Zest: Trials with Chronic Lyme Disease

Cole Porter Sing For Me Mad

2012-02-11T14:09:00.000-08:00

Ah, bored, so I thought I would come here.
Actually, I've begun sort of writer's self inflicted program and am finally penning my first script (supposed to be doing it now). It is about what it is to be sane or insane within the mental health industry. Riveting, no?

I'm a bit disheveled because I drank too much sake last night and woke with a raging night sweat. Well, more than disheveled. For instance, I curse the day I was born, things like that.

I've begun taking writing lessons from my beloved acting teacher (who is a writer/director himself) and he has given me a sort of plan: I must write at least 2 1/2 hours per day and allot a schedule to do so. So, here I am. Writing. It is extremely painful and likened to showing up unfit to run a marathon. You have to develop and learn as you go. To me, it rather feels like staring blank at a wall graffiti'ed with the insults of my subconscious. It hurts terribly, but I persevere because I think there is something there for me. I think that thing may be meaning, but I hold my breath.

I also found an interesting quote from the expression master herself, Lady Gaga, on expressing yourself, "Spend a lot of time reading books and going to museums, watching old movies and researching on the internet and make a folder of all of the things that you really love. I think that is a good way, um, to start figuring out uh [...] You'll see that the images start to make sense. There will be an underlying philosophy."

I have been having the urge to surround myself with art, the things I love or objects that give me emotion, and this is a perfect example. So, I do this for quite some time as well. Here is my schedule (that I pen because I enjoy doing so, not for my reader's benefit):

9:00-9:30 Morning Pages (three pages of stream of consciousness writing as a meditation)
9:30-10:00 Shower and breakfast (along with fabulous pills)
10:00-11:00 Take in a film or Leaning Company Lesson
11:00-1:30 Write.
1:30- 4:00 Reading or listening to music
4:00-6:00 an outing
6:00-6:45 Lovely dinner
6:45-8:00 Fill the well (a process of taking in images or sensory things to gather inspiration)
8:00-9:00 previously devised curriculum (a daily subject such as crafts, fashion, film, etc)
9:00-10:00 Movie
10:00-12:30 Reading

So, I now have the structure I need and the inspiration that drives me. It is actually rather academic and sometimes brutal, depending on the day, but c'est la vie, no?
6:45-

New Developments

2012-02-08T21:40:00.000-08:00

As I listen to The Cave by Mumford & Sons, I am struck with a need to put letters to page. Thus, I am here.

New things have brewed since the decision to end antibiotics presently. The first, is clinical. The second, a long term commitment to the artistic lifestyle. I will begin with the first-

I must maintain health-related composure and kill to a smaller degree. The antimicrobial set I am rostering is three times daily, two dropper fulls of Quintessence as well as two capsules of NEEM (an Indian tree plant) twice daily. I haven't begun as I am quite the medical procrastinator. I shall keep y'all abreast. It sounds quite an exciting development, does it not?

I am terribly toxic and am inflicting a product called Lipo Health as well as Chlorella Pyranadosa upon myself and it seems to be working. In theory. To treat anemia, Iron Citrate and Ferrum Phos. For thyroid issues, a dose of Trophins (Thyro, Pitui, and Drena). I began the former this afternoon and it seems smooth enough. The last of the delicate bores are a series of homeopathics: K BAB, K OXY, and K MAF from an online site that I refuse to share here for the sake of being held accountable.

Now, onto other topics- I have been struggling deeply over the identity of the self. You see, this past Summer was quite a drag in regards to building it, did the opposite really, and I feel extremely demolished like a washed up thing and I rather don't appreciate it. Can you find self love through self definition? Is the act of progressive self definition worth the effort? A running theme that I bear is the 'what's the point' complex. It seeps into everything, rendering it of all meaning and joy. Frustrating, considering emotion to be palpable in terms of your ability to alter it, and disease of the other sort. I feel and fear that I have ultimate control over my emotions, ultimately hurting me in this situation. I can't control the obsessions as much as I can control the means in which the disease manifests. I can't alter the Depression when it hits. Though, I am talking of the mundane. When I purchase a latte from the barista, how much self abasement will I suffer to control the resulting anxiety. There is that word again. 'Everything is all about control', a boy once told me. I laughed internally when he said so, but who is chuckling now?

So, to do something proactive within the wreckage, I have begun a lifelong quest towards becoming artistically endowed. Yes. I have started a program called 'The Artist's Way' to uncover my creative self and try, somehow, to put things right.

Waiting For Godot

2012-01-28T15:49:00.000-08:00

"'We are no longer alone, waiting for the night, waiting for Godot, waiting for...waiting. All evening, we have struggled unassisted. Now, it's over. It's already tomorrow."

I've been writing like mad and functioning like you wouldn't believe. Independent of Ginsberg naked joy within a sun drenched being of enchanted happiness, yes. That is one phrase for myself.

I ended the antibiotics two days ago. My current betterment however is independent of such matters and more so related to the work I have been completing (and the pills I haven't been taking). Inspiration is key to a life like mine. I hope to share it with you one day. For now, poems. I read poem after poem. It is like edible erotica of enticement. I become the poetry after a time and begin writing it myself. I've followed the Ginsberg route and am writing with candid intelligence (imbued by an pop shock) and because of this, cannot include it here.

Now, down to business: I have been taking Mepron, Azithromycin, and Minocycline for the past three months. In the beginning, stark mod brushed my neck and stomach with nauseous pain which enthralled my focus for quite some time. However, one month into the excursion, the pain subsided to a manageable level and I was left able to approach the possibility of greater creativity and independence (pauses to sip coffee). A further progression would reveal the soft petals of singular act, allowing me to accept anxious vows and dive into the pool of potential better refreshment. I ended up residing in a hotel room downtown for the past two days, leaving alone to enter the real world of the mall, and stomach the pain enhanced by the situation (pause to sip coffee). At first, fear ruled me. And yet, I plodded on for the sake of a new life with new pleasures, like that of lone people watching (and a self gift of cat eye sunglasses). I did not know the experience would alter the course of days afterward, but it mostly did. I nodded in agreement as I walked entwined with myself in a deeper way, capable of making my needs met to the public and doing them by myself.

On a creative note, I have begun a new program of stimulus. It has been strange as, when I began, I was taking two and a half capsules of Zyprexa per day (20 mg). Now, this greatly effects the capabilities of the brain and attached sub-mind organ. In other words, blankness of novicaine prescription. I beheld myself as a wretched lack in sense, degraded beyond the mind's capability to bridge cope. I felt blind. Yet, I plodded on with the daily exercises and tricks to boost emotional candor of self esteem. This week, the first in another case, is attempting to create a realm of safety within oneself. As I continued with my writing (daily poems, semi-short stories, blog posts, letters, diary entries), I noticed a reduced block and soft flow as a stream through my consciousness. The black had faded to grey and slowly, my capabilities were enhanced. I could write with flow again, not creativity however. Yet, as I continued, the flow restored its wealth of bulk and strode forth, confident, happy. Yes, happy. Affirmations churned through my mind, seemingly on their own. I am a brilliant writer. I am a beautiful person, and so on. My brain, which had been left as roadkill on the street of dreams, became aloft with churn and started to ride me. Repetitive brain function replaced that of my central voice and obsession overtook me. It was slow, but the Babesia based Psychosis returned in short, taking me with it a as a bull is rode through road of your consciousness. Slowly, I came upon the notion that the Zyprexa bottle remained as full as ever and that I hadn't medicated myself in five days. The creativity was the bull itself and the functioning mal in intent.

Both sides of the frac-en-thoughts are myself. This is the mistake many fear and desire. I simply need to find a way within both. I cannot live without my mind, even if it is diseased. I also cannot walk the path I traversed this summer regarding mental infection infectious instability. Like a dirty word with four legs and a tail. What I mean to say is, live (pause to sip coffee).

This past Summer, I suffered terrifying realizations brought forth by psychosis. It burned me, spurned all resource I had left. It began as mild OCD and grew gargantuan as I avoided all human contact. There was no one in my life who could have brought me back. It was only me, and my demon.

So, you see, I am at a crossroads. The sheer importance of my stability is at risk, but the quality of my life however is on the other foot. To have to choose between partial retardation and sanity is difficult for anyone. It is a choice that should not have to be given, but it is. The wrath of unseen forces is all consuming and cannot be seen with eyes. There is a line from either something or my own mind that keeps running through me: the fool has wise eyes.

Aside from this issue, I have been sporting a smile more than I have in six years. It is odd seeing it from that perspective. It has been six years since I was ever deeply happy, and now, fleeting as it may be, I feel it. I keep trying to tell myself that joy does not fleet. This is an assumption, however.

So, I'm here, waiting. Waiting for the pills to kick in, waiting to be have my mind at ease. I've been fascinated for a while with the idea of the in-between: the drug addict waiting fifteen minutes for the pills to work, what is thought? It seems all I do is wait. But for Godot?

Iron & Wine

2012-01-18T22:53:00.000-08:00

I forget how sick I really am. I have grown harrow and terse toward myself, exercising beyond my capacity and pushing myself toward critical blame. I found a photograph of myself from two years ago. I am smiling, despite the deep pain rendered in my irises. I hold it as a memento now, not willing to forget where I have come.

I shall update: still on antibiotics, riddled with a chemical anxiety (directed toward all), and demented in many aspects of the word. It is the single most frustration. During the soul-searching periods of the breakdown, I harkened upon the most creative period of my life. It was because I went, in brief, clinically insane and did not catch it until a thrall of a while longer. This surge of creativity defined my existence. I crave it now, as it is hampered in part by my brain-lack-function.

Writing here feels strange to me now.

2011-12-31T16:33:00.000-08:00

Life feels barren. No matter how many plays I attend or hopes I cultivate, it falls to the ruin of this disease. There is no such thing as pleasure without pain.

Chuck Bukowski is one of my favorite, gun-shy poets. I came across a poem he wrote the other day called 'Near a Plate Glass Window'. The poem told me something that struck me with more meaning than when I had discovered it three years ago:

'It is good to be sitting someplace in public at 2:30 in the afternoon without getting the flesh ripped from your bones.'

I sat in a pizza parlor and thought the same thing. I identify with ugly poets more than anyone else.

I want to stay here, in the cyber box, and stew. I have had a difficult afternoon preceded by a difficult, over-medicated night (i.e. 3 Trazodone, 1 Zyprexa, 1 Xanax and 4 hours sleep). People trust medication when they shouldn't. It is blind.

I am coming along, aside from this. Two months of antibiotic therapy have born symptoms of rank disclosure. The loneliness has crept upon me.

After the breakdown, I pushed myself to fulfill the wants I discovered there. I found the need for an external web that would not shatter when I did (and I believe the future shatter to be an inevitable in this case). Facing paralyzing anxiety, I wove relationships where tangles had been with family, friends, and professional support. Still, when I am unhappy, I seek isolation. I have for quite some time.

The other prong was of creativity. The breakdown was the most creative period of my life. This is where I am stuck. I have built a curriculum of subject matter, reports, tests, and etceteras to support this need. Still, nothing comes. It is the brain shackle. I am mercy to it.

Without Name

2011-12-19T19:30:00.000-08:00

slowly held, in torn
wreckage born lonesome
in light like love lust
powder dried lube
crumbled slow lump
coke dust addict
when legs bare
where youth held
snakes of another
induce cover muddled slobber
licking time circular,
shafted,
and broke numerical once again.
fragrant charmer with a
rancid sense of loneliness:
the heart, weary of most muscles:
red, nether-pointed, blood-run
cry child-worn, rot-toward;
for what in us dies first
cries thirst binds fist
loves mirth, the dearth
of a vicious parting:
2 bodies in one blood-grunt
burst we call:
life.

Lady G- Marry The Night

2011-12-15T20:32:00.000-08:00

Mrs. G has spoken of her song Marry The Night as an acceptance of the dark side of your dreams. I feel I did the same thing she presents this past Summer. I haven't elaborated upon it here, except for this:

"I'm gonna marry the night,
I won't give up on my life
I'm a warrior queen
Live passionately tonight.

I'm gonna marry the dark
Gonna make love to the stars.
I'm a soldier to my own emptiness
I am a winner.

I'm gonna marry the night
I'm not gonna cry anymore.
I'm gonna marry the night.
Leave nothing on the street left to explore..."

This past Summer elaborated itself as a perpetual pothole of the soul. After confronting my own suicidality, I began to rebuilt in a thorough, complete manner. I have never experienced such creativity in my life, stuff on the brink of an insanity that broke itself wet two months later. The meaning of this song, a warrior chant, brings me closer to where I want. I try as I can to incorporate creativity into my life with a dead mind, or open it to a populace that loves and trusts. I am not where fulfillment is, but who cares- I've Married the Night.

2011-12-11T01:09:00.000-08:00

If I am lucky, which it seems I am terminally not, the Azithromycin-Mepron-Minocycline triage of antibiotic therapy will end sometime next week. I am hoping for the best, a first in my cynical case.

I seem to find much stability in Atheism. I feel more naturally aligned with myself and my human purpose when under its influence. I have been asked, "Then what is the point of your life?". Make of it what you will. The point is rather sharp at times. For instance, this Summer I suffered a nervous breakdown in which all aspects of my world shattered. However, as I had nothing to loose, I rebuilt my life by finding this pointed, appointed purpose. Sadly, it had to do with a creativity that seems to elude me, however brash my attempt for it. Anyway, a poor persuasion left upon the shambles of my fingers.

I write now simply for (above myself) those that know me. I have had little else left. Else left being the opposite of boredom.

Adieu.

Binge Speech

2011-12-03T22:52:00.000-08:00

Its hard to feel fabulous when you have malaria. Still, I sit here in fake eyelashes and red lipstick to make some sort of point to myself. Creativity is not extinct. It is only expunged.

I am on three synergistic antibiotics working to eradicate Babesia. I have been utterly debilitated, vomiting, and experimenting with freakish pain. People have laughed at the irony of such masochism, but I simply numb. Life used to feel so important. Now, it is a third eye blink in fundamentalist daylight. I find this issue terribly difficult. I am not content to watch my life pass, willing time to tuck itself in. Though, I feel there is no other palpable way for me at this vantage point.

I remember in high school, many of my friends utilized the term "rock bottom". I would laugh to myself, thinking even then- rock bottom doesn't really exist. Isn't that what we fear most? The utter solubility of infinite pain burrowed in the furrows. No, it isn't what we, as a culture, fear most. This idea is simply beyond our collective concept of pain. To me now, the term rock bottoms means: the moment in which the shatter occurs. Your ability to tolerate what leads you there may change, hopefully will alter after all. I've been at this place many times. I look behind and only feel wonder at the thought of what I have lived.

Not So Deluge-ional

2011-11-19T15:00:00.000-08:00

I suppose and update is in order-

I have been suffering traumatic states of hysteria since early May and am just now stabilizing in a way I feel vaguely comfortable with. I saw my doctor last month and he made himself known as a resource through a means I never enamoured to consider. Through this, I have been alone- either by choice or situation. His presence now remained sincere and helpful. He said, "I am going to do something that I am really not comfortable with. However, I believe it is important."

Yes, I am now on antibiotics ranging from my favorite (Mepron) to the slang pack (Azithromycin) and back to the subtle (Minocycline). I feel motivated after having such a wonderful Halloween where I dressed according to obsession and donned a platinum wig.

Though the pain is great, it is nothing in comparison to what I have experienced prior. My last doctor had me on nine times the dosage I am currently taking, which needless to say murdered me from the inside out.

Babesia is the target as currently I have slipped into a milieu of differing mental illnesses. I have to say, being able to withstand Bipolar and OC disorders certainly lends itself to a broader understanding of the human mind, my passion.

I don't know what being on antibiotics for the potential three months will shovel forth, but I do miss life terribly. I hope to incorporate some shred of what I found through the soul-searching periods, which had mostly to do with social fear and the need for creative output. I try as I can, creating diagrams of brain function when I can't do anything else, but I do feel discouraged in regard to this. In order to live as I have, I have grown dependent upon creativity, on that which makes me feel alive. The pain of it, the frustration, and the love, are what I miss. Life is hard for me now, I am barren with lack-desire and it feels terribly couped up, jailed.

My mind is the source of this, a la such a rambling post. I didn't realize how much I missed this simple chatter, simple ways that I can make myself known in a voice more my own.

<3
LE

Repetition noititepeR

2011-10-17T21:32:00.000-07:00

I am having difficulty coming to terms with the utter lack that Lyme seems to en crop on life's space. I just received a "just putting it out there" comment about the credibility of antibiotics and Lyme treatment itself. It is odd that people find advice that stands in direct opposition to your life experience to have any weight whatsoever.

Elliott Smith tonight.

I have sunk into a state of depression since the surgery took place. I dip and slip quietly. I feel less alone than I have in the past, though more isolated.

It pains me to know that no matter how hard I fight, I can't do what I love now. I love the theater, I love acting, I love directing. I suppose there are ways, compromises. However, none of that matters to me now. I feel crushed.

2011-10-09T15:10:00.000-07:00

The term free-write is an interesting one. I have held much pain internal as a means to seem like the rational individual I am not. I don't know how to be heard, how to listen to anything beyond overwhelming obsession.

I rest my forhead in my palm and let it slide open like a broken drawer. There is a tangle inside, tangled muscle born of corrosive cruelty and I cannot bare the idea of entering its cavities once more. I am slipping now, slipping. s l i p p i n g....

I am not where I was before the first surgery began. People like to repeat a phrase I have no credible understanding of: people never change. This goes against my entire theory about humanity, that we are all our own freudian nightmares and once a faulty coping mechanism is realized, understood, and seen completely other methods can replace it.

I feel so odd saying that, my only true attempt at optimism. Optimism frightens me unless it is genuine. There is hope, there is fear, there is confusion. I can't see beyond it, but I can feel beyond it.

It is not so bad, not so bad.

My brain mess has leaked onto the page it seems. At times, all I want is to be genuine. Much of the obsession is wrapped around this idea that I am a ridiculous, plucked chicken that ended up on one of those Bravo Tv shows.

