Being Unproductive is Underrated

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“Kryptonite” by Three Doors Down was playing as a crowd pleaser in-between sets at a Maui music venue. It was 2011—too many years since Kryptonite had been popular. But that’s typical of time-lagging-feet-dragging island life. I rolled my eyes because I was an artsy snob from New York City,  but secretly I loved the song.  If I go crazy then would you still call me Superman? If I’m a blah blah blah (I don’t know what they’re saying here) would you still be there holding my hand? In my hidden, honest depths, I sang along nostalgic for high school.

In a moment of courage, I blurted, “I know this song is awful, but I kind of love it.”

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Bill Nye Saves the World?

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That is a mighty declaration Bill Nye makes in his new Netflix show’s title, isn’t it? Especially since his “entertaining” op-ed-esque message in episode two on alternative medicine is mostly destructive. Normally, I wouldn’t be interested in watching anyone try to debunk alternative medical treatments because it is just a way for me to get unproductively angry, further taxing my adrenal glands. But on a particularly boring Saturday night, I got a text from a friend, “Bill Nye has a new show on Netflix, episode 2 is on alternative medicine. Check it out—some good stuff.” We can call this friend (who I love dearly) a world-class instigator. I was already mad because considering his kitschy name—”the science guy”—I assumed it would be very anti-anything-that-isn’t -Western medicine. But masochism and feistiness won: I watched. The episode far exceeded my expectations: I was left more angry than I imagined was possible by a short 30-minute segment. I wasn’t feeling personally offended that Mr. Nye disagrees with anything slightly to the left, I was angry at the much larger effect is has on the mysteriously sick population to use your platform to sell ideas that could potentially be harmful. In an effort to turn the unproductive anger into something productive, I would like to do a little debunking myself.

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On Mucus, Urine, and Peace

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Mucus:

I’m home sick—”normal” sick. I have plump yellow and green stuff building up, breaking up, and making its way out. The “normal- sick” sensation remains one to rejoice over. I didn’t experience this for a couple of years—something about Lyme making it impossible for my immune system to work enough to fight common infection—I don’t get it. But what I DO get is that yellow stuff equals normal infection and that’s the kinda thing I’m after. So, hooray, right? Well, not quite.

A couple of weeks ago, I received an emergency phone call from my immunologist. I’m on Medi-cal. For the most part, Medi-cal doctors do not emergency- phone- call me—I’m lucky if they know who I am, can find my files, or call me back after I leave a 911 message. It’s been one of the most frustrating things about being sick: bad doctors, poor treatment. But as the most unpleasant of pleasant surprises, a couple of weeks ago, I got two emergency phone calls, one after the other, “Jacqueline, we need you to come in first thing in the morning to review your recent blood work and get the process started for the IVIG.It’s very important we get going.” I know what my numbers are (I’ve been following them closely and consistently telling the doctor that I need to get started on the IVIG) but still the phone call scared me. It must be bad if the doctor is going out of his way to call, I thought. 

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While we’re on the Topic of Women: What’s up with our Immune Systems?

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His teeth moved in his mouth like they weren’t cemented in place—were they dentures or just loose? Was it a twitch he had in his jaw that made his upper teeth push against his lower teeth rocking them forward like that? Was it just his age—will my teeth soften too one day? Jack was in his nineties, after all. That’s why I liked him so much—he had almost a century of life in him, nine decades of sorting through the garbage life can sometimes hand you—learning about humanity, empathy, and compassion.  His eyes had seen so much and his heart had held agony and released it more times than I could even imagine. I sat at a diner with him on Maui—the island I dubiously called home and the island he inhabited only in the winter, escaping Canada’s cold. Living there, I sometimes felt like I was either waiting for him to come or missing his presence—he was always on my mind. I met him a couple of years earlier when I was vacationing on Maui. I overheard him in a conversation talking calmly and precisely about the effects of growing up with alcoholism in the home. He didn’t grow up that way. It was not his path, but he seemed to understand what it was like and have a compassion that I had yet to meet. I stuck to him, maybe he became one of my collectible father figurines. I don’t really know. I only know that I wanted to learn from a man with a heart like his.  So I jumped on the opportunity to spend as much time with him as possible over those few winter months of 2011 in an effort to learn faster— I was dying to get ahead of myself, get ahead of my youthful age of 24, desperate to outsmart my humanity and escape the traps that maybe he fell into. Why, oh why, wasn’t I already at that plateau—that juicy plateau of nothingness and comfort. (more…)

