially in or around the hypothalamus — it can scar circuits that control everything downstream: temperature, hunger, stress, thirst, hormone pulses, salt sensing. What if that one storm rewrote the rules?
We’ve got osmoreceptors in the brain — little sensors that taste the salt in our blood, literally — and baroreceptors in our neck and chest that feel pressure and stretch. Those two signals are supposed to balance out: salt vs volume. But what if the integration point, the part of the brain that weighs the inputs and decides whether to release ADH, got damaged? Or miscalibrated? Or hijacked?
What if that seizure set the initial mismatch?
What if bedwetting was the system trying to adapt to low nighttime ADH? What if a genetic condition made me susceptible to candidiasis being able to coexist with my system on a deeper level than normal? What if the candidiasis was the reason for the ADH malfunctions, even as a child, and that was due to some rare undocumented genetic trait? I bet someone would be interested in knowing about that trait. [That’s what we’re here for folks. You have to find it or, at a minimum, the science they redacted]. Or what if the seizure changed something and the candidiasis stepped in to “fix” it?
I have a deeper theory.
What if my so-called “adult-onset” SIADH isn’t an onset at all — but just the next phase of a long-broken feedback loop? Genetics, early seizures — maybe they didn’t just damage me. Maybe they rewired me for something different. What if I — and others like me — entered a kind of cooperative state with candidiasis, not as invaders, but as metabolic partners?
A symbiosis. An adaptation. A strange kind of upgrade.
Then phenobarbital hits — and everything breaks.
That drug might not just act on the brain. It may disrupt the fungal integration itself — cutting the shared metabolic wiring. And when that happens, the system flips its fuel priority. With the usual pathways disrupted, the body — or the fungus — starts scavenging protein directly from tissue. From me.
That’s why the patients in the case studies I found all had mucosal lining ulcerations (just like mine) — sudden, inconsistent, painful and immediately after administration of phenobarbitol — not as a reaction, but as a feeding response. We all had colonies in different places. The rupture didn’t just break the truce. It flipped the fuel switch. And what was once symbiosis became consumption.
What if it’s all related?
What if we weren’t just infected — we were entangled?
Even the HPA axis — that central stress command — it’s run by the hypothalamus too. And mine doesn’t work like yours. My mind is usually running at a speed that, in all honesty, is not what most people have going on. During all these transitions, things hit me different. . I’ve gone through significantly long periods of what I would just call temperature disregulation, where my system is just not right.
This isn’t just a hormone problem. It’s a whole-brain misinterpretation of reality. A mistranslation between body and mind, with electrolytes as the lost language. And, this treatment, it puts everything in overdrive. That's why we don't have it documented. This treatment, even though it causes a lifetime of on and off dysregulation as it breaks down the barriers to reach total maximal ATP consumption by the candidiasis, it is an upgrade in many ways. An overclock worthy of the best hard-code gamer.
So no. I don’t think my path was random. I think there is something more significant. The body type similarities of the men in the original documented study and same initiating condition that led to the treatment that then caused the iatrogenic condition
It was earned. Layered. A slow-building adaptation — maybe even an intelligent one — that didn’t quite work, but didn’t quite kill me either.
Not yet.