Untitled No. 5

2011-10-09T15:01:00.000-07:00

I snuff the relent:
the golden-eyed trigger,
the talent held of thieves,
the broken legend country side
and my time-wrought beliefs.

'How come' it shreiks,
why must it be so?
I held the trigger lightly
and blast my skull to snow.
this is what's become of me,
a life born of regret
a fear wrangled softly
beneath a pillow set.
i can't bait breath,
i shall rest instead,
touching hands make feeling vows
and held, quiet the dead.

-me

S

2011-10-07T19:38:00.000-07:00

I have no idea who I am anymore.

H

2011-10-07T19:37:00.002-07:00

My soul, broken.

A

2011-10-07T19:37:00.000-07:00

My emotions, arid falls.

R

2011-10-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

My mind, a narrow cavern.

D

2011-10-07T19:35:00.001-07:00

My body feels like a prison.

I would like to write letters.

2011-10-07T11:47:00.000-07:00

I would like to write letters. Here (punctuation rebellious today).

d e e p e r

(have you ever thought of the in between?)

m e a n i n g ...

THOUGHT
(words with personal definition)
THOUGHT
(drawing forth constructs)
THOUGHT THOUGHT THOUGHT
(again)
overwhelmed urgency

I need to leave this space, cannot. It is a vortex of pain, retribution.

I would like to write letters. Here (punctuation rebellious today).

[...]
obsession
[...]

(LOST TIME) Vivo-city

2011-10-05T20:37:00.000-07:00

I am listening to Air while shooting it, faceless, in the dark of a 16 hour sleep cycle. I wrote a poem the other day. I am growing weary simply typing this. I am not writing for any one's benefit but my own this evening.

I am suffering, that I would like to be straightforward about. However, it is not so acrid as it once was. No, not really. My life is like surgically removing one's natural state of eccentricity. I like to consider myself being so, though I cannot say I have touched it recently. Well, not as it once was.

I want for nothing? Its funny, in the past I had friends enamored with the external glamour of my life. I have "everything". I also happen to have a chronic illness that I am quite good at hiding. I don't understand the idea of possession or ownership quite well. That, I have been enamoured with myself. Differing identities or mine gravitate toward strength-due-insecurity in other people. You heard it all here folks, I am desperately insecure.

Yesterday (post-op), I underwent a lymphatic massage. I was speaking with the practitioner about "positive" and "negative" forces, her believing you must catch yourself from harmful thinking, from darkness, only then to receive light. i disagree most honorably, but did not have the energy to tell her so. I do not believe in black and white positivity or negativity, but rejecting this mindset leaves me in a crisis so bountiful I can hardly utter its name.

I'm getting ahead of myself here. Listening to Air, listening To air (...and so on).

Ginsberg Eat My Heart

2011-10-04T10:19:00.000-07:00

The second surgery is complete. I am now a toothless wonder, wondering why it took so much just to keep fighting.

I want to say this as casually as possible: I have suffered a nervous breakdown. I do not feel ready, if ever, to detail it through this venue, but I will say obsession played a major part.

I have little energy, so I will keep this brief. Simply, I am now in a better place, albeit a fragile one. Well, I hate classifying something as better or worse, but you understand (I believe).

I've been severely debilitated for quite some time in varying degrees- acting as sovereign to unearthed toxicity. I have never felt so alone in my life. When surrounded by others, my loneliness is overwhelmed with company and I become frail, faded, defunct in perfunctory crudeness in people skill. I haven't seen my friends in ages. I miss them but am not ready to enter the social void.

Over the course of this five-month-stint, I have altered coping mechanisms in a way I am not entirely set upon. I hadn't realized how obsession was ruling my life, every moment bent upon harvesting my own destruction. I obsess, then fear the climax, then become manic, then reach earth shattering pain, then die in part.

It feels like there are still bits of myself splintered off within my mind. For Lyme, I suppose mental instability is common. It simply took a vehicle like this to encourage the deepest internal shattering I have ever experienced. Sitting on the dock, sobbing into my hands for hours day by day, five months. I am still vulnerable, still a part of it. Little time has passed since the pinnacle. I fear and do not fear returning, for I know what I am capable of. You would think dealing with this much pain would somehow make you invincible to it. I can say that my fear of pain has only greatened from the beginnings of these processes.

The surgery was dificil. The tooth shattered in my gum while I was awake. I felt naked, afraid in the light of the overhead. However, it is now sacra-saint. I am D O N E (in more ways than one).

The last surgery's atmospheric combustion was housed in uncertainty, fear. I can say it was the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. I still do not understand why, what exactly was unearthed.

Computer kills so I will rest without suicide.

Born This Way: By the Gorgeous Gaga

2011-05-26T17:12:00.000-07:00

"It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-I-M
Just put your paws up
'Cause you were born this way, baby

My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir
"There's nothin wrong with lovin who you are"
She said, "'cause he made you perfect, babe"
"So hold your head up girl and you'll go far,
Listen to me when I say"

I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't be a drag - just be a queen!
Give yourself prudence
And love your friends
Subway kid, rejoice your truth
In the religion of the insecure
I must be myself, respect my youth
A different lover is not a sin
Believe capital H-I-M
I love my life I love this record and
Mi amore vole fe yah (love needs faith)

Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen
You're black, white, beige, chola descent
You're lebanese, you're orient
Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied, or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'Cause baby you were born this way-
(my favorite verse)

No matter gay, straight, or bi,
Lesbian, transgendered life
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to survive
No matter black, white or beige
Chola or orient made
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to be brave

I was born this way hey!
I was born this way hey!
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way hey!"

Small Time Blogs

2011-05-26T16:52:00.000-07:00

Rather than shunted, my freakish mind is on the run/mend/hole-jumping-duty. Rather, I wish it were. I'm in a series of uncharted depths now, much greater than holistic pain, this trafficked heart set to kiss the other side. Of what?

My guess is as good as any.

I have a new obsession. It is an idea set in place by propelled pain, fashioned to the shape of a beautiful freak. LOVE, shedding threats like a second skin, origami-ed to a box complete with bow. I miss someone, I can't seem to remember who she is. I can only think of someone else.

No, not him.

I better be enlightened by the time this is through.

In all honesty, pain functions in accordance to metabolic rate. The acid seems to have encased my chest, stomached issue peaceful in flesh. The alternative: a vacuole of a torso bleeding rain and with it depth digging ever deep where certainty takes the form of light. There truly is none here but the folds of support.

For quite some time, I've told myself: this disease is a baptism of pain. Lyme performs a rebirth on the intake, a quality grope to ergo the ego, sort of.

It opens you. Now, create for the world or it'll close back up.

Bitch Stole My Look

2011-05-16T13:58:00.000-07:00

Quickie Detox Tidbit:

Chlorophyl, a major aspect of the green veggie clan and their resounding detox properties relies mostly on the fact that the Chlorophyl molecule is identical to certain blood molecules. The difference between the two rests in their center: Chlorophyl is to magnesium as blood molecule is to iron.

Lyme Based Wisdom Teeth: Aftercare

2011-05-15T17:14:00.000-07:00

This purgatory of a moment folded into itself when a disembodied, rather square head popped free of its walled master, smiling.

"I am ready to see you now," it cooed.

I was led behind the partition to weave the connection: the rollicking cap-and-skull charade he calls his haircut/a utilitarian, muscled body. He wore stylish and appropriate metallic-silver sweatpants, a long sleeved orange shirt, matching trainers, and a light blue-patterned scarf.

"So tell me how you are."

I began including brief tidbits of the monologue grooved within my brain's mouth. I felt nervous. When I am under the nervous influence, it remains undetected. I simply recall my years as a "Method Actress" (aka Stanislavsky/ Uda Haagen/ that odd drama teacher everyone has had) and sanitize the grotesque.

"I am basically in awe of your expertise. You did such a wonderful job."

Which was true.

"Where do I go from here? How do you continue to supplement aftercare for infected wisdom teeth?"

To Do List for Lyme-Infected-Wisdom Teeth:

1) Irrigate with warm, salted water. This not only sanitizes but also removes any food.

2) Bulk your diet with protein, which promotes cell renewal.

3) Eat foods with Omega 3s, but remove fish for the time being due to the oil spill.

4) Meditate.

5) Brush and floss even the wounds in your mouth.

6) Use a small, Christmas tree-like brush to remove any lingering food.

7) Rest frequently.

8) Continue with lymph drainage through enemas, massages, dry brushing, and hot-cold plunges.

9) Continue with supplements: MicroMinerals, Core, Traumeel, any probiotic.

10) Complete full round of Cipro (6 days) at 500 mg twice daily.

"Wonderful," I said once the stitches were removed, feeling little more than my expectation of the event.

The conversation dallied toward politics when Dr. XXX revealed his Iranian heritage and emotional unrest.

Dr XXX: My people are divided. I want to be able to see my people.

Religion flared its general torso when M (in jest) posed the question: So what side are you on?

Dr XXX: Neither. I am Zoroastrian. It is the oldest Mono deist religion, influencing the bible, the Qur'an, the list goes on.

M (baffled): I've never heard of that.

Dr XXX: It has to do with a single higher being, aliens are involved.

Me: I believe the universe is symbol to the unknown.

Dr XXX regarded me anew, urging my explanation forward.

Yet, the accumulated knowledge I carried furled unto itself within in the mist, leaving me lifeless wounds and mouthful of hope.

Rebel Without A Gauze: The Recovery

2011-05-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

Simmering-slow-cooked, I voyaged toward the official resting place of ND Gal and her expertise. My mouth, packed with cloth-like squares of gauze in the form of a tourniquet, remained uncharacteristically closed as the appointment began.

"You look great," remarked ND Gal about my 1/2 inch swollen face.

"You don't even know how bad it could've been, "replied M.

I attempted a smile, settling upon something less than photogenic.

"I've been playing phone tag with Dr. XXX, he was here yesterday meeting with Dr. X, but I am just thrilled with your results. Lets get you up there and see what is going on inside."

I loped but one rotation before discovering the perimeter of the Table-of-Plenty, resting upon my back within a cashmere, lilac sweater. ND Gal pulled my arms upward, twisting them in slight, pressing upon my vital organs in an effort to read the congruence of medication and ill within. Muscle testing, though controversial, remains the singular tool of the clinic I value most. Prior to the discovery of this mechanism, my intuition was utilized as the ultimate form of diagnosis. Swept from stability to harrowing damage due to the hasty quality of immediate, intuitive calculation left me with failing kidneys and falling hopes.

"Well, the wound is entirely clean. Dr. XXX cleared it out entirely. This kind of thing is unprecedented. I've never seen it before. You are on Cipro, yes?"

"I am, yes."

"What dose and how long?"

"Six days, five hundred milligrams twice daily. My body tested for the dosage and found that one."

"That should do it. Are you on a probiotic?"

"I am taking Original twice daily."

"While you are on antibiotics, I want you to raise that to three times per day."

Side note: The reasoning behind this act is vested in the antibiotic's (in this case Cipro) ability to less than differentiate and slaughter all. If a probiotic, positive strains of bacteria, enters your body at least one hour apart from the antibiotic (as it would kill the probiotic as well), you are in less danger of alternate acidic conditions, including Chronic Candida. Aside from capsule of powder forms, L acidophilus (and etc) strains can be found in cultured yogurt, even chocolate. Many of these suggested supplementations can be found in chilled portions of your chosen health food store.

"For the next three days, I want you to take Traumeel for swelling, three times daily."

(Traumeel ingredients include Belladona, Arnica, Aconitum napellus, Chamomilla, Symphytum Oficinale, Calendula, Hamamelis Virginiana Millefolium, Hepar Sulfuris calcareum, Mercurius Solbuiis, Hypericum Perforatum, Bellis Perennis, and Echinasea.)

The substance known above as Traumeel is best absorbed beneath the mega-mouth-muscle, dissolving softly, tasting of sweetened milk, nearly devastating my clench-tooth resolve toward foul-mouth supplementation.

Body-quiz aside, the post-requisite chatter broke free, set the the tempo of a quick exit. Said exit remained existent due to an alternate appointment: Lymph Drainage Massage.

I placed my hand upon M's shoulder as we entranced ourselves to the dispensary, meandering ever more less than swift toward the spa. This particular spa lends itself to medical rejuvenation with services of: Cranio Sacrel Massage, Detoxifying Body Wrap, and my personal favorite, Lymph Star.

Just as the couch felt the weight of my body, I was greeted by ND Star. ND Star exists as a certified naturopath, trained in the ways of muscle-testing, delivering therapies with flourished, healing energy.

"Nice to meet you, I'm ND Star," I shook her hand, "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I replied, thoroughly exhausted.

ND Star led me to a room shrouded in curtained darkness. A shocked bitter note, the vocalizations arising from the localized stereo remained so bizarre, it was as if Salvador Dali painted the expression upon my face. Whale sounds, dissonant chimes, and techno-ambiance wafted upward like a scream from the summit of a mountain.

"Take your clothes off from here down," she gestured toward my torso, "Get on the table. Tell me when you are ready."

Once available for her double doored disclosure of itemized tools, I closed my eyes. ND Star used one device alone, hands aside. It gently vibrated above the sheet until I fell into a series of symptoms: drained headache, cleansed chill, and sleepy quietude.

"I'm going to test you for a couple things. We really need to get this lymph out of you. Do you use coffee enemas?"

"Occasionally, but it is too stringent for the way I feel now."

"What about aloe vera? Doing a retention enema using aloe vera would help with the overall flow of your body."

'True."

"I would also like you to use a probiotic as a suppository during your antibiotic use. Ten day should do it, then repeat it again for your next surgery."

"I will give it a try."

ND Star muscle tested me in a way similar to ND Gal, then set me free. Resting softly within the car, I nearly dreamed myself to sleep.

Mouthed Alien: Processed Gum Tissue

2011-05-08T18:20:00.000-07:00

Bolstered by lethargy, I have considered this post and its residual combatants for the briefly time-centered experience I remember little. However, what I can recall, has to do with positive shock and medical charge in the form of partial wisdom removal. That is to say, the portion of my mind most meaningful according to sensation, the infected brain.

The morning of the blessed surgery spent anticipation like woolen yarn, weaving within me while restricting my muscles to a place of complacence. Yes, I was excited. In fact, whilst marauding past the doors of prior dentists unrelated to the Ayurveda cause (arriving soundly upon the thresh of Dr. XXX), I whispered to M, "I feel like I am getting married." We both cackled oddly, and crossed the wooden divide.

Infected teeth occur due to a number of factors, the first being cavity-worn bacteria. Lack of digestion and inability to absorb minerals due impaired function can cause a lapse in tooth strength, as it is the immediate source of mineral available. Once minerals are stripped of fortified teeth, bacteria penetrate and eventually infect beyond canine to bone. The second option has much to do with an overall acidic Ph, giving allowance to immune dysfunction and varmint growth.

The medical papers lasted twenty a barked-up tree. I have come to the delusion it is best to joke in responsive areas of parchment, as opposed to provide willingly. Make them work for it, that sort of thing. However, it was my duty to simply initial, swooping letters together like the woven mess within me. As I rested, I felt a sudden sense of calm. I am ready and capable, I thought with mental proclamation. Suddenly, a palm.

"Hello, I will be extracting your teeth this afternoon."

My hand took his in a formal gesture. Instantly struck by his compassion, radiating from his being like a chakra mid-flame, I welcomed him.

Note: for informative purposes, Dr. XXX considers himself to be a miniature clone of Dr. X. This consideration is triggered through similarities according to muscle testing, proficiency, and genius.

"Is there anything I need to know?"

I was ushered to the throne of brightened tooth enhancements, layered with a Navajo-inspired blanket.

"Want to see some magic?"

Immediately, a performance broke free as he began to test differing areas of my pallet while utilizing a small yet sturdy tongue compressor. He pressed the device to areas of my mouth, ordering to bite hard and fresh, lift my arms, and press upward. In the form of a casual anomaly, under exact pressure, my strength faltered and bent and the opposing reacted alternately. In other words: when changing the area of surface bite, my capabilities altered. This is an ill iteration dubbed: ARTT Muscle Testing.

"I need a rubber chicken. I'm a regular magician. Mom? It's your turn."

M stood.

Immediately he bellowed,"You are a warrior. Lindsay, you have a strong mother."

"Don't I know it. I try not to take it for granted."

"Mom, close your fingers in a circle, like this," he demonstrated, "And when I pull them, I want you to stand your ground."

She placed, under Dr. XXX's guiding hand, her fingers upon my leg. Dr. XXX pressed a crystal cube to the center of my chest (used to focus energy on the tested individual as opposed to those testing). To my side rested a series of injectables including B complex, Procaine, the contents of an IV drip, Novocaine, and a spirituality so intense the oxygen nearly shunted. Dr. XXX completed this task through concentration on said object through a higher being, questioning without entitled knowing.

"I can tell you are really sensitive. You only tested for procaine."

Side note: Procaine is a naturopathic substance used to create flow of both energy within the field as well as the physical body. P.S: It works.

"Alright, let's get you situated."

I began to wonder when the pull would take place. Toward something? Teething? Perhaps a baptism of pain is in order. I rested softly within the chair and was handed a pair of rather unstylish sunglasses to shield the light. Dr. XXX prodded my gums while making small, incoherent exhalations.

"Assistant? Where's my hammer?"

It took a moment to register the joke.

Photos and their required mouthen devices shoved deep within beyond my tongue, blooming oddly as positive discomfort. I was lulled to a state of peace, slanderous humor set apart, made medicated vulnerable deeply by the power of Dr. XXX and his prayer.

"See there? The bone has collapsed where the infection is. Oh, and look at that- what is that?"

"Dr. X calls it a Stem Cell Bud, something that must be removed."

"It looks like a little alien. Look, arms and legs."

I laughed comically as I realized its presence existed mainly for my benefit. He was, through his care, attempting to assuage pent feelings of fear and frustration. His skill was vast. He placed a hand on my shoulder and prayed over me silently to a spiritual god, an act I was surprised to like. I walked into this disease an Atheist. At this specific moment in time, my questioning came to light and blazed itself to a near-death so smooth and grand I felt the immobile objects within me shatter and burn.