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Clean Eating: My “Controversial” Diet

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I gave up booze and drugs at the startling age of 17—the age many (or most?) people are just getting started. Jaws still drop when I mention in passing that I, in fact, do not drink and haven’t in over a decade, but the news doesn’t land with the same deafening impact it did in my early twenties when my peers found such a choice to be blasphemous. I am no stranger to the often judgmental— but sometimes inquisitive— reaction I get from strangers or new friends (or even “friends”) about my lifestyle choices. Choice. If you want to call it that. But I quit drinking because it was destroying me and I really want to live…fully and vibrantly. And in order to LIVE fully, vibrantly, and, ironically, limitlessly—I now follow an extremely strict diet as well, a diet that generates the same jaw-dropping, mind-boggling reaction— “Why do you do that to yourself?  What DO you eat? Do you have any fun, ever? How do you do it?” I’d like to address these questions I am faced with almost daily.

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This Week

Hello!

This week, I opted for a post on Monday due to Tuesday’s election.

As a person recovering from Lyme disease, I do not have the luxury of being wildly angry and fired up about yesterday’s events. It’s too exhausting, too taxing and too risky to let myself spiral into the darkness.

Instead, I have to focus on love. And healing.

Here is a link to my new wellness advice column. Yesterday’s column was on how not to panic. View it here. 

Love and hugs to all who need one.

Jackie

 

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The Symptoms, Part One: Depression

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I sat submerged in the bath water.  The bathroom was dark and quiet, lit only by one large, flickering candle. My face dripped with sweat from the steaming hot water infused with epsom salts. I was motionless. Only my eyes shifted, taking note of my surroundings— the blue walls, the dancing light, the sparkly new bathtub—I worked hard to have my old one replaced because it presented with moldy spots, and as a person recovering from Lyme disease, the sight of mold scared me— and the water. I noticed the still water, and it was calling me to go under, go quiet, go completely still until my heart stopped beating. I stared at this element that I once found harmless and enjoyable, and how weird that I suddenly couldn’t see any other use for being in the bath other than it being the thing that assisted in my death. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? It seemed so obvious. How easy and seemingly peaceful it would be to just go under water and stay there. All of the hell I was living would stop—no more doctors, no more pain, no more fear, no more needles, no more uncertainty, no more isolation, no more crying and staring out of the window next to my bed, no more HOPING, and no more being let down. The temptation was great. I was spiraling and then suddenly I gasped because I had stopped breathing, and I pulled myself up to sitting. The water rippled with force and I frantically pulled the drain open and jumped out of the tub. The appeal was so great that I thought I shouldn’t use a knife or get in the car for the next couple of days.That night I became  intimately acquainted  with the  profound uses of everyday appliances. And I needed to protect myself.

That’s the type of depression that taunted me during my sickest year and a half.  In the moments that symptom flare- ups made death seem imminent, I would be almost relieved, “good. let it be over. I don’t want to live like this. This is not a life.” Sometimes, I hoped I wouldn’t wake up in the morning. It felt like too much work just to stay alive. Lyme depression is two-fold and a real mother fucker. First,  Lyme is a neurological disease—that means it’s a disease in your brain. That means that anxiety and depression are a SYMPTOM. Second, along with the depression and anxiety, you’re hit with a host of other symptoms. For me, I had extreme fatigue, insomnia, terrible physical pain, loss of appetite, hormone and thyroid dysfunction, and  brain fog…just to name a few. So, all of the things I’d generally use to fight depression like exercise, socializing, working hard, food, books, creative outlets, spontaneity,  or vacation also got taken off of the table and I was left isolated, broke, and painfully under slept. It’s common knowledge that the experience of being home sick with a cold or the flu can make someone a little batty. Now think about that experience on repeat for many weeks/ months/ years, add A LOT more symptoms, and then remember that you CANNOT sleep. Sound like hell? It is. I was in hell. As a person in the Lyme community, I hear it all. I hear about the deaths that are a direct result from Lyme. I hear about people getting cured. I hear about the seizures and the fainting and the permanent brain damage, and I hear about those whose lives will be forever better because they fought and prevailed. I hear the cases that are just “mild” but so disruptive. And I hear about the people who kill themselves—there are more than you’d like to believe. It doesn’t surprise me. It was so real for me. It’s very hard to want to live when there is a disease in your brain affecting how you think and when most of what was previously enjoyable about life gets hijacked. Lyme disease pushed me right to the edge. For some reason, I got willing to turn around and fight the wind, and LOVE is what pushed me along.