Dr. XXX placed a hand-made IV drip (mainly comprised of Vitamin C) to aid with antibacterial factors.

"Now, I want you to take a deep breath for me, alright?"

I struggled to speak as the state of my mouth rested agape. Suddenly, I felt an enveloping pin prick evacuate my mouth of pain by comparison.

"I don't hear you breathing ...very good."

Dr. XXX injected but one aspect of my mouth with nine shots. The tenth, a vile of procaine within the roof of my mouth. I had prior experienced the placement, thus the novelty lost.

"VERY good, I know that was hard for you."

Valid pain resonant within his voice beckoned me to a place within myself rarely visualized, the result of another enshrouding my gob.

A handful of biological, oral surgeons condone strict congruence when approaching surgery, one side of the mouth per ordeal. This is due, partially, to a phenomenon monikered as the Healing Crisis. The Healing Crisis has most to do with less than apt cell turnover. Health conditions contribute to this.

IV needled within, Novocaine ready, I recalled a brief seminar of a moment in which Dr. XXX handed me a plastic straw. He pulled on it directly, mimicking the potential feel of what to expect. I was to experience a firm, tugging sensation deep within the bone.

Once the operation began, Dr. XXX's focus altered drastically. His expertise road beyond simple charisma, people skills, and firm spirituality. No, an oral surgeon above all things.

He began by aggravating the tissue surrounding the wisdom tooth, falling back on the body's basic trauma function to continue with his work. He wriggled the tooth yet again. Post thirty seconds, the tooth excused itself completely. I caught a glimpse of the remains and to my astonishment, the entirety of the root and tip, dipped in a minute amount of blood, were the prize.

"I get better and better every day," Dr. XXX gleefully relayed, then, "Are you doing OK?"
"UUHHH," I replied in a cordial and informative gesture. The truth? Enjoyment flurried through my system at what began as a constructive means to joviality and became, a piece of act that surprised even me.

I had been lying upon the chair for an hour and a half by this clock-oriented-tick. Not restless, I simply remained in a state of enhanced quietude, fear subtracted from the equation brain fog could only cure. I thrust myself beneath it. At this time, during this seance of teeth past, I felt the cherry pop on my residual spiritual sundae. I not only allowed but relinquished, focused on the congruence between time and the absolute, the layers of confidence swept apart. I grew ever more vulnerable beneath steel, pressured by the omniscient-knowledge-lack compassion pressuring me into the chair. The combination of Dr XXX, the pain, the vulnerability, and the cumulative effect of spiritual medicine, I caved into self love (the core) as I have never felt prior.

Graduated to the next set, I felt glorious pain resultant of scraggle-tooth want, the IV connected to my arm throughout the procedure. Novocaine injection number does not compute that high, Dr. XXX began to sing a lyric he acted as obvious author:

"If you wiggle it----just a little bit---."

Voila, the tooth popped with a force less than the champagne bottle beauties he had experienced in the past.

"See that? The bone is infected and has collapsed in parts. Get that!" he urged his assistant, "See all that comes out? There's puss, infected blood and infected tissue. You have to make sure you get all of it."

Unsure of his thoroughness, Dr XXX placed a latex glove upon M's hand and asked her to rest her finger over the wound in my mouth.

"I'm sorry Linds," apologized M while continuing with said direction. Test results negative, the moment to rejoin the effort and dig, which he completed to the point of minty freshness.

"Alright, lets get you sewn up."

I felt dazed by the moment, surprised by the means in which I dealt with the situation. I was alternately slightly medicated and perhaps high off the pain, vulnerability, and the Vitamin C.

"We're almost done."

I can't recall a stretch of time occurrence, until a cotton wad was pressed as a tourniquet to the back of my fairly bleeding mouth. These gauze pads were to be used in continuation for three days, much to the happiness of my family for my nonverbality.

Dr. XXX turned my head to the side firmly, whispering, "You're going to feel a little pinch." Following were a series of procaine injections along the lymph nods to aid lymphatic flow. I counted twenty-four to my back, twenty-one to my chest, six in my neck, and one within a scar on my face. Including the eleven of my mouth, the total is: 63. In other words: I broke my record.

In an effort of nomadic opposition, the Vitamin C IV Drip fell from my arm at the hand of an energy-field dance move. I was ready to thrust it away, finished with needles.

Again, the encircled fingers of M poised themselves for ARTT: searching for antibiotic remedies.
"I want you to think about Cipro for a moment, just concentrate."

Quiet.

"Now think about the 500 mg dose."

Again. Quiet.

"Alright, that is what your body is asking for."

If you have blessed as an infected-tooth-chosen-one, your surgeon must sanitize the wound from the bone with the aid of scraping and medication. Western doctors will simply stitch the hurt without removing infected tissue or the aid of combo antibiotics and lymphatic drainage. Use prior a Dental Pack, ingredients found here.

"Let's see, here is your post-op bag of goodies. In it you will find gauze (oh joy) as well as an irrigator. I want you to pour warm, salted water from this irrigator onto your teeth to clean the wound and keep foods out of it. Only chew with one side and make sure you don't talk for the next three days. I know you are seeing ND Gal tomorrow and also getting a Lymphatic Massage, so you will do fine. Got it?"

I shook my head.

"You were very brave."

"Thank you."

"You know, healing from this works in trimesters. The first is three days. The second is three months. The third is one year. It will take time, but you will get over it. You will get over this disease."

"I believe so as well. Thanks again, "I reacted, trailing him toward the exit, "You did a fantastic job. You put me right at ease and blew me away. I am astonished by you to be honest."

Most of my gratitude is due to this particular surgery, a fewly found care-free moment. I have come to the conclusion the body is not the center of all worlds, that complete redemptive pleasure can exist in a place of rotted pain, that love can happen for me from within, that I do like nice guys after all.

Peace and heavy breathing,
Lindsay

Our New Puppy

2011-05-01T18:32:00.001-07:00

Sculpting Bone

2011-05-01T15:51:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, two of four infected wisdom teeth will be expunged from my swollen gums. I have prepared through a procrastination project known as the "Dental Pack", caking my gums to the point of near frosting (note: the Dental Pack is a reference to a prior post on dealing with infected teeth here).

I will not lie and say I am pure courage. However, through the many pre-surgery-rituals I have hurdled today, I have found a state of calm.

My true fear is symbol to 'not knowing'. Pain I can take. In fact, I welcome it. No, what I fear is the quiet absolute of utter lack in control. Ironic, if you know me well enough. Pain has differing texture, shape, color, movement to which each fresh symptom remains riddled with conflict. There is a point to which pain has little brevity as it centers upon your heart flooding emotion deep from where it is magnetized. Until you relinquish control, it is difficult to assuage attachment. Dis entwining, not from yourself, from this body, is (in my opinion) the singular means to heal entirely while remaining crushingly ill.

That said, there is also an opposing aspect of me, lustrous with brevity, that fears the upcoming slight of the hand out of knowing not.

Healing comes from balancing the two. Healing and gap-tooth-ed-ness.

EMF And It's Residual Dust

2011-04-30T15:27:00.000-07:00

Lyme patients are rendered susceptible to toxic stimulus of multiple realms. Typically, when considering one's toxic load, internal inhibitors (such as endotoxins) or external poisons come to the forefront. However, there is a silent toxin rarely considered, quietly researched. EMF remains said toxin, provided immensely through electronic use and radiating technology.

EMF stands for Electromagnetic Fields, representing radiating energy providing incomparable unrest within the body. Health conditions associated with EMF remain: blurred vision, chronic headaches, fatigue, memory loss, Leukemia, rare brain cancers, enzyme changes that affect DNA, metabolic changes, increased risk for Alzheimer's, heart conditions, and neurological hormone changes. For Lyme patients, EMF has an even greater impact. Lyme patients are infected with a condition known by healers as The Healing Crisis. If the EMF is beyond fantastical, it will either take far longer or never take you there whatsoever. Dr. X predicts children with Autism or birth defects of children when a Lyme/sick patient develops pregnancy within a room of 2,000 gigahertz or higher.

Note these issues occur with use as a steady build. The subtle changes part slowly the sea of time.

EMF is found drastically within laptops, cell phones, microwaves, wifi access, game consoles, clock radios, ipads, and ipods. Cell phones for instance radiate the brain using the same waves as a microwave. Smaller venues involve house location. This includes radio towers, cell towers, radar systems, and deformities in the earth below. These potential home wreckers maintain 60 hertz while electronic issues vaporize at 6 gigahertz.

In order to test your home, you must hire an appropriately appointed master of energetic doom. My family and myself opened the intimacy of our house and let a professional in. This specific male provided our fourth wall with gadgetry in the form of three devices. The first used read micro-waves within the body of our above. One thousand to two thousand presented themselves as astronomical, rearing occasionally beneath a large window overlooking the water. The second tool was used to test body voltage under the influence of environmental factors. The third was rather like a compass, measuring deformities in the earth/metallic objects while in largely populated areas.

Treatments acing a medications for the classically ill mini-mansion are consistently effective for blocking EMF, it simply depends upon the severity of it's influence. Our options are:

1) Paint the entirety of your chosen room with a special cure-all black paint. You can paint over this with your color of choice. This option simply covers your plaster.

2) Drapes fashioned from one of two appropriate fabrics: the first is made of woven silver, then covered with white material. This potential choice contains micro-holes in order to see through. The second is a gauze-like cotton fabric even more effective than the aforementioned. You must cover the wood surrounding the window as EMF can seep through.

3) Nearly a mosquito net, this simple fabric-ed bed drapery reduces EMF above the head while sleeping.

4) The full canopy over the sleeping area ensures total safety from EMF in general.

5) For computers, there is little you can do. There are websites selling sweatshirts, screens, etc, though none of them complete their designed task. The best way to limit EMF is to use a ground computer as opposed to a laptop. This way you can move the computer to a suitable distance from the screen.

In the end, refrain from needing the extreme and monitor what you can do. The means isn't the only way after all.

Peace and legal tequila shots,

Lindsay

Birthday

2011-04-29T14:37:00.001-07:00

Well folks, I'm twenty-one.

Lyme Disease: Psychiatric Rendezvous

2011-04-28T18:17:00.000-07:00

The drive alone rode beneath my carefully placed skin (as to cover the wounded secretion of sense within). I felt as if I were pacing beneath the car, traveling at a sprint to match the wheeled misfortune of such an appointment.

Of course, meticulously woven nerves began to fray then split. I have yet to release openness to psychiatric practitioners as a singular beast. Due to this, my torso thudded rapidly, an accompaniment to the bigot-based smog of prior psychiatrists.

A recap:

My first doctor: (Diagnosis: Depression and A-Typical Anxiety Disorder) whom I shall call Hell-Demon, approached me with condescension and a quick ability to write off my symptoms through phrases like, "Look, if you don't think you're Jesus one day and the Devil the next- you're not Bipolar!". Hell-Demon also asked "Do you get migraines?" as I said, "From the age of nine I received headaches so extreme the only thing I could do was sob in bed all night." Hell-Demon replied, "No, migraines are the headaches that make you curl up on the floor crying. Not in a bed. You don't have migraines." After hiding the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder pointedly away from my knowledge, I left her and found help elsewhere.

Doctor Number Two: (Diagnosis: Depression with traces of Mania, A-Typical Anxiety Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder) Psychiatrist Numero Dos, affectionately called Dr. Quantify (due to his reality-based moniker). He told me plainly, "Lindsay, you're broken and need to be broken again if you ever want to be fixed. You will be completely dependant upon therapists for the rest of your life." Post the completion of one year, crippled internally, I found the diagnosis of Fibromyalgia and moved on. I have yet to heal completely from this ordeal.

Doctor Three: (Diagnosis: Post Traumatic Stress and Bipolar NOS) Dr. Rockstar set an infectious tone of sarcasm, used to deflect intimacy in an alternate format to which I had experienced. While remaining jaded/apathetic, her approach sent nihilistic tingles through my sensuous being. Perhaps, I thought. This perhaps thrust me toward what seemed to be a journey's end. The answers were given to me through clinic beyond clinical hope, yet somehow, I was vesseled to loneliness. Though physical effort was exerted, my minded self nestled within an other's ego, an other's way of coping. I was treating this someone else, not myself. Distance became the norm, hope the opposite. My despisition (fog word) toward this state preposterous but reasonable in and of itself. I attempted few medications (after the slew I will remember to thank later) through Dr. Rockstar once the final diagnosis was made: Lyme Disease.

Doctor Four: (Diagnosis: Lyme Disease) Doc has no nickname. She has provided me with patient, secure optimism through patience and understanding. She has relayed to me, "It is a psychiatrist's job I think to open options for their patients. They don't test for medical issues before throwing the misshapen at us, and many psychiatrists turn patients away. We have to open ourselves to this."

My attempts to brain cocoon this thought acted as rust to the tips of my hands as the car slowed to enter Doc's driveway. Luckily, Doc's office rests in a wing of her home, removing much of the clinical undertone. This decision was made, I assume, is because she is ill with Babesia.

Doc: Come right in.

I quickly beelined for the couch as the anxiousness peaked and vomited over what was to be my sitting place. Wonderful.

Doc: So what do you want to cover today?

We chatted over topics relating to untaken Xanax, the effectiveness of Valium, how the Oxycodone is working.

Me: My ability to sleep has taken a turn. Zyprexa is no longer doing what I would like to do.

Doc: Well, I like to start with the natural stuff. Personally, I layer about five naturopathics at night instead of pharmaceuticals. Lets get you on Melatonin and see if that helps.

I proceeded to beckon answers forth with the following questions:

1) Why do Lyme patients sometimes have difficulty with psychiatric medication?
This is mostly to do with the inflamed brain and toxicity.

2) What can a person do to help this?
To start with, use an anti inflammatory like Ketotifen then take some detox procedures. Another remedy, if this doesn't work, is appropriate injections of either testosterone or hormones.

3) How do the medications cross the blood-brain-barrier?
Some medications are salts, like Lithium, which travel to the brain easily, other medications are attracted to nerves. A group of medications mimic the shape or charge while endogamous molecules trigger receptors quickly.

4) Why do Lyme patients have so much trouble with sleep?
There are multiple reasons as to why this occurs. The first is, again, the inflamed brain (which can also cause Depression) then there's excitable nerves. As you know, Lyme patents have immune dysfunction. A portion of the system, cytokins, are located in the area of your brain that sleep function is located.

We spoke briefly on social life triumphs, gathered the delicate bottle of Melatonin, and loped toward the car, yearning for stomached stability.

Naturopathic Doctor: Bugs Gone Viral?

2011-04-24T14:05:00.000-07:00

The couch has now memorized the sculpture of my 24/7 imprint. I had thought myself to (supposedly) be ill as a layer cake confection riddled with sugary venom, due a flu bug wrenched cusping incapacitated. To put it plainly: seven weeks of alternate illness embraced me as a progression toward betterment. However, as I may have stated prior, with each in-sight breach, sabotage flared itself shortly after. I found optimism through this pattern, surprising even myself.

One week ago, I gave up. Something in me allowed a kind of freedom to pass over. No longer chained by the inability to consume anything beyond fruit and fresh air, the royal couch escapades, my mind, I assumed a nonchalance toward a Lyme patient's weakened immune system. I began to wonder what was truly going on. My hair began falling out in rebellion, the fatigue grew so extreme migraines and vomit developed, the muscle cramps grew acute and tender. What could this possibly be?

Lyme. It has to be Lyme. I triggered it somehow, no longer "controlled".

I made an appointment with ND Gal, much to the performance of the front desk trilogy. When I made my voyage to the clinic yesterday, it was the first time I stepped from the confines of my home in one month. The surroundings remained surreal in their Italian Neo Realism. The pain swelled and left me as in acupuncture. My nerves rooted themselves in the sprawl. Despite all of this, I felt the familiar presence of halucinatory (word of brain fog) anxiousness. Thank goodness for small bear traps.

Post the familiarized conversation cemented to my mind, ND Gal and I wove a path of question-probed knowing. There is a cadence to scientific traversing akin to Bob Fosse: gorgeous and wise. I relayed pertinent information and set it to her symbolic feet.

ND Gal: Let's get you on the table.

Removing my coat, I loped over the single yard between desk and device and rested my back upon the sound effect of elongated tree product. As per usual, ND Gal held my arms upward while simultaneously pressing/twisting my Gothic hands. She continued pressing upon pertinent areas of my body :stomach, colon, kidneys, liver, lymph nodes, and many many more while emitting small emoticons of winded air.

ND Gal: Wow. Your infected wisdom teeth are wreaking havoc all over your body. Sinus infections, swollen lymph nodes, brain dysfunction, sore throat, digestive dysfunction, it is all your infected wisdom teeth. The virus is in the background and on the way out.

I sighed, happy to hear the best possible result.

ND Gal: I am glad you refrained from any sinus treatment and I want you to stay away from the cocktail. I'm not even going there right now. You need to stabilize before we proceed with anything else. You're sort of teetering on the edge right now. The good thing is, we can get you better.

The treatment touted as a great healer for infected wisdom teeth and for toxins in general is a substance ridiculous in texture, sensible in title: Dental Pack. This dental pack works as an anti inflammatory, detox device, and anti microbial.

The contents:
1 Capsule Co Q10- perforate capsule and squeeze out contents

1/4 teaspoon MSM Powder

1 teaspoon Medi Dental Pack (contains Montmorillonite and Smectite Clays with a molecule conductor of light used in cleansing)

A few drops of Hydrogen Peroxide

2 drops Foli Rinse (which contains Folic Acid, Potassium bicarbonate, Betaine)

Directions: Mix ingredients into a paste and pack it into teeth and gums of the mouth. Leave on for ten minutes (not swallowing) then rinse off. You can use up to two times per day.

I have already attempted the Dental Pack, and it gave me an astounding amount of relief. I would recommend it surely to those in a similar position. Another dental healer for infected wisdom teeth would be a swish of Risol Epsilon (a substance in use of physics to attain togetherness). Take three drops into swished water and gargle.

Other supplements and medications prescribed are as follows:

Adrenal:
Ashwaganda caps

Digestive:
Bio Gest
Original Probiotic (powdered)
Quantum Probiotic
Mila soaked chia seeds

And to continue:
Sporanox as an anti fungal
Electrolyte cocktail
T3 for Hypothyroidsim
Lithium as a neuro salve
Zyprexa as a sleeping aid

Post medical coitus, conversation fell to the condition of ND Gal, then M and I vacated toward the dispensary. The saga continues...

Lyme Chic: The Clutch

2011-04-16T18:59:00.000-07:00

Feel warrants a hard-candy-validity when guised of its own appearance. I have spent years schucking fashion for the sake of energy consumption, only to find it unyielding upon similar topics.

That said, what I call Lyme Chic has afforded positive outcome due feel/pleasure. It is malleable in this way. This post is a second installment and corresponding of further experience topic-ked in prior soliloquy:

The purse: bearing the creation of its innards when gathered with the minimality of chic profession, has taken little more than demand. At this time, less is more, something a Lymie never really considered.

Below is a list of tools used to promote peace within oneself through the internal of a tote's carrying crew. Accessible, organized, and a lesson in the teaching: everything can be fostered as pleasure when applying what's chic:

Comfort:

A wrap- most adequate due to its versatility and size. I use this or a small cashmere blanket when needing either warmth or protection. The first option is made relevant due to its neutral color pallet and softness, found here. The second is a large scarf, less expensive and makes a statement due to color and size here.

Entertainment:

A chic little notebook- can be used both in the IV room to prevent boredom as well as the doctor's office to apply questions to paper found here.

Refreshment:

Peppermint oil blotted into a Kleenex then placed in a zip lock bag is vastly important to abate exhaustion, nausea, and foul smells that could show themselves in bodily treatments or the scent of disease itself.

A glass water bottle is a mandatory means to keep oneself healthy. Differing fountains offered at the doctor's office posses potential disease. Thus, do not fill your water bottle anywhere but your home. This example from Amazon is friendly to the eye and body here.

Survival:

A paper mask is a positive approach to guarding against possible viruses as well as clearly showing a need for social isolation. In order to add flair to this object, use pens or glitter. Personally, I draw or find stickers for cartoon-red lips.

Coin purses to house doses of needed medication are rarely swallowed by large purses and add a delightful means to medicate on the run.

Natural hand sanitizer: Speaks for itself. An option from Spirit Beauty Lounge here.

Gloves: Impermeable and easily washed gloves keep the possibility of catching disease at a minimum. I prefer pastel colors as the winter slowly dissolves to floral spring here.

And there you have it, how to make chic your overflowing purse of recreation and otherwise.

Voila!

2011-04-12T15:38:00.000-07:00

Why is it so hard to find a pink neti pot?

Stem of a Rose

2011-04-07T15:05:00.000-07:00

Well, I am at odds yet again. I have been ill with the flu for the past five weeks. It is nearly teasing me with betterment. At vitality's prime, my body is focused upon a reiterated fall. I am beginning to question its validity as a segregated illness, and more so on possible alternate factors.

The aforementioned factors relate generally to the chronic Staff Infection, infected wisdom teeth, and Lyme Disease itself. However, I remain hopeful in the direction the bug has chosen. I do not believe it to be greater than simplicity and relax with crossed fingers.

I have surprised myself with the learned faculty of patience I have gained. I feel, in some way, that this regressed step has appeared as a means to underline a lesson I have yet to gain, something with intelligent intent.

Sleep has been recognizably difficult lately, though I feel a change in the winds in this regard.

I feel I am on a path to Valium addiction, thus, I must disconnect. For instance, last night I swallowed a minute Valium and as a result, developed nasea-inducing stomach cramps addled with an unnecessary migraine. They have yet to pass.

Anyway, my desire in writing such a post is to update this anthology of life. I truly believe I will grow from this bud of an illness, and that I will indeed extend past it in short time. I am fulfilled and have little regret. This partially has to do with letting free a boy I was once deeply intertwined with, though most I claim is a part of me.

Peace and health-

Lindsay

Lyme Disease: State of the Union

2011-03-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

Current Symptoms:
Deep pain in the joints of ankles
Dry, brittle skin
Stomach cramps extending along thighs of legs
Nausea extending down the spine and along the sides of the neck
Bloating of the stomach to a point less than pregnancy
Stomach aches
Inability to tolerate anything other than baked fish with lemon, fruit, and broccoli
Blackheads down the entirety of my back, chest, and stomach
Difficulty breathing
Chest pressure
Muscle pains of the entirety of the back
Swollen breasts
Dry, acrid soar throat
Difficulty swallowing, thus choking on food
Teeth shifting until I can only chew with two pairs
Shifting, drilling migraines of the head
Paranoia, hallucinations
Insomnia
Social Anxiety
No libido
Full-body corroded fire ant pain
Full-body electric pain
Ringing ears
Acne
Fatigue
Exhaustion

Current Medications:
Lithium
Valium
Zyprexa
T3
Oxycodone

Current Lifestyle:
Couch-ridden. I use my last shred of energy to write for this blog. I am no longer exercising. I can no longer use the television. I can no longer drive in the passenger seat of my mom's car. I simply dream, sleep little, eat next to nothing, and attempt to place a giant's cleat over this banshee of an illness.

Ultra Violet Blood Irrigation

2011-03-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

The infamous working grounds of potential, through a procedure known as the UVBI, to a storyteller's level: the morning, I felt exultant (at least in response to the suspense-worthy illness I had been carrying under the pretenses it was something else). I had gained something, a small dash of hope within a warped dream. It was at this moment, I felt at peace with the insinuation the lifestyle of Lyme. I wanted to move forward.

Post green juice consumption, I spent a generous amount of time applying the makeup Dr X condemned face up under yesterday's appointment, basking in the proportioned, newly gained energy.

Everything comes in downsized capsules. Even this.

I have an affinity for wearing red while having a blood-related procedure. I guess I like matching the accessories. It gives a sort of bank for emotional clearance. I have grown accustomed to the 32 vile blood draw. At this point, it is basic blood letting.

I held the vain desire I would find a lack of familiarity through those around me. I still retain massive amounts of social anxiety, I simply know how to cope with it more efficiently. Of course, waltzing to the overflowing back room, my eyes sought the center, and it was Sean.

Him: Hey Lindsay! How did your Dr X appointment go?

I summarized it for him. I began conversing with the entreaty of the room's occupants, threading themselves and their stories until we were no longer acquaintances. Each being has a life composed of Lyme. My story is as common as swollen knees. Because of this, I am at home with these fear-prone confidants. We conversed of gluten free cupcakes and EMF instigation. Everything is inclusive.

G: Ok honey, let's get you into the chair, alright?

Up until this point, I held the belief that UVBI was an alien dessert funneled through an IV. However, when the syringes of hydrogen peroxide were cocked in the hands of Ms. G, I began to wonder.

Me: What is a UVBI?
G: It is a process to clean the blood.
Me: How?
G: I pull your blood through a radiating machine, then add three syringes of hydrogen peroxide. This treats viruses, bacteria, mold, and candida.

I began to notice that Ms G was not her regular social standby. She was ill, just coming down with it. I did not worry, a trait rather aside from myself.

The experience lasted thirty minutes, constricting my arm until a flower-like blue bruise appeared in its crook. Throughout the treatment, I attempted to chat with Ms G, her attitude usually carrying the conversation of all those encompassed within the room. It was obvious she couldn't fully compute what was said.

I bid goodbye to those shattered and prodded around me and quickly vacated the premises. Three days later, I developed her disease. I have been bedridden since.

Oh, The Irony

2011-03-22T18:51:00.000-07:00

A quick update:

I have suffered for the past three weeks with a teaser trailer bug. Due to this, Dr X called for a UBVI cleansing blood treatment to help heal from it. The nurse was ill.

This morning, I caught her sickness.

Dr. X: Part III

2011-03-18T18:25:00.000-07:00

I fear appointments with Dr X. He has the ability to spearhead the coping mechanism of blissful unknowing with a reality beyond the grasp of those even in the know.

Unlike myself, I have maintained a sense of apathy toward the idea of betterment from a place of fear. If I truly let myself want what vital existence provides, it would obliterate my current state, that state being twice over doubled bleak.

I have been acting as minimum to the swelling divide of medications, treatments, and resulting bodily care for the past two months. After completing a rather rigorous parasitic protocol (Biltricide for two days, Ivermecting/Pyrenthal Pamoate for two weeks, Albenza for two weeks, Alinia for two weeks, and Nebulizer-driven Triquench indefinitely), I settled to twenty supplements and medications softly and irresolutely. I left out atrocious liquid anything and began exercising, dieting to a harmful degree, and crossing my fingers with webbed difficulty.

It was in this state, wretched flu bug enflaming my system aside, I entered my closet. I search for answers in hygenic stylings. I found a suitable ensemble for the big show: organic, bootcut, black yoga pants, a black teeshirt, a grey-beige vest, and a triangle green scarf to look dapper against the backdrop, though Invalid chic is difficult to translate from alternate mediums. .

My mom drives me everywhere, common among my social hemispheres.

I noticed immediately, trepsing toward the chair section of the lobby, a handsome stranger searching my face earnestly (without knowledge of my current awareness), then return his gaze to the novel he held.

"Hello there Lindsay!" chorused the three secretaries: A (the Russian), T (the straight shooter), and D (that little special something). .

"He..y..." I uttered quietly, barely understanding the words I mouthed.

I fell into the chair and leaned into my hand. The office girls concluded Dr X to be one hour off schedule. Such is typical with him.

"Runs-With-Ticks!" I exhaled post-spotting him against a doorway.

"Hey Lindsay," he mused.

Runs-With-Ticks is a friend I seem to have gathered and woven within rather quick. We came across one another within an IV interlude, him quickly networking his way to a state of polished understanding. After a few short weeks, he seems to hold acquaintence with the majority of those under Dr X's care. He is in his early forties, though looks thirty-two.

We sat, each opposite my mom. Her posing a question about potential cross-talk. Him beginning to converse with us both. During this chat of brevity, the handsome stranger appeared as if he dearly desired a partnership in this mutual conversion of vulnerability. It wasn't until Runs-With-Ticks left, he gained the willed composure to aid in words willing. Another female entered the unity of script and held tough when describing her six years of paralyzation.

"What is your name?"
"Ah, J."
"J. That's a pretty name. I'm Lindsay."

As it turns out, he remained in waiting for the appointment slot post mine. Long days are a prerequisite of Lyme. This clinic drives that home.

"Who is my next patient?"

My nerves caused tremors of palmed fingers once beaconed toward Dr X and his particular suite. I smiled at him, inspecting his orange striped button down and relaxed pair of jeans. This simple observation, along with his wild, balding mane, is Dr X's sanctioned personality tied together in one fluid knot.

The door rested ajar, tempting me of the stealed secrets embedded in the walls of this room's mind.

"How are you?" probed Dr X.

I paused one moment and replied, "Good. Yes, I have been good."

He waited.

"I have had more energy, I am exercising, at one point last month, I felt normal again. Astounding to me. I tolerated the parasitic protocol quite nicely. The cocktail hit me hard, so I have been working up from a lower dose."

From this point on, his assistant walked carefully to the back of the small room. Dr X began speaking with her rapidly in a code I was not lingual to. However, I felt worried. His speech was ominous.

"Get up on the table please."

I nestled into the pleather, my head on a pillow, as his assistant pressed her palm to the bare skin of my calf, Dr X to her hand. He prepared the three of us for an act known and developed as ART, a brand of muscle testing. Through twenty minutes of hand pressing/twisting to bear a greater understanding of the intricacies of my internal shape, Dr X was able to diagnose me with the accurate perfection the "gut" couldn't muster.

"The parasites are under control but she has a Chronic Staff infection and a preliminary virus. The Lyme is not at the forefront this moment."

Again, he spoke inside jokes to his assistant while I rest. He then led us to the waiting room in order to converse properly about the effects of Dr X and his advice with my brick-borne, resultant chest. That, and to my new friend Joel.

Twenty minutes passed. Again, Dr X's assistant (whom I shall now refer to as Christina) beaconed my mother and I to an alternate four walled space. We sat.

"Here is a sheet I have typed up from Dr X and his protocol. First, we will start with a FACT Test (shown above)."

This specific procedure assesses how mycotoxins affect the nervous system, providing a toxicity lasting well beyond the treatment of Borrelia (Lyme) and Babesia. Often this condition is mistaken as Post Lyme Syndrome as selected bacteria spill biotoxins (also billowing beneath mold spores like a mobile carpet) resting with a half life post spirochete's loosely cannon-fire demise.

Two websites recommended by Dr X:

www.chronicneurotoxins.com
www.surviving mold.com

The above pictured FACT Test remains an attempt to measure said neurotoxins through testing visual contrast sensitivity, a paradigm created by Shoemaker, administered by the assistant and her keen ability to separate the patient from the caretaker while remaining open and emotionally available.

The test presented a square of paper adorned with grid and resulting mold shaped skull to read the lines between, rows of spherical lines shaped by direction and me to color the arrow with tongue.

Post the realization that, indeed, I have a slew of neurotoxins making not so nice with brain tissue, talk became nomad and spoke of a different location. Namely, that of the bite. There is a phenomenon called Lyme Tooth Mobility. The norm concludes bone loss of the jaw, causing a scope of wobbly teeth and their threat. However, the two palletes of teeth corroding my mouth with infection have yet another issue to chomp on: shifting palettes. This means the only teeth that actually touch are one on each side, causing difficulties with paralyzed chewing muscles of the throat. Dr X called this "a life threatening choking hazard", then presented the options: visiting a Canadian vacation get away to have "bite adjustment work" (my kind of fun). If this simple pressurized teeth method does not work, I may face at least two more years of braces (had them for three as a teen).

Dr X: This is top priority, it must be done right away.

I am currently incubating infected wisdom teeth for two more weeks, then, un-alas, I shall see them die apart.

My homework:

1) Have a Deep Nasal Culture to help rule out staff infection

2) Travel the great divide from the lovely Lyme Blood Gathering Hole to Labcorp (each time a horrid experience) to get C3a, C4a, and MSH tested.

3) Read 'Surviving Mold' by Rithchie Shoemaker

4) Get a professional to evaluate home for mold and EMF (if you would like to research this further, check out http://biohealthyhomes.com.

5) Purchase a Grounding Mat for sleep from www.earthling.com (A wired mat to sleep beneath, helps ground the field during the night, the most beneficial time for detoxification).

6) Bite adjustment work to help with chewing as well as lymph drainage of the brain/jaw.

7) Sinus treatment: (this should be entertaining)
Rinse recipe for Neti pot: rinse nasal passages once per day with the following formula:
a. 1/2 tsp Sea Salt
b. 1/2 tsp Alkala powder
c. 1 tsp Xylitol
d. 1 tsp of powdered probiotic

also consumed with:
BEG spray- 1 spray in each nostril four times per day

8) 2 UVBIs (involving a mass of drawn blood, radiated, injected with purified oxygen, then pulled back into the body)- in a strange way, this procedure is like blood letting, taking the bad with the good is a modern approach, philosophically and otherwise.

9) 1 Vitimin C IV to aid the immune system while under attack.

10) Antiparasite enema: Using a fleet's empty bottle, add to distilled water, 1 open capsulate of garlic and 1 open capsule of Artimesinin and hold as long as possible. Think of it as a bizarrely engaging workout.

11) Bolouke added to regime to optimize blood coagulation.

And with that, exhaustion greater than feint, I left the clinic heavy as always and bearing brick laden chest.

Interlude

2011-03-15T17:48:00.000-07:00

This happens frequently:

Me: Well, I'm chronically ill.
Anonymous: I'm sorry.
Me: Why? I'm not.

Silver Worn Down

2011-03-14T16:34:00.000-07:00

The following is a useful explanation passed unto me via an alternate Lyme family, attempting to bridge the swelling divide of those who know and those who don't. Chronic illness is the theme, and the life it posed as option. Without further ado, "The Spoon Theory" by Christine Miserandino:

"My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.

As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.
When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”."

A Ramadan Of A Thing

2011-03-12T14:27:00.000-08:00

This may be extremely odd, but I have decided, in a vastly desirous state to share my story, to add photos to the mix.

Schedule:

8:00 am- The experience of waking so utterly painful (as a result of seeing much worth it theater the night before whilst incubating the flu) I was nearly paralyzed with the resulting emotional trauma of such hurt, though this did not last long. I felt a trembling, uprorious guffaw of a symptom in rampant discourse with my lungs, limbs, and so on. It was dreadful to say the least.

8:15- Take one dose of my daily pain slayer menu favorite: Oxycodone. Thank heavens/Allah/my would be hamster for the fact that medication is inexempt (brain fog allows you to make your own language from words that once made sense to you) from oral acceptance on fasting blood test mornings. In other words: You can still take (Insert pain killer of choice here).

8:30- Slowly sit up.

8:45- Take the plunge: shower with incredulous interest in a found pocket of energy. Thank you bodily awareness. Though, I can barely stand the heat of the water. The perfect temperature exists only in halves. The internal chill radiates only to a deeper set of organs, a place the raging external heat of my skin cannot breach. As a Lyme patient, you exist with multiple oppositions. Hooray for complexity.

9:00- Towel off. I am shaking now from the exhaustion of showering. Don't worry, it'll pass in a few hours (if you play your cards right).

9:05- Everything happens slowly. You're body, your action, your mind. You carefully apply serums to your Die Off resultant acne, working to your back and chest. Your skin is filled with blackheads from the tip of your head to mid-torso. You think, occasionally, about loosing your beauty and this only makes you: 1) Put heightened effort into your beauty regime 2) give up. Today is neither.

9:07: Your hair has fallen out in patches, so you brush your hair extentions, waning in energy as you progress with your routine.

9:10- You slip into an Invalid Chic-oriented smattering of clothing, something you chose while thinking of possibly seeing a friend at the clinic. Someone who never showed up.

9:15- Though you desperately need rest (symptomatic shakes, nausea, migraine, sore throat, etc fall to the wayside when you step outside of yourself; this act happens only when the pain is magnificent and you have no way of coping in the present; you become someone else, behave like them, hold them to your shadow), you enter the car with your fabulous driver of a mother and beeline your way to the medical clinic, hoping.

9:45 You bid greetings to the tripod of front desk female putty, a triplet means to smooth the company with unity through hard work. I try to help them feel appreciated, most days, but today I sit in the uncharacteristically quiet waiting room with my loyal confident/trusty door opener.

10:00- I am sitting upon a throne of needled desire. I am joined in this room by a rather abrasive Russian man whom I have exchanged with once prior. I ignore him as I have little else to give, though I am far more social now than before under the influence of diagnosis, it saddens me to see no one in my age group...who looks like Johnny Depp.

10:05- "Ok honey, which arm?"

10:06- There is no sensation like a fasting blood test once over. It is as if you are an embodiment of quicksand, sinking through your Gucci boots metaphorically and emotionally. It is a delight when all aspects of being unite as one, single sensation. You are no longer at war. You are in a state of acceptance, of throwing oneself over a cliff of abandonment with slight energy. The work has been completed for you.

We walk exit the lounge and visit the dispensary. From which two symbols of kind understanding gather our order in a small bag (the order: Liquid Microminerals, Mastica, Artimesinin, and Chlorella, a particularly light load). I can feel my legs beginning to teeter. I am dead.

10:30- I consume half of the Green Lemonade vehicled to my hand at this moment. Without ice, it tastes like pond sludge with extra pulp. However, I regain strength immediately, which allows entry into myself, which I accept.

11:00 Home.

The rest of the day was spent in dizzyingly disproportionate pain. However, today is anew and I already feel better.

L

2011-03-11T12:58:00.000-08:00

In order to bring this blog back to its assumed breathing efficiency, I will begin a new segment. Well, it is less of a segment, more of a passageway: a photo diary of my entry through treatment and the Lyme Lifestyle.

I feel incredibly social and a strong desire to connect with those who "understand".

I am not entirely sure as to the means of such a device, but I will give it a try.

Also, a base touch (four cornered sensuality) is thoroughly needed.

I want to write Lyme's story.

I want to write the stories of collected clinic people, of practitioners, of myself.

But for now, I'll simply procrastinate and breed more Sims (as I tend to do in my spare time).

Adios!

L

Next To Hilarious

2011-03-11T12:31:00.000-08:00

Next To Normal, a broadway show staging Bipolar Disorder has come to the 5th Ave (a theater known for its crowd pleasers, a not entirely flattering depiction). I barely made it through the first act, but what I did see was the most hilarious take on psychiatry I have encountered in quite some time.

This is a song called 'My Psychopharmacologist and I":

"DR. MADDEN
...The round blue ones with food, but not with the oblong white ones.
The white ones with the round yellow ones, but not with the trapezoidal green ones.
Split the green ones into thirds with a tiny chisel, use a mortar and pestle to grind…

DIANA
My psychopharmacologist and I.
It's like an odd romance:
Intense and very intimate, we do our dance.

My psychopharmacologist and I.
Call it a lover's game.
He knows my deepest secrets.
I know his... name!

And though he'll never hold me
He'll always take my calls.
It's truly like he told me
Without a little lift, the ballerina falls.

CAST
Zoloft and Paxil and Buspar and Xanex, Depacon, Chronaphin, Ambien, Prozac,
Ativan calms me when I see the bills.
These are a few of my favorite pills.

DIANA
Ooh, Thank you, doctor, Valium is my favorite color. How'd you know?

I don't feel like myself. I mean, I don't feel anything.

DR. MADDEN
Hm. Patient stable."

Changes

2011-03-09T15:16:00.001-08:00

I am going to make more of an effort to write here, less of an effort to write well. I'm sure you'll understand the compromise.

I now realize what I am capable of with the information I have on my back (weighing me down, so I might as well make use of it). In short, I want to:

A) Reach out through this blog, network as such.

B) Start a Facebook group (I am starting with "Detoxification and Lyme Disease", working out from there).

C) Brave the social world of the clinic.

I don't really know who reads this blog, if anyone. I would like to think there is an audience beyond my family, but who knows.

I want to put this out there: I will do anything I can to help you, reader, and be there for you from the position I am in. Feel free to contact me on either;

AIM: chocoholic78956
Yahoo: sadiecox10
Facebook: Detoxification and Lyme Disease.

I hope to hear from you,
Lindsay

2010-12-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

The illness is no longer a master but a prison. What I truly want someday is to exist free.

Protocols

2010-12-03T19:08:00.000-08:00

I am currently focusing on two of focused acts:

1) heavy metal detoxification
2) nutritional fortification

Heavy metal detox has been extremely painful (side note: certain antibiotics can also act as chelators). I have been using both Micro Silica and DMPS injections as chelators (another note: chelators are substances that draw out and bind toxins of the body). DMPS is painful due to metal impregnated tissue, not the needle in and of itself. I have learned to cope with them over the past month through submitting to and allowing the pain to penetrate within the flesh. There are usually twelve per sitting: two in the neck, two above the liver, three above the abdomen, four above the kidneys, one in the upper back. Oh, there will be blood.

Doses of Silica have lead to intense nausea, cramping, exhaustion, headaches, and fun. I have my work cut out for me.

Parasitic Depths:

2010-12-03T14:49:00.000-08:00

My doctor, whose name I shall hold beneath a cloak of anonymity, is in the words of Juno, "totally boss." His knowledge astounds me, thrusts me within a realm of conscious blow hard quietude.

Yesterday, I was muscle tested by the shimmering brilliance housed with balding grey and slender fingers. He shot the roof of my mouth with Procaine to open the pathway between my kidneys and my pallet. He proceeded to place differing substances atop or adjacent to organs of my body, pressing his assistant's arm with hopeful resignation.

Result: I got my wish.

I am now ready to treat the parasites. It was also surmised that I have parasites in my lungs along with my colon and stomach which contribute to difficulty breathing, difficulty with inhalation.

I feel like a swan.

I was also given ten shots along my abdomen and kidneys post Procaine implant. I felt like swiss cheese.

I would like to write here more, as a simple silent journal for you to read and embellish upon. Perhaps I will attempt effort through this time of flotation. This period will cease when I slip the protocol within me, impregnating its decent fight with my own sense of bravery.

The protocol:(strict parasitic treatmentation)

1. Biltricide 600 mg- three times per day for two days
2. Ivermectin 12 mg- 1 tablet four times daily for 14 days (taken with Pyrental pamoate)
3. Pyrental pamoate- 1000mg per day at bedtime for 14 days
4. Albenza 200 mg (post 14 days of prior drugs)- 2 tabs twice daily
5. Alinia 500 mg- 2 twice per day for 14 days
6. Triquench inhalation- 3 drops in the nebulizer for 15 mins per day

Quite the protocol. The suckers hardly stand a chance. It, of course, will be painful. I will have Die Off and I will have to sacrifice much of the function I have gained. But I am ready as I'll ever be to shovel through this again.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

2010-12-03T14:47:00.000-08:00

For the first time in years, I am happy. In the midst of trauma and ever evolving crisis, I am happy. Deep within myself within my fibrous being, I am happy.

This is momentous.
I feel brave.

Now.

2010-11-21T17:59:00.001-08:00

I feel horrible now.

My life is a nut shell.

I am 100% on board.

I have blood tests weekly.

I see my natureopath as often, my doctor every two months.

I drank a glass of wine in Canada, a place with consumption ages from nineteen on. It helped me sleep.

I tried it at home. Now I feel off. Off.

Nugget thought.

I removed myself form the Lithium.

Foreign films hurt in numerous ways. Isabelle Huppert is my hero, thrusting Ann Wigmore from which the abyss she came.

I scrapbook like a fiend.

Rebirth

2010-10-26T19:09:00.000-07:00

I have changed doctors. This alteration was one of steady pace lasting over months. The quiet became dysfunctional as the need for staunch protocol laid unmet expectations to rest. I am 'ill with thriving' pertaining to my current doctor, an incredibly famous (he was in Under Your Skin) professional stepped into view. He operates countless protocols and I am on many as I stand now.

My kidneys were in failure mode according to a sheet both prior doctors read as 'alright'. I have been removed from antibiotics, a welcome reprieve, as my kidneys are nursed back to health. Already they have improved.

My current protocols include:

Ten weekly shots of DMPS to the neck, liver, kidneys, and abdomen (might I say ouch).
Weekly colonics (and subsets of coffee enemas).
One Dandelion tincture (which is an herbal solution fermented with time targeting specific needs) three times daily.
Weekly blood work.
Sporanox.
Electrolyte Drink three times daily, involving:

Two tablespoons Electrolyte solution (my doctor saying, "This solution is it's creator's life in a bottle."
Two tablespoons of mineral solution.
1/2 t D-Mannose
Two oz milk
Eight oz water
a small amount of maple syrup.

And there you have it. I am ready for the fight yet again. Let us see where time takes us.

L

2010-10-26T12:43:00.000-07:00

I am creating a scrapbook of monolith proportions. Many things have altered under the pressure of this illness. I will divulge them later. For now I am simply touching base from a touch stone iPad.

I have been pulled from the medication for two months due to near kidney failure. It is steadily regaining health as is my current frame of mind. I will see theater, eat wildly at restaurants of my choosing, gussy up for no one other than myself. I have been enjoying this.

Now

2010-09-24T14:04:00.000-07:00

A new development has presented itself and I feel a glorious sense of departure from the norm. Well, that and my joints feel as if they are corroded by fire ants.

Doxycycline is not working either. I have felt such unrelenting exhaustion that no amount of rest can alter. The muscle cramps burn morphic and deep within the flesh. I can hardly sit.

Questionable Tidbit.

2010-09-22T22:01:00.001-07:00

Today was of ruthless exhaustion. I can barely move my limbs, my fingers as I write. Also, I have fallen back in love with a widget face that has a facet lack for oblivion.

And now, to yet another experimental film.

From One Hand To Another: Fibromyalgia

2010-09-19T20:19:00.000-07:00

It began then began again as the sun beat me down to the doorstep mourning my own existence how could things have gotten so far why I am I intrinsically wrong?
The diagnosis fixed all of this, albeit temporarily.
I was no longer psychosomatic, no longer under the ridicule of my prior psychiatrists.
The test was as follows:
Eighteen pressure points on the body pressed with medium strength to test pain without factoring paint tolerance; then, prodding my stomach and remarking upon it’s swollen bloat. After fasting until three in the afternoon, I was to take a blood test. It was in the next room, a place with leather recliners and spa music. It was populated by a number of patients who were mostly in their forties. Some could barely talk to their partners as the infusions were delivered.
I sat and reclined, noting the comfortable plush each maintained despite the countless souls perched atop them, waiting for another poke.
The physician strode into the room, carrying a large tray of vials.
“Are those all for me?” I asked, astonished.
“Yep.”
“Oh…that is a ton!”
“We all had that response the first time too,” remarks a woman two seats down from I. This was the first of many extreme blood draws and to poke during a fast to a Lyme Patient after an entire afternoon? I really don’t think so. But of course I happen to anyway.
“Blood is actually pretty when you look at it,” said I.
“It can be,” replied the technician.
From that moment on, I have called Lab Techs vampires, despite the means in which they reached a career-conclusion and that being People-People.
I was confronted with a procedure at this moment, the fact that testing for bacteria was held upon until after the body is stabilized. However, the party in question did test for a disease: Ehrlichea. I tested positive. This is evidence of obvious potential Lyme. They told me the first visit, never bringing it up again. Money of thousand gold good coins to wretch and writhe bleary. I feel I cannot articulate the asinine shucking of responsibility on their part due to the current condition of my brain, but I will get there.
I then met with the head nurse who was a slightly overweight (they all were) Fibro Sufferer. A woman of tearful composure she remained as the medication was handed to me.
“My boyfriend never dreamed while he slept. After taking Release & Renew, he began to dream again. This stuff works wonders,” Rachel relayed, eyes abrim yet again.
We began to discuss the protocal. It consisted of at least 25 supplements, 15 medications, a series of shots, and weekly IV treatments. To this, I greatfully said:
YES!
I had an answer other than your decay will only worsen. Your corroded self will only shrivel. You’ll pop, you’ll shatter and its all your fault.
I remember walking the streets of Seattle elated over such news, pin prick of the needle still at my helm arm, gracefully hidden by a bandaid in the shape of lips. Kiss it make it better.
Maybe that should be my motto.
Applying the needle bore a kind of rush to me. The steady yet thin lines of red careening down my arm. I no longer let myself cut, though this simple act maintained quite a resemblance.
After looking at my Labwork, Dr. Eng decided me Bipolar and prescribled Depacote as well as Paxil in the interim of finding a professional. I refused to swallow both. I was tainted by my time in psychiatrics due to Dr Kwon and the protocals he shoveled me through. Dr. Eng also prescribed weekly shots of testosterone,
“It may give you pimples, you might grow a mustache, you’ll have an easier time looking weight, your voice will deepen, but it will help.”
“No.”
All I could think about was the buy three IV treatments, get one free. The Lyrica calender on the wall, a Paxil pen.
My usual bill was 500-700 dollars per visit, which were every two weeks.
I placed myself on a stringent Candida-Control diet after needing more information than the doctors provided. They treated nutrition as if it were an afterthought. I also was taking 250 mg of Diflucan per day (an astronomical amount). I began to fight this caged feeling, gnashing my teeth around binged bread, pizza, cake. This only sparked anew the demolished structure of edible consumption and resounding bacteria/fungi. The feelings created a sense of mania, something Ileana (my third Psychiatrist) and the prescribled medication did not mend. I was not ready for them to. I began smoking in small intervals, a clove and a Marlboro shared me some nights. After this, I knew I was toxic. I decided to waltz into a wet sauna, remaining there for the allotted minutes. My body felt relief, which I welcomed, though fifteen minutes post this act, the insoluble itch began. It was stagnate clung. It was barbed and deep within my muscles. It grew slowly, like a vapor does when heat is applied.
First call to the clinic:
(Nurses were forced to work the front desk during their shifts as the business was falling to shreds)
“Why don’t you lower your Diflucan and then we will see what happens.”
“Alright, thanks for your reply. Bye.”
“Bye.”
It worked to no avail. I was bound to this creature within me, embodied by a symptom. The itch directly corrolates to the amount of sleeping pills I took each night:
1-2 per nightAmbien
½ to one per night Baclofen
4 Release & Renew
Bach Flower Remedy Spray
Trazodone 1-3 per night
Gabapentin- 4-8 per night
I was slightly uncomfortable. Forced sleep induced by medication was hardly the highest alternative. I called the clinic yet again and they did not return my call until two weeks later, despite the severity of the symptom.
I began removing pills with magnesium from my regime, knowing something off to be about them. Later, I would find that Magnesium feeds Lyme Bacteria. Aw shucks.
I met with Dr. Eng over this and her response was three-fold:
1) I have people taking ten pills at night. You should be fine with seven. (As Sheila Dunn-Merrit would later say, “Ever heard of Heath Ledger?”).
2) You’re funny. I never know if you’ll do what I ask you to do. Stay on the pills Lindsay.
3) This is out of my area of expertise, try a Dermotologist, Then: try an allergy specialist, then: try your environmental toxins.

I began seeing specialists, mainly Gynecological. I lay in those stirrups nearly once every two weeks only to be removed and placed at the hands of a research institute in Downtown Seattle. Nothing was detected. I developed bladder infections that could not be traced, giving me feelings of deep pain. It was called at one time: Inerstacial Cystitis, which means a disease with no cure and a lifetime of inadequacy. Next, I fled toward those who could help me with the intolerable symptom of irritation. My first visit was to an allergy clinic on Sand Point Way. Sidenote: during this entire time, I drove myself everywhere, collected the bulk of my prescriptions, and bore the appointments alone. It took me a long while to let my mom into that room with me. My dad as well.
I was poked at least 30 times down each arm, though no substance revealed further information. Verdict: There are no allergies, it was the medication.
Proof, I thought, until I was rejected yet again for the sake of Dermotology. I waited for two weeks, numbing my body with excessively hot showers, ice cubes, drinking entire soup pans of water, etc. Immediately, I did not like this person. He appeared incredibly uncomfortable. We spoke briefly about the diagnosis and he remained disinterested. After this, he gave me an exam. He used one fingernail to scrape across my back. From this, he learned of my inflammation. Brilliant work. Verdict: There is nothing wrong with your skin, it must be the pills. Then he tried to advertise a cosmetic service that I was appauled to hear due to it’s inappropriate nature.
I attempted the infusions (minerals, vitamins, hydration), though only twice. I remember feeling incredibly high as well as incredibly nauseous. The clinic refused to acknowledge my sensitivities and in doing so, placed me in danger. I could barely breath by my arrival home, the evening was spent in a jerked sleep stupor, wring quick sonnets on the bed sheets with the writhing yet silent keen. I was frightened over the capability over my lungs.
“We’re sorry to hear the last didn’t work for you. How about we try using only half. We have also given you a complimentary infusion for next time.”
Like a little doe I said, “I can do that,” and proceeded to attempt one last time. The result was similar, diagnosis could not stand.
After the phone calls ceased, I tripped up the coast to locations steeped in personal history: Friday Harbor and Victoria, BC. The itch, at this moment in time, was unbearable. I could hardly function within a sea of people, flowers, buildings, diagnosises. I felt at a loss, suicide playing patchwork with grief. No, they hadn’t called in two weeks. However, I was only on the cusp of what ‘The Itch” would wrench me through.
Upon this vacation did I make this conclusion:
1) The Fibromyalgia Clinic was not capable.
2) As such, I had to treat myself.
Diet was my first step. I decided to approach it in whole as I was not one for moderation. It, along with supplements and trashed Pharmaceuticals, is what settled the itch most. I came to the conclusion that it was not only irritation from the medication itself, but also from a poor response to Magnesium as well as the Candida itself.
Eventually, the clinic decided it was time for an infection panel. They believed my body was then equipped to falter through the endeavor of treatment, whatever the source.
“Alright, I have some bad news,” Dr Eng relayed.
“OK,” I said, only wanting more labels.
“You have Lymes Disease.”
“Alright.”
“You are taking this surprisingly well.”
“So what does that entail exactly?”
“It is difficult to treat because it is so painful. We use a special approach to treatment like no other doctor does. You won’t get better with this protocal. It is a year long plan. The first two months are hell. Many people have to rush to the hospital. There was one patient who had four months of hell, begging to go off the medication, but stuck it out. Now, his symptoms of Fibro are almost completely gone. That is usually the case. “
I may have been silent at this point.
“Also, one of the symptoms of Lymes Disease is Bipolar Disorder. Treatment could get you rid of that.”
“Wow.”

The appointment ended, I went to refurbish my supplements, then sat in my car. As I drove, listening to Elliot Smith New Moon, pulling on my aviator lenses, I began to cry. That evening, when I sat down with Mom, I let her in. I told her all and allowed her everything.

I have since received two outlandish requests, both over email. The first was a financial policy:
Spend 10,000 dollars get a discount on supplements

Also:
Has the holiday season made you fat? Help kick things into gear with our new thyroid medication.”

That was the last I heard from them. I may write a letter someday, though I may also not.

Defunct

2010-09-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

Hell as an antechamber of purgatory to quell rugged nausea, I have vomited savagely two to four times per day for the past seven days. This is due to a hellion of a medication called: biaxin.

Gut Claw

2010-08-22T11:03:00.000-07:00

Witty and irreverent frustration to curve smooth the wild demon writhing within me. I am in utter confusion, fueled by this purgatory of a moment. I am now in between regimes and have been for the past month and a half. After the constructive outbreak of Mepron and her cretin breakers, I was removed from the protocol. This choice was made as an attempt to curtail the acclimation and eventual disabled use of the medication. It was a bit upsetting. I then was placed with albenza, a raucously painful medication that helped me usher a sense of self love. Due to the brief quality of this time, I was able to achieve it. Sadly, the treatment plan, upon my next doctor visit, was altered drastically. it was mildly devastated as I had commit myself to this chemical, to the side effects, to the debilitation. I spent the past two and half weeks working onto an antimalerial called Malerone. Upon reaching the highest throes with this dose, a bizarre symptom arose. Located within my right ear was a rhythmic caw/scream. A violently disruptive sound. After conversing with my psychiatrist, the dose was lowered. Malerone causes ear toxicity, a strangely localized abbreviation of a side effect.

I am currently taking four of the six tablets, lacing in plaqounil this mid-day. I am subtly perplexed by this as I have already spent four months fashioning a weapon from knee jerk science. Won't my system become acclimated? Will I be taken off of it as immediately as I went on?

I am at a complete loss. What to do, what to do.

Inside Joke With Myself

2010-08-18T13:05:00.000-07:00

Odd: all conservative practitioners I have seen wear draped sweaters/yoga pants and dress their offices in beige. Rebel practitioners wear their own state of dress and have at least one brightly colored accent wall. And a lamp.

Curious

2010-08-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

During my attempt to see five/seven practitioners over the course of two weeks, Enya has been tattooed to my skull. Dare I say...I enjoy it.

What does a herx look like?

2010-08-17T12:04:00.000-07:00

Nausea in the entirety of my body.
blurred vision.
muscle cramps (enough to wake from sleep).
random vomiting,
sore throat.
limbs falling asleep quickly.
arthritis of the hands.
swollen lungs, difficulty breathing.
extreme hiccups.
mild brain fog.
bizarre cawing sound coming from the eardrum due to ear-toxicity. Finally, my ears have voice.
double-vision,
wild fatigue.
anxiety.

Social Conclusion

2010-08-09T12:45:00.000-07:00

Many dirty faucets. Ludicrous.

My brain is back today. I have spent the morning writing streamlined letters to friends I have discluded from the process.
My body is waning.

Occurred to me over the past week- I expect those who have been cut from the process (deliberately) to understand the steps i now take on this healing journey. I relay facts to friends and drawn blank are faces grim of conclusion. I realize that as difficult as it is for me to socialize with my peers, I must begin to show them the depth of what Lyme is.

My best friend is coming over this afternoon.
We shall see what happens.....

New Antibiotics

2010-07-20T12:34:00.000-07:00

I have now switched my regime. I will write it here as I feel it is important to document:

2 teaspoons Mepron
3 caps (250 each) Malerone
something or other for Albenza
something or other for Biaxin.

I believe that is the correct spelling.

I have noticed significant change in my ability to complete tasks, explore, and eat. Wonderful, though a deep angst has begun to ride me. I am terribly frustrated and locked within this time bomb.

PS. Watch the film 'My Summer, My Love'. Also, watch 'Innocence'. Gorgeous films.

2010-07-02T20:22:00.000-07:00

I find it perplexing that an Asian porn website has spammed a blog such as this. Each post is met with yet another tribute to Asian girl number three's bare chest. Where is the demand, resting in the assumption that the ill are left sexless thus to their own...device? No. It is simply poor judgement, poor placement, poor taste.

Changes

2010-06-15T21:29:00.001-07:00

New important update:

My psychiatrist has shared shorn an possibility of great importance: Mepron does not usually cause a lift in liver enzymes. That is to say, I do not have to grind myself through this protocol after all.

In other news, I am seeing a slight improvement.

Acupuncture and Lyme Disease

2010-05-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

A Word on Acupuncture:
Recently, I have begun to see an acupuncturist to help relieve pain, inflammation, toxicity, and fatigue. I entered the arena believing the practice to represent slight alleviation, as opposed to what it has become. I am capable of a functionality I haven’t tasted in years, despite the hefty dose of antibiotic I am regularly flushing down my throat.

There are numerous theories as to the effectiveness of acupuncture and the practitioner I see ascribed to this belief:
Needles are pierced into the tip of the nerve, providing communication between the median’s corresponding hurt and the brain. When the body is subject to traumatic pain, a protective mechanism acts as residue in its attempt to block sensations of pain. Acupuncture is a means to carve anew the neural pain response.

I am in awe of the relief acupuncture has provided me.

Ta!
L

Lyme, Biofilm, and a Sacred Purpose

2010-05-28T16:22:00.001-07:00

Things have become trying yet again, though I do not know to what extent.

I am on a high dose of Mepron and it seems to fall dead at the borders of bio regulated phlegm. In other words: the biofilm (a substance secreted by the bacteria used as a stomping ground for breeders) rejects entry the antibiotic's function. No matter what dose I am on, it can not penetrate this structure. I am told by my doctor that in order to reduce the substance, I must take measures to loosen and rid my body of excess lymph, reduce swelling, and avoiding trigger foods. Here is the action plan I drew up this morning:

For Inflammation:
1) avoid trigger foods (restaurant foods, peppers, fried foods, inorganic foods, agave, fruits, dairy, gluten, sugar, tomatoes, etc)
2) incorporate alkalinizing juices and vegetables into my diet
3) taking ketotefen four times a day
4) acupuncture
5) daily wheat grass shot
6) two scoops of rubor zen
7) further conducted research is necessary
8) 30 minutes of oxygen twice per day

For Toxic Lymph:
1) lymphatic drainage, either through a weekly seen masseuse or through manual drainage with machinery
2) infrared sauna (we have one now! I only have to figure out how to use it....last time was harsh)
3) dry brushing
4) clay, baking soda, and mustard baths
5) colonics (amazing for lymph around the stomach tissue!)

Biofilm:
1) starting inflammoquel along with tag along enzymes (bolouke- formed of earth worm extract, rotozyme, wobenzyme, elecampane, sencha, and natokinase)
2) up the enzymes
3) avoid dairy or over processed foods
4) test soy
5) become more meticulous upon timing of medication
6) research biofilm and the way in which it works

Indeed, there are many a things one can do to wrangle the beast of burden known as biofilm. Biofilm is not the singular factor in this equation because of the following reasons-

Biofilm is held in place by impacted tissue swollen far beyond its capacity. My doctor described it as a newly purchased sponge. When the flat sponge is placed in a tub of water, it gathers volume, quickly reaching its ultimate capacity. Beyond this, the sponge can not accept. When the tissue is in this modality, no antibiotic, nutrient, oxygen, etc can penetrate. Now consider the biofilm when held in place by said tissue. It can not be reached. So, in order to regain balance, what I must do is target the above factors. Lymphatic fluid is also a factor as it carries the toxicity pulled from said tissue. Blood is to the heart as lymph is to the lungs. However, the lungs are inadequate pump for such things and as a result must be jostled through alternate means.

Yes, chickens, the fight has reached a second act.

Lyme Chic Clothing

2010-05-25T20:25:00.000-07:00

The mystique of tragic delicacy is proliferated through the Lyme patient's attempt at fashion. Over the past year, I have lived devoid of the luxury of chic whatnots. Through a mild and abrupt sort of frustration with this fact, I have found ways in which to implement style, despite the erosion of capability. There is no need to sacrifice style for comfort, beauty for illness.

The factors of dress are maintained through a hurt and discomfort made valid of Lyme disease. The following determinants represent the demeanor in which clothing is worn, chic style is brought to fruition. The following is a list in which the Lyme patient can rest her pretty little chin:

1) to cover or avoid pressure upon the swollen gut
2) give allowance to the consistently amorphous body temperature
3) shield signs of hair loss
4) protect the skin while providing comfort
5) avoid triggers of the itch
6) clothing that will care for itself
7) the need for protection and comfort
8) the craving for luxury and an element of sophistication

The aforementioned needs are easily caressed by defining shape with billows of fabric and the following structural silhouettes:

1) The tunic or over sized sweater- Providing swaths of protective covering to the most self conscious of sick patients can lend itself to a feeling of cradled contentment. An important aspect of this look is the need for definition within the line. The articulation of the tunic’s line must be cut at a point, preferably by the top itself below the breast or at the waistline. Wear with boot cut sweatpants or leggings, pants that sag due to too much fabric sacrifice the shape of the piece.

2) The fitted top with layers- Shape is not nearly as difficult to come by as the tunic, and layers provide an ever altering ability to adjust the temperature of the body. This look is targeted towards those who experience cold sweats, chills, feverish shivers and mal contented Babesia. Layers can be provided through scarves, wraps, sweaters, even jewelry. Best accompanied with baggy or fitted sweat pants and long, luxurious necklaces to give length to the frame.

3) The dress- made strictly of cotton or jersey, the short empire waisted frock targets those with swelling in the stomach. Add bunches of jewelry as well as the legging tucked in to a pair of boots. The maxi dress works best with those whose body temperature is erratic, finding balance through length and heat through layers.

Ways to add structure: a small cross-body bag, an elastic belt (only in the realm of stomach-related benevolence), a vest, and a sweater buttoned at the waist.

An important aspect of clothing vs the Lyme patient is the chemicals vested in the pieces of fabric. I’ve found my skin can only tolerate organic pieces. Here are a few organic sites who carry organically processed clothing:
Greenloop
Nimli
Blue Canoe
C and C California

There you have it pets. Sick Chic style in the blink of an eye.
Cheers (flutter flutter).

Sick Chic

2010-05-15T13:31:00.000-07:00

I am beginning a new segment called: Sick Chic.

I consider life structured around disease to be a formulaic lifestyle lacking in panache and overall vitality. Over the course of the past year and a half, I have developed an over the counter method of approaching how to deal. It is called: make illness a lifestyle. In future posts I will explore the styling’s of an invalid and how to sculpt pleasure from the chaos.

Candida Friendly Muffins:

2010-05-14T17:00:00.000-07:00

As recipes go, this one is divine. A snack or treat, Candida sufferers still can indulge.

Cranberry-Zuccchini Muffins:

1) unsalted earth buttery spread or butter substitute for greasing the tins
2) 1 3/4 c gluten free all purpose baking mix (Bob's Red Mill) or gluten free flour substitute
3) 1/2 t baking powder
4) 1/2 t baking soda (aluminum free)
5) 1/2 t ground cinnamon
6) 1/4 t salt
7) 2 large eggs
8) 1/2 cup truvia
9) 1/2 cup vegetable oil
10) 1/2 t vanilla extract
11) 1 cup finely grated zucchini
12) 1/2 cup fresh or frozen cranberries

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and generously "butter" all twelve muffin tins in one muffin pan. In a medium bowl mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt until combined. Set aside.

In another bowl, whisk eggs, sweetener, vegetable oil, and vanilla. Stir in zucchini, making sure not to overmix. Fold in the cranberries.

Pour batter into muffin tins evenly. Bake until muffins are golden, rotating the pan halfway through. They should be done after 25-30 minutes.

Bon appetite!

Birthdays and Serum Levels

2010-05-02T19:20:00.001-07:00

There was a feeling when she told me of my treatment plan that spoke of fluid need of gut feeling.

Three teaspoons of Mepron- an unorthodox level set to the tone of no one but me endangered to my own will. I must do this now, my body tells me. It screeches at points, insoluble to the pain derided churlish in a personification of illness.

My brain function has come back in shards, like the triangle of an elusive pie. I have been treating the Toxoplasmosis for nearly three months. One more, then I will check yet again.

It is possible as a Lyme patient to rework your eyesight without the help of spectacles. I will see this woman sometime...possibly.

I have been absent in my attempt to deal with pain through natural therapies.

I met a girl two days ago who has Lyme. She is sixteen.

I am now 20, my birthday on the 29th of April. Last year was spent in stirrups at the Gynecologist. Have I changed? Yes though it is subtle.

My mom and aunt have now begun seeing my energy therapist. We have talks of spirituality now. My aunt and I are beginning to have a relationship that spans deep.

Anyway, that is my life as of now.

Mirror, Mirror

2010-04-17T18:25:00.000-07:00

I have difficulty allowing myself to 'appear ill' around others. This fear is derived from a social need to perform, please, and maintain a bond crafted through the use of wit, flirtation, and synthetic optimism. This drive has heightened since the uppage of a certain medication known for causing anxiety. In the past, I have found pain and debilitation to strip me of falsehood and leave me bare, as my true self. Illness allows passage in this regard. In a way, I may have taken it for granted. I have taken a break from 'working on myself'. Now I am simply breaking myself down or numbing myself to a state in which pain is only a means to damage and destroy.

My brother has recently been accepted to Carnegie Mellon, Washington University (in St. Louis), UW, and UBC. I am happy for him, but at the same time, it is difficult to watch him evacuate the nest I still (forcibly) occupy. My situation is monotony, most means to taste pleasure are completely out of my reach. As a Lyme patient, one can not take part in stereotypical habits associated with the ill. I am utterly, utterly frustrated. I feel locked into the present by a future I can not experience. It drives me but it deadens me. No more poetry. No more optimism. No more realism either, only what is perceived.

Update

2010-04-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

Hello!

Things have been going quite well. I am currently under the influence of Plaquenil, Mepron, Clindamycin (all at their full dose) and Alinia (half way there). I am beginning to feel their lasting effects as I can no longer function due improperly shaped fatigue. Some wonderful news: I am beginning to gain back brain function. It comes, it goes, but it comes and my mind is not so much muddled static as a chaotic slumber. I have been baking quite frequently as well. It is a refuge.

2010-04-04T15:54:00.000-07:00

I am now on the full dose of three antibiotics, adding another on Monday. I am surprised at my tolerance level, though it feels certain symptoms trickle in slowly. Full body itch again, a couple of ideas why.

This past visit with my doctor went well. I am told that I am getting better while simultaneously becoming worse. Not sure what to make of it just yet.

Happy Easter.

2010-03-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I had a small dinner party with my mom and aunt. This is what I made:

1) thyme and Parmesan crackers
2) salmon beurre blanc with snow peas
3) chocolate panna cotta with whipped cream, strawberries, and rosemary shortbread

Of course I ate none of it, but how I love to entertain.
Tomorrow, I am upping the dose of Mepron, it will be the highest dose on this particular drug.

and....I'm exhausted.

Debriefing

2010-03-08T20:13:00.000-08:00

Hello Blog People, it has been a while. Lately, I have felt a greater sense of relief through mini-excursions involving my parental unit mother and a larger capacity to do things. I am currently taking one teaspoon of the infamous Mepron and 300 mg of Clindamycin. I believe I am tolerating it. This past week, I went into a restaurant and ate corn tortillas. The last time I ingested edibles from a professional eatery was at least one year ago. I do not believe I am 'better', it is simply a positive synchronicity of medical pellets within the soluble body that is myself.

New Therapies:

1) Acupuncture
2) Oxygen tank
3) Neuropathy gel
4) agave-sweetened yum yums
5) hope

And the great news- my family has decided to build an Infrared Sauna, making the detox process much easier. I am still researching alternative therapies for pain killers. The information-collecting stage is nearly complete. Then, I will test them and inform all of you lovely chickens of their effectiveness/ relevance towards Lyme Disease.

I have included a photo of my cat because he could make anyone feel better. Really. No sarcasm, just truth. Honest truth. Nothing but.

Peace and love and hope and stuff,
L

2010-02-07T12:18:00.000-08:00

Today, I am riddled with anxiety. I am exhausted. For the first time in over a year, I cheated my diet in slight and combined brown rice with egg. The product was a series of cramps so severe the result was vomit. This has happened before, to a lesser degree.

I feel socially devolved. It frustrates me that years of my youth are spent in a senile state. I want to feel young, look young, find young friends. I feel isolated from most of the world, living in a narrow reality that does not include many people. When I watch movies now, I feel sick. When I journal, I feel sick. I am so tired of this charade. I want to be able to do something of interest without penalizing what I feel.

Toxoplasmosis

2010-02-05T16:42:00.000-08:00

A setback:
Yesterday, I was diagnosed with a rare, parasitic brain infection known as Toxoplasmosis. It is passed through the fecal matter of a cat and I happen to have three of them. It only happens to those with a severely compromised immune system. My doctor looked at me and said, "I only found this through my neurosis." I am glad she did, though I also feel regretful of the diagnosis. I felt so close to my goal. I had been taking Zythromycin, Bactrem, and a full dose of Tindamax. However, this new development may be easier to treat on the short term. It is not another Bartonella, thank God.

I am now off antibiotics (which is frustrating but must be done) and taking two anti-parasite treatments that also treat the Borrelia bacteria (Lyme). I feel tired of this charade, regretful of the diagnosis I received. Here is the conclusion I have come to:

Treatment can change illness of the body, not a diagnosis. It doesn't matter what you call it, it only matters how it is treated. I have another infection that has been causing jaundice, muscle pains, emotional instability, and cognitive issues. I have no idea how long treatment will last, though I am guessing up to one month. With an immune system like mine, who really knows. My doctor said, "I have to revert to using books with you!" There is a part of me that likes being a challenge, though I wish I didn't have to martyr myself to do it.

I most likely contracted the illness by kissing one of my cat's on the head, of which had just been licked with saliva containing feces. Otherwise, it is anyone's guess.

This is my current motto: I just have to make some decisions and bear the consequence.

Today, I had acupuncture for the second time. It was far more painful than the last. I am searching for alternative therapies to pain killers and will write a lengthy post about them in the near future.

Toodles needlers,
Lindsay

Sleep

2010-02-02T19:55:00.000-08:00

This has been a difficult week. I have lost a fair amount of weight, sleep, and mental stability. I am currently on the mend. The cause for such distress was a new medication called: Xyrem. After restricting my ability to achieve a voluptuous, full bodied sleep, it caused what I have now termed: jitter fuck hysteria. It was horrendous. I am now on simply Zyprexa, as I had been prior.

I taking Tindamax, Bactrem, and Azithromycin. We are targeting Bartonella, and I feel it royally.
PS- My eyesight is shot.

2010-01-23T16:52:00.001-08:00

Through those around me I am able to eat cookies, cake, ice cream- vicariously, of course. For a year and a half I have refrained from sugar, fruit, gluten, and dairy. I crave them on occasion, significant of Candida. Yeast is a pest of woven diligence.

A Quick Word

2010-01-20T22:07:00.000-08:00

Nausea.

I am currently high dosing it on shambles of phraseology, aka writing floral without the musk of a point. Maybe there is no point this evening, though it is hardly without edge.

I am currently taking: 500 mg of Tindamax three times per day as well as 250 mg of Azithromycin morning as well as evening.

oy.

Cue the Neon

2010-01-14T23:00:00.000-08:00

I feel motivated and want to proclaim: GOAL DOSE, GOAL DOSE, MILESTONE!!!!!

Just thinking about touching you, oh future life, becoming one day soluble to your shapeless depth. Here I am, hoping.

Yes, finally, a little hope.

Update

2010-01-10T22:38:00.001-08:00

I've avoided this venue of projection because little else has happened, so now I will update.

I am currently on a medium-level dose of Tindamax, of which I have taken for nearly a month. It has been a year since the diagnosis of Lyme Disease. In this way, I feel frustrated and oddly abandoned. I regret many of the decisions I have made over the past year pertaining to treatment. However, from this time I have gleaned a pivotal understanding of treatment and the resulting bodily politic known as: self medication. I believed in killing the preliminary bugs in order to gain stability through doses of greater intensity. I have found this to be a foul approach as the illness is a live organism, neither inanimate or stagnant. They will continue to breed with a velocity outreaching their potential rate of demise.

Another aspect of treatment that has finally caught my attention: it is not control of the body that lends itself to a lessened herx, it is medication. After experiencing pain, frustration, and damage at the hands of pharmaceutical substances and those dispensing them, I felt medication was harmful. Things have changed in this regard.

So, one great happening.

XMRV

2009-12-21T21:11:00.001-08:00

good news: i do not have the virus.

i feel like i am slipping again. i've made peace with the fact that when treatment is over, i will be dependent upon pain killers, sleeping pills, possibly some benzodiazepines. Medication is my haggle-weapon. I need it in order to be on the level of antibiotic that is necessary. i am now taking tramodol, oxycodone, my psych has been pushing valium for a year now. i have them, though the thought of becoming addicted to this medication frightens me. it is a difficult choice- the use of valium would greatly improve my current condition. when life feels unbearable enough, the thought that i am still holding out on myself makes me feel at odds.

i've felt anxious over the past week. often, anxiety becomes the connectivity of escape. that is to say- it fuels the fantasy by holding it in place. anxiety is volatile yet stationary.

valium addiction can occur after three days of taking it. i don't know what to do. when it comes down to it, i think i will make some decision that is true to the moment.

Tick Borne Illness: Virus?

2009-12-04T20:04:00.000-08:00

there is a test i need to take, though i don't know if i can handle the result at this point in time. i have no idea how it may change my life when treatment is semi-complete. calculated potential to replace faith in the face of apathy; i feel bitter.

how strong a person must be to hold objective observation and hope in one hand.

there is a standard way to behave when one is ill, which is ridiculous. this standard breeds a pin tucked response, one of small footholds.

if all are a mix between calculated response and organic reaction, then how do you define manipulation? identity? individuality?

i feel as if i have played a character for years, a grid pulled over my skin like a sheet. when 2 dimensional character meets equation, she becomes animate. she lives for you, eats for you, dies for you. she buries your faults in salted wax, begs you to lick at the wick with silent reverie under a microscope. heat, she says, heat, though the slick of your tongue prevents fire from enshrouding the cycle.

i do not trust myself under the implication of this nouelle vague viral dimwit (shameless, lovely rhetoric without destination or purpose). the label changes much, how odd. the label, a strict coersion in word play upon the graph of the industry, can still touch this moment while fondling the next.

well, let me put it plainly- one month ago, they found a new tick borne illness. it is viral. it has been around for quite some time. my doctor believes me to have it. there are things i can do to keep it at bay, though it can not be murdered entirely.

this possibility frightens me. the thought of being sick for the rest of my life while having been sick since i was three makes the situation feel hopeless. sometimes, i sit alone and question whether i truly desire healing, whether i deserve it. often, i choose to go without psychiatric medication, without pain killers simply because the pain enlivens me, whiddles me, makes me feel a sense of purpose: self destruction.

i have always been a passionate person. it is hard to say that of me now, though i still fashion sacrifices of myself for the sake of creativity. this is how i pulled myself through high school, at least one right of passage.

even more plain- if i have the virus and learned tomorrow, i do not know if i would choose to continue treating the illness. this is honest. this is what i feel. suicidal isn't the word. the desire for suicide used to lap at the sands of apathy, though now i sense them to be upon separate layers. this is why such passionate weight can be heaved by the desire for total obliteration while also maintaining care in the shape of a cracked egg shell.

i continue to shed hair.

i am utterly confused.

i'll take the test in one week.

Encapsulated Consciousness: The Anti-Anti Drug

2009-12-03T21:57:00.000-08:00

It is late, so I will keep this short.

I am now on a series of antibiotics that target the gut specifically. My doctor looked at my treatment plan and said, "This is a work of art."

Jagged

2009-10-15T17:43:00.000-07:00

I feel a kind of stark lunacy driven by a would be eclectic lust for destruction- that which allows an eruption of structure, of wood.

That is the romantic interpretation, now for something classic:

Two months of veganism wasn't so brilliant after all.

Things are hard. I guess these symbols, disconnected things, alterable roots, my mind's lateral saunter (and not much else), have digested themselves as a perceptual fiber. I can't seem to break them down.

I crave something that I can not name. It is making me question the validity of my body's set of sensations, or at least my interpretation of them.

By the way, I am back from Friday Harbor. It was nice getting out of the house for a period of time. I am far more sick than I had previously thought, so was unable to do much at all.

Comprehensive thought is difficult for me to complete. The words come, independent of linear meanings but hopeful of conveyance all the same. I do not journal as fervently as I did, only because the entries sound like this:

(")The split is a time-wrought tempo to grind simultaneously of one independent identity with another within one's sac of skin, the amorphous organism of glorified smut set to clock work static. Drifting? Down slopped with a cyanide kiss. (")

So I don't really see the point. The words are available with little control or effort. By the end you are dry and without conclusion.

I am still in a state of confusion/agitation over my last doctor's appointment, wherein she told me this,

"Lindsay, I am scared for you. I am worried you will face plant and I won't be able to help you. Organ failure is a possibility. I'll tell you now, you are going to have horrific die off. It is going to be hell."

Also, apparently I am so deprived of nutrients that my hair is falling out, my skin is of a yellow tint, and I am delirious with a hunger little will satisfy. My stomach is no longer in the truly functional category. Next month, I will begin with the end.

2009-09-26T13:21:00.000-07:00

Alright.
I'm here in Friday Harbor. I've had a difficult time. I was taking Echinacea for a cold, which was then giving me unsuspected die off. I'm still trying to get my bearings.

Right now, I feel horrible. I feel horrible because I want to get out of my body, I want to massacre myself, reform in a different shape with a different haircut. I am drawn to the internet today. This is typical for this kind of energy pattern. Half of me is dead, dormant. The other half is jittery, unconsoleable. This charging in two directions.

I was unable to detox for the past two weeks due to illness. Now, I am trying again. Though last night, sleep was hard to come by. Five hours, another four riddled with medication. A bad combination.

There is room for shedding something. My hair is falling out, more now than ever. I do not know if it will start to show or how much will continue to drop. When I am having bad die off, I just want to shave my head. I feel tired of having hair. Tired of hair, it is a nusance.

I know now that I need to be alone. And it is funny, ironic but not because it fits. Now that I am alone, in solitude, I am reaching for the constructs formed under the influence of those i feel socially dependent upon. It is a means of control. Cutting when angry, a similar scenario.

So I am writing because I want to run and can not. I am writing because I also want to settle into my body and can't find a foothold. There is another goal in my head that drives this- how do I maintain this isolation? It is a call, something I must listen to now. I have had it for a while. Years now.

Naughty-cal Thirst

2009-09-17T08:39:00.000-07:00

Q: How much water are you supposed to drink per day?
A: Half your body weight in ounces.

Avoid tap water if you can. Most tap contains: Chlorine (added specifically to kill bacteria- including the action heroes of your gut), Flouride (added to prevent tooth decay, though it is now considered detrimental to the system), bacteria, organic contaminants, chemical polutants, and medication.

P.S. Add some course sea salt for electrolytes or lemon for an alkalinizing zing.

Chloroporn: Raw, Uncut

2009-09-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

A little inspiration for all you lonesome ill-ward beasts:

This afternoon's juice was a little too fruitful in the cleansing department. It goes a little something like this:

Base-Root-Groove

2 small red beets
3-4 stalks celery
5 large carrots

Powerful. My stomach is now struggling for dominance over nausea. There is a nocturnal quality to root vegetables. It's one thing to eat them wrapped in skin, unearthed from dirt. It's another to remove their fiber, drink them as a dense expansion of their formerly imploded selves. Beets in particular- knotted darkness buried in elemental quietude. A warning on this juice: incorporate slowly. This vaguely renounced insomniac knows the glowering wrath of consensual night. So, work up in quadrants por favor.

Also: yesterday (?) I was attempting to detox in mind (side note: amma is a term used in Ayurvedic medicine referring to both the mental and physical state of congestion that contributes to illness and strife) through the use of positive affirmations. After coming up with: you are kick ass and beautiful/your illness makes you sexier/the illness gives depth to your sex appeal/ you're really a cool chick; I realized the reason why this method has never worked for me, then wrote this on a whiteboard:

"What is it about affirmations that always seem beside the point?
To pin this?
Asinine."

To somehow categorize or classify this 'lifestyle' (serious chronic illness) makes it easier to grasp and more difficult to experience. Sometimes, I would say that is the point, to shunt and clench. Alternately, the use of affirmations in my experience can gloss over the insecurities that exist for a specific reason. The act of repeating, "I am worthy, I will heal!" will not treat the reason as to why feelings of otherwise exist. Repetitive phrase is not a tool to sculpt an unruly mind. Maybe for some, for some it works. For me, I am sick of numbing what I feel, even if it is rough. That is where I am now, with a cocktail of raw veggie juice.

Cheers heathen hunters,
Lindsay

All Thumbs

2009-09-07T15:05:00.000-07:00

The lowdown on wheatgrass:

Chlorophyll- 5000 mg/pound
Choline- 4000 mg/pound
Vitamin C- 2000 mg/lb
Vitamin A- 360 mg/lb
Vitamin E- 120 mg/lb
Vitamin F- 120 mg/lb
Vitamin K- 120 mg/lb
Niacin- 120 mg/lb
Riboflavin- 12 mg/lb
Thiamine- 8 mg/lb
B6- 4 mg/lb

Great stuff, effective stuff, stuff that is still easy to thwart (growth-wise). Two batches, zero fruition. Here's the kit I use to rehearse with:

Wheatgrass Kit

Stealthy growing,
Lindsay

Day III:

2009-09-06T17:43:00.000-07:00

The Roman Eye set to the din of highbrow perplexion. I am hoping the other than mouthed dialogue (lines, wrinkles) will unfold soon. Otherwise I may have to surrender myself to discombobulation. My body is speaking in tongues, though doesn't it always?

Well, confusion, in a glance.

I am attempting to steady myself with a new plan called square one. Time, oblong. This may take a while.

There is a storm outside of my window. It is lovely. I miss the rain.

Detoxification for the purpose of Lyme obliteration:
My body is clinging to what it feels it is in need of. I tend to do the same. I as in my mind, the hunt in which thought is triggered. I am myself today, an alternate self born of Thyronine (a thyroid medication I am fond of right now). There are overlays in which projection of the self resides. In each overlay rests a program- 3D and complex for the sake of maintaining whatever it is you feel you must maintain. A knotted ladder. A cube. Cubist like the key of an instrument. Or, me. I do not know if many do this, maybe they do. I however am a somewhat prodigy.

So, now. I am training my body, creating a base in which detox can happen without hitch and wed blind wet to the overflow of acid rain. In other words: waiting three hours between consistent meals, raw food until dinner, separating meals, etc.

It is frustrating. I must take it slow. But still. Might I say rrgh?

rrgh.

Sewing: Fabrication To Concrete

2009-09-05T18:06:00.000-07:00

Technical difficulties! It seems detoxification is a greater stag to lasso than I had previously imagined. I shall continue- it is day two of the regime extraordinaire. I have come to the conclusion that cleansing will feel quite similar to Die Off, as the pain of such an ordeal rests firmly in the paws of toxicity (aside from the added bonus of lethargy and fat cat bacteria). Also, the toxins I am unearthing are most likely the rooted parting gift of the aforementioned deadly cretins, aka their doppelgangers.

It is perplexing. It is stressful. These are alterations without the firm base of controlled variable. This is bloated throttle. I feel in a way that I am threading wakefulness through a dormant needle and hoping they will be drawn out. Blood in this case is quite shy.

Well, I am only playing this evening. I am bored. So, zap: a blog post. I am also alone. I only feel alone when I am distant. Maybe I am already on the coast. Coasting. No.

I'm loosing hair. A prescription from Ann Wigmore: wheatgrass juice to douse the scalp. It helps.

Cleansing

2009-09-02T19:48:00.001-07:00

Things have been hard, different. I have decided to go forth with this detox plan and am spending two weeks alone at a cottage on an island off the coast of Washington. I look forward to the change.

I am unhappy now as I am confused and have the sneaking suspicion that my thyroid medication is not working as it should.

I had my first colonic three days ago at a place called Tummy Temple. It feels more like physical therapy than anything else. I am also discouraged by it due to my bodily response. My head is pounding, lights are flashing, I can barely stand up. I'm a little concerned as to how the rest of detox will play out. I'm planning on going all raw (finally). My goal is to have two liquid meals (one blended, one juiced) and one salad/liquid meal per day. Also, to have three servings of wheat grass, juiced ginger, beet juice, and of course Green Lemonade. Rye-based Rejuvelac (a fermented drink made from wheat, cabbage, or rye) may be on the menu. This is my dietary schedule (I need to set a day to begin):

breakfast: 25-30 oz Green Lemonade
snack: organic, herbal tea (which is a good supply of electrolytes), fresh young coconut water, or carrot juice
15 minutes prior lunch: either 2-3 oz wheat grass, 2-4 oz beet juice, or 8-16 oz green lemonade
lunch: raw blended veggie soup/smoothie (with at least one cup of sprouts), optional large salad, optional ginger limeade
snack: 20-30 oz Green Lemonade, veggie juice, or raw almond milk
15 minutes prior dinner: 2-3 oz wheat grass
dinner: raw, blended soup or smoothie, optional salad
for the rest of the evening: herbal tea, coconut water
before bed: 8-16 oz carrot juice

And aside from the above...
1) 2 Tablespoons sea vegetables (wonder substance, B vitamins and complete protein galore)
2) 2-3 oz ginger shot (aids with detox of the lungs)
3) organic fiber supplement (soluble fiber is a makeshift sponge that sucks up toxin in the colon, insoluble helps with elimination as it can not be broken down through digestion)
4) protein powder (either hemp, pea, or brown rice-based- also a toxin binder for fat soluble toxins)
5) 2 Tablespoons olive oil, one tablespoon aloe vera gel (taken orally aids with positive bacteria in the gut and lubrication)
6) 2-6 cups fresh sprouts
7) Spiralina or Chlorella (in a smoothie)
8) Liv.52 (a liver support supplement)
9) parsley, burbur, and sparga (as toxin binders)
10) 1 cup Rejuvelac (if it does not trigger the candida)
11) enough filtered water to urinate each hour (a pinch of Himalayan Sea Salt will aid with electrolyte intake, the designer mineral for detox victims)

After the toxins have been removed by the mighty powers of Chlorophyl (liquid sunshine), they must be eliminated. But how?
These are the major eliminative organs and systems the body utilizes for the purpose of detoxification:

1) kidneys- they flush gathered acid out through urine. Water is a key factor in aiding the plight of the kidney. Also, in traditional Chinese Medicine, the kidneys are where kindness is held. They are the "seat of life". So treat them with care.

2) liver- cleanses the blood through two key phases: biochemically transforming toxins into a secondary substance and neutralizing the secondary substance. Bile is also important in elimination, a substance gathered by the liver and kept in the gallbladder.

3) skin- the largest eliminative organ of the body that goes into overtime if the bowels are not up to snuff, thus shedding light upon the herxheimer breakout.

4) lungs- with each exhale, you are relieving the body of carbon dioxide thus alkalinizing the blood.

5) colon- enough said.

6) the lymphatic system- the clear fluid encasing your cells and organs that carries waste born of tissue. This system has no "pump", so techniques like dry brushing or gentle exercise (I wish) aid in the releasing of the pathogenic heathens bathing inside.

7) circulatory system- alkalinizing the blood is a powerful detox tool, as disease can not thrive as lustily in such an environment.

8) the mind- the body carries the weight of the mind and many toxins are emotional.

ALRIGHT- so, now that your brief education is complete, here is what I intend to do:
I can not stress enough the importance of balanced cleansing. This means the toxins you draw from your cells (through juicing with chloryphic greens, sea veggies, algaes, raw and easily digestible foods, and love; along with the enemas I will mention in a few sentences) must be eliminated from the body quickly enough to avoid both reabsorption and physical danger. Supporting the detox pathways/organs within the body through nutritional aid and supplementation is also imperative.

Activities bent upon elimination:
1) infrared or dry sauna for 15-20 minutes (infrared is more effective and comfortable as it does not use heat but energy waves to penetrate deep within the tissue and pull poisons from them)
2) dry brushing (prior to showering, take a vegetable bristle skin brush and swipe the skin in upward strokes. Begin with the extremities and work inward toward the heart. Always brush toward the heart. The purpose of this exercise is to stimulate the lymph to a state of mobility and remove any dead skin cells that may block the pour's ability to breathe with ease)
3) hot-cold plunges (turn the heat of the shower thirty seconds on hot and thirty seconds on cold)
4) clay baths
5) ginger-eucalyptus bath soaks
6) filtered water or coffee enemas (coffee stimulates the liver to release bile and aids with peristaltic contractions that help the colon function, be careful as the coffee can deplete the body of iron overtime)
7) wheat grass or probiotic implants (use an infant enema bulb and hold 2-6 oz of fluid for 30-60 minutes, they will help repopulate the colon with bacterial goodies)
8) colonics (do not underestimate the power of the colonic. All I can say is ow.)
9) deep breathing exercises
10) meditation
11) light yoga or stretching
12) acupuncture
13) massage
14) aromatherapy
15) rest and reflexology
16) castor oil stomach wraps (smear your stomach in castor oil, place a warm towel over it, wrap yourself in saran wrap, and place a hot water bottle over the whole endeavor. I have yet to try it, though it supposedly helps with elimination)
17) reiki
20) laughter, sunshine, and plenty of fresh air

And that, my friends, is a Detox plan. Many hours of research. I will most likely start in the next 3-4 days. My doctor has given me the OK, the cottage is booked, now all I need to do is hunt and gather supplies. Further reading, if you are interested:

'Clean' by Alejandro Junger
'The Hippocrates Diet and Health Program' by Ann Wigmore
'The Raw Food Detox Diet' by Natalia Rose
'The Detox Strategy' by Brenda Watson
'Conscious Eating' by Gabriel Cousens
Crazy Sexy Life

So here's to the next month!

Peace in fragments,
Lindsay

Button

2009-08-18T18:03:00.001-07:00

Alright, things have changed a little.

I was having a tough time, as exemplified by my prior journal entry.

I don't know exactly what I will do, but I know I need some understanding of healing, of solitude. I need to detoxify thoroughly. What I may do is stop treatment for a month and a half, spend this time alone on some sort of detox program. I will stay away from home. This is important.

There are a couple of issues with this. One is my ability to detoxify properly while maintaining my current pathogen load. 'Clean' by Alejandro Junger is quite inspirational. He also cautions detox regimes while as ill as I currently am. That said, the issue is with toxin elimination and energy.

Now, I eat raw until dinner and juice to a large degree. I would like to go entirely raw and juice until dinner (if possible).

Juice assists in pulling toxins embedded in the cells into the blood. Once within the blood, they must be neutralized and eliminated. Otherwise, they will bake back into the cells or cause more damage. So, when juice fasting you must have proper fiber/protein supplementation (binds the toxins within the colon) as well as mineral supplementation. In all actuality, for me, juice fasting is out of the picture.

Raw foods provide the necessary fiber, enzymes, and nutrients while assisting in detox. Going all raw would not be a stretch for me. I have been eating 'raw til dinner' since February.

For a Lyme patient, it seems pulling the toxins from the cells is not really the issue. The issue is elimination. As the bacteria reside in the gut. My logic is when stopping the medication for a period of time, the inflammation will reeceed and energy levels will go up. Energy is essential to detox, as the body will put this function off until proper focus (due energy) can be placed upon it. This is the idea behind fasting: the energy used for digestion, for life, for stress, is no longer needed. It will be used along with chlorophyll-ish products to reduce the load. However, herbal laxatives may be needed in order to complete the process.

I need to be careful. I feel that I began treatment insanely toxic. I had been working with a clinic specializing in Fibromyalgia and capitalistic gain who insisted on pumping my body with chemicals, supplements, IV treatments until it could not take anymore.
Example:

me: I don't know if six sleeping pills a night is something I am comfortable with.
doctor: Lindsay, I have patients taking ten. You never do what I prescribe. You need sleep, you'll be fine.

After six became seven and a half, I stopped. After 30 capsules became 60, I stopped. After I could barely breathe due to an IV mineral drip, I called it quits. My body became so irritated I could no longer continue with my life. It was spent searching for the answer, why was my body reacting in such a way? The clinic responded by telling me it was the Fibromyalgia. Because I had reduced my medication-load, my symptoms had worsened. I was Bipolar, I should see a psych. That was why my body behaved oddly. Maybe it was heavy metal poisoning, buy more medication. Maybe it is just you Lindsay, I don't know anymore. We have medication for that too.

A period of severe difficulty. After testing more medication, seeing more specialists, the clinic finally decided to do the infamous "infection panel". I was positive for Lyme.

That is when I left and found Susan.

That is why I believe detoxification is what my body needs in order to progress to a place where it can handle more medication. Maybe there is something I am missing, maybe detox will not work. Though, I feel if I were to simply go off the medication and begin eating entirely raw, I would see results.

My plans are not set in stone, but they also have to do with the need for a mental break.
I must do something for myself, the greater picture of myself, my fire ball, my core. I need to learn, I need to confront. I need to understand, question, and cleanse the mental bile that has been corroding my perspective and desire for years. I feel ready to do this.

I've been through five psychiatric diagnoses. I've attempted to manage and confront the issues at differing periods of my life. They came back, though through those times I learned skills that helped me find alternate footing. I am ready again. I am ready.

Heal the whole self. I must be alone. I must be alone to detoxify, read, and truly deal with these things. I believe this is also conducive to my health, even if treatment is held on pause for a month.

My main concern is safety while ill. I am still questioning this move. If I make it, it will be right. It will not be impulsive. I know that I need this, I feel it would mean something quite large to me. I just need to find a plan that is safe.

2009-08-13T19:51:00.000-07:00

I want to write, so this is where I will. It won't be witty or enlightening. I hope it is comfortable, I want to find someplace to write where I can be myself, not have to project anything and still be read.

I am at a loss. I do not know where I stand any longer, if there were a solid beside my body. My body. My body my mind. It is all very opaque now. Funny word for something rather unimportant.
What I mean is- there are phases. There are phases of shock in which the body struggles to cope and can not. Alacrity comes to mind, only because it means liveliness and contains the word lack. It is of alacrity.

The phases of shock, of one stupid mistake lasting weeks. God. My body does not respond well.
I feel like I am beginning to loose my hair, I do not know how true this is. It is thinning and my thyroid is attacking itself while my eyebrows are falling off. My face is turning yellow. My guess is throat organ or liver, take your pick.

I am very afraid. It is not enticing. Pain is something I have been drawn to in the past, but not this kind of pain. At times, it feels worthless. Pain that is worth nothing and will teach you nothing. Pain that is indicative of nothing but a message, a swan song of dying bacteria. You are housing a dying colony within your body and when they begin to shudder and crack, they pulse through your flesh as opposing forces and you can

No, no. This is far too dramatic. I do not want to romanticize what I feel, I do not want to debase it like that any longer.

I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid.

Third time's a charm.

Only when my body is shot do I realize how sick I am. I am horribly, horribly sick. I am not the sickest in my doctor's practice, this she told me. A woman in her thirties with two children who doesn't sleep is her sickest patient. I do not know her name. I am incredibly ill. I AM SICK

There, I said it now we can move on.
My friends do not understand. I do not say this in a degrading way, only as fact. In fact, many of them do not realize that I am confined strictly to my house now. Sometimes to bed. It frustrates me deeply. Part of me wants to shout and curse, BE HEARD. But, I am tired of having to project my life. To package it in some way. Now, I guess, I look quite ill so my face speaks for itself.

I am alone. I am also tired of saying that and hearing, "No, you have me." Well, yes. Yes, and thank you. I appreciate it as much as I can. Or, I try to on good days. However, I am not referring to support. I am referring to understanding. An understanding difficult to come by. Something in which I do not have to inject and ejaculate optimism when I explain my life. My life. This is my LIFE

Here is something about my friends that I am proud of:
About six of them formed their own professional theater group for high school actors. They are in the paper, winning awards, and quite successful. I love their willingness, their passion. Yet, I feel left behind. This shames me.

I HATE BEING SICK I HATE IT

I HATE IT

I am tired of playing pretty. I am tired. I am tired. I am tired.

Detox

2009-08-05T14:26:00.001-07:00

I've recently realized the importance of a little thing called detox. This idea bloomed unto me with heavy, odorous invitation- die off is simply over toxicity. In order to maintain a level of safety with treatment, you must flush the poisons from your system as well. Once I began to truly confront this issue, I could tolerate, well, some semblance of functionality within my home. These are the steps I have taken and would suggest to others who are interested.

1) Juicing (for Lyme patients: carrot juice and 'green lemonade')- by bathing your cells in chlorophyll, magnesium, live enzymes, and love, pollutants and waste are more easily eliminated from your system. The waste is drawn from the bowel when it would have otherwise congealed there. Pretty nifty, I would say.

2) Toxin Binders- I use Sparga (sulphur detox), Burbur, and Parsley. They are quite potent, but work only when the individual is capable of eliminating the accumulated waste.

3) Clay Baths

4) Magnesium/ Sea Salt Baths

5) Colonic Hydration (use only the gravity method and a knowledgeable practitioner)

6) Coffee Enemas- honestly? They are incredible. The caffeine is absorbed through the bowel and flushed through the system, binding the toxins while removing bile from the liver. Two times a week max. I listen to Rufus Wainwright and veg on the bathroom floor. Three cheers for me time.

7) Infrared Saunas

8) Sunshine- I would add an exclamation mark for ironic value, but I don't want to detract from the potency of this wondrous galactic fireball.

9) Lymphatic massage

10) Raw foods- One must be particularly careful when treading these waters. However, with the habitual ingestion of live enzymes, the toxic waste stored from ten years ago is unearthed and shed. When ill, this is troublesome as detoxification to such a degree can lead to unnecessary pain.

11) Acupuncture

12) Deep breathing- the lungs are detox organs when they want to be.

13) Dry brushing- Simply take a skin brush and whisk it over the skin before taking a shower.

14) Eliminating environmental toxins- There are pollutants you can not avoid these days. However, through filtering your drinking water, purifying the air supply in your home, using non toxic cleaning products/body care products, ingesting only organic foods, sleeping in organic sheets, etc- you can skip out on many of them.

Let the cleansing begin.

P.S. I have started to grow wheat grass. More on this later.

2009-07-25T19:14:00.000-07:00

Also- medicinal jazz in the form of Charles Mingus lends momentum to choreographed still.

Today

2009-07-25T18:56:00.000-07:00

My brain's capacity to function on a linear level has diminished. It frightens me, though affords a certain kind of opportunity all the same. There have been periods in which I can not decipher verbal input. That is to say- words no longer have meaning. They are a series of texturized sounds. Today is alright.

Sleep has been an issue. Ambien became a substance I was dependent upon for sleep, regardless of how I drugged myself otherwise. After three months of steady use, it no longer put me to sleep either, only released a flood of energy. For a short time, I went without sleep, five complete days of three hours or less. I could barely move my body, the cane was too heavy, and I clung to the walls in a desperate attempt to walk. I also became ill with the flu.

I have never felt pain to such an extent. I don't want to shatter it by attempting to verbalize with unwieldy phraseology. However, I will say this: it was the sort of inescapable pain that will override time, pattern, emotion, identification, and desire. It is pure, it is destructive, and it is wise. That is all I will say, but know that it has effected me deeply. I do not know how long this will last or how long until another swell of opaque fatigue comes back.

I have been eating quite well. A year without gluten, sugar, dairy. Half a year half raw. Cleansing is an important aspect of treatment, diet is a vehicle in order to do this.

I feel disjointed, emphatically limbic, swilling backwash of the mind. It's getting harder.

Meditation

2009-07-10T16:23:00.001-07:00

Today is a day of crippling, liquid pain.

Ambien occasionally insights an actuality in opposition. I was up all night, drugged deep within the vortex of dish water defunctitude. Plans, making plans of lofty significance: a rooftop hideaway, a rich tapestry, a rug of resistance.

This is the pain that breaks you. This pain, this pain is the intimacy you crave. The illness is not your own, because it is an entity in and of itself. It is tangible through sensation, through the pervasive endurance of understanding, through the open quality of your intestinal tract, of your waning cognitive ability.

My mind thinks in busy work- four letter words to batter themselves, clinging to shreds of intersection without the linear quality of conscious thought. Dull, medicated emptiness is how I am thinking, now. Allure is how I thought, then, as allure may exist, did exist in terms of my personal withdrawal and need for the redundant pettiness of social security, of irrelevant hope.

Now I see why illness can become a networking device. I miss discussion terribly. Terribly, I discuss things with my own reflection.

A friend of mine left a book on my doorstep this morning, note attached:

I found this in my library and thought you would like to read it.

Cure Unknown it is called. I have heard of it, I have also seen it in my doctor's office. I read the chapters: Lyme/ Something about a Ring of Fire, and also: Counter Culture etc etc. Well written, ominous, and a tender gesture from a long time companion (she is shaped more as family to me, now, than friend).

I have support, now I want someone to help me break it. I want someone to stretch me, mentally. Intellect is the driving force of my solitude, now let the solitary navigate themselves. I want to be challenged again. I have the feeling the manner in which I think, occasionally, is an exercise in esoteric meaning I happen to be on the outskirts of. I don't understand my own mind, it is not entirely my own. Infected interest in Lyme through internal observance is also a rallied governance. I do not have an audience, for an audience is a human organism which may be calculated through understanding of etc etc.

It is a companion to me, in the form of affection. It is a constant, thorough reminder of rattled questioning.

I am now listening to these audiobooks in my spare time (I am living in sparsity):

1) The Fountainhead- Ayn Rand
2) Meditations on First Philosophy Something Squared- Decartes
3) Possibly The Sound and the Fury- Faulkner
4) New Moon- Stephanie Meyer (guilt, unabashedly so)
5) Trial and Death of Socrates- Plato

Keeping busy, mentally. This is what I think
On the intellectual:

'The intellectual' as goal instead of title, or medium instead of stagnation upon a theme is something to be striven for, as opposed to reached. To achieve intellect, to question and observe objectively with whatever style of passion you prefer is a transitory goal. If I was a current intellectual, I would be dissatisfied. I would like to be an intellectual and I prefer to never reach such an attainment. The manner in which information is processed- through image to screen to light to vision- dictates the manner in which it is received. Television affords a different sort of understanding, of cognitive process, than information transferred through literary means. Words are visual, this is true, though they gift you the freedom of space. The photograph, though fragmented in reality, is an exercise in the definite. It is absurd to argue with the truth of the plain (though I simultaneously disagree with such a statement). The photograph is an undeniable reality made absolute. Much of media these days is simply entertainment, simply watch-able. It doesn't have to be 'good', in fact, the essence of television has little to do with quality. It's effectiveness rests in its ability to give you what you desire: brief, controlled escape from the grit of daily life. Do people want to 'think' actively when watching television, or would they rather let go of their minds for the sake of relief? Maybe the two are not in opposition, but in this case, they may be.

The written word, however, utilizes alternate aspects of the brain, seemingly, according to Al Gore. The reader is required, to use the creative ability of the mind in order to entertain sub-realities, be it science or fantasy. This usage is activity. I believe, on general terms, the reader is an active participant while the television audience passively accepts the emotional response the respective media device is asking it to feel. This is not always the case, though in my mind it is a general one.

During the formative years of the United States, the country remained dependent upon the word of the printing press as well as widespread literacy made possible through educational requirement. A prerequisite to taking part in the political conversation was understanding the context of the subject matter talked about, in essence, being well read. There was no alternate source. The difference between the printing press- which involves mental involvement and personal opinion (sparked by the nature of the brain and the manner it may process words, as mentioned above) and the televised news source (bent on entertaining the broadest audience possible as opposed to inspiring further thought and contemplation)- is paramount. It deeply effects the social discourse (the root of 'Democracy', aside from Capitalism, which is also linked to informational transference, but I'll save that for another day) and a society's ability to entertain thought as opposed to themselves.

The point:
Observance and knowledge have become increasingly more important to me, in my current state (almost sadistic, considering waning brain capacity). From a society of intellectuals to a society of polarized reaction galvanized through an informational source bent on personal gain and it's own lucrative nature, it seems a little sad to watch the depletion. I also understand that I am not speaking from a place of objective observance, I am bent toward dislike on this subject. Much of the information I have gathered (on epistemology and similar kinds of study) has not been filtered through my own head, but the heads of Neil Postman, Chuck Klosterman, and Al Gore.

Anyway, not much of a point, yet, but my mind is fading and I must retire for now.

Good gosh.