I had met depression earlier in life in more manageable doses. My attempts to harm myself in the past were half-assed: In high school, I tried to cut myself with a metal nail file —I quit as soon as I broke skin, I tried to be bulimic in middle school, but it took way too much energy to force myself to puke,  and, as a teenager, I took a lighter to my skin every once in a blue moon to make the mental anguish quiet down. Yes, I liked forcing my brain to redirect its attention to physical pain and off of my thoughts. But, in the end, I LOVED being alive. Yes, there were moments of serious darkness, but, most of the time,  I was excited about life.  With Lyme, I didn’t feel alive. Everything I loved about life felt like it was taken from me without my consent. There was no escape from the mental or the physical pain. It was prison.  I had *very sparingly* comforted myself  with the idea of suicide in my earlier life—I’d remind myself that if my depression or anxiety got bad enough, I always had an out, but it never got bad enough. It never lasted long enough…not until illness.

I had been sick for about ten months before I started losing hope. It was when I stopped sleeping in September of 2014 that I spun out of control. It went on night after night—adding up to 50 or 60 sleepless hours at a time. The relief came in very small doses—maybe 3 hours of sleep in a row—never a full nights sleep. I was desperate. My eyes burned, and I was driven to tears throughout each day. I took many variations of sleeping drugs—most didn’t work, and two of them made me more depressed. More emotional pain would cause less sleep which would cause more physical and emotional pain and on and on and on the cycle went.

One October day, I sat on the bottom step of my staircase trying to execute the simple task of putting my shoes on. Something that I used to do in less than a minute multiple times a day was now a terrifying, olympic- style task. For the gold, all I had to do was put my fucking shoes on. But it was so hard—I was so tired. I took a deep breath and slipped one foot in, methodically tied the laces and then paused. I took another deep breath and did the same on the other foot—the last bunny ear went through the hole, I pulled tight and PHEW, I just sat there. I couldn’t move, I had exhausted myself. The roaring sadness was called from my gut and rose up through my body and tears choked out, one after the other. I just needed to stand up and leave the house. Anger struck.  I was enraged with myself, “how the fuck is it possible that you can’t stand up. STAND UP. STAND UP.”  I wanted to drag myself across the floor by my ponytail and beat the living shit out of myself. And that thought devastated me. The desire to harm myself, the self-loathing I was feeling became so unmanageable. I wouldn’t get well if I kept it up.  I needed help.

That  Thursday night, I decided I had enough. No matter how tired I was, or how sick I was, I was going to go to show up at the Hollywood Mental Health Center at 7:30 am the next day—Friday. It’s where my insurance told me to go when I called hysterical.  I crawled out of bed with blood-shot eyes encased in dark circles and willed myself to get ready— put on a sweater and some shoes, grabbed my insurance card and just went. I hadn’t been in therapy for almost a year, and I certainly was not on any anti-depressant, I was free-balling, trying to be “strong,” and it obviously wasn’t working. It was a cold, foggy morning,  and I was  NOT drinking a coffee near a fireplace. I was shivering on a long, scattered line  with Hollywood’s homeless population.  I kept my head down and my nose tucked in my sweater because it smelled, and I was too sick to deal. The man in front of me kept hacking up phlegm and the guy behind me fluctuated between nodding out and jarring himself awake with the sound of his personal cocktail of snore and snot.  Goddamnit, this is not my shining moment, I thought. When I looked up to determine how much longer I’d have to wait, I fucking saw someone I knew. Not a friend—not yet— but an acquaintance I had met a couple of times through friends.  I was painfully ashamed—so ashamed that I considered leaving right then. I couldn’t be seen in this place. I was supposed to be the girl who had it together, but  I couldn’t justify leaving—it was too dangerous, my life depended on what came at the end of this stupid line. He, unfortunately, spotted me, and he came over to greet me like it was just some normal morning. I was so sick I felt like I was dreaming, and he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, “Hey, are you ok?” he asked. I acted surprised, “hey, whoa, crazy running into you. I’m uhh. I’m OK, yeah. I’m actually just considering leaving.” Yeah, Jack, play it cool on the line at the Hollywood Mental Health Center lol. His face was compassionate, and  he told me—point blank— to stay. He was the familiarity I needed to get through that morning, and he was so kind to me.

I took a seat on a plastic orange chair in the waiting room with the rest of the early morning crazies, and, for some reason, I told my new friend what was happening in my head and in my life. I had nothing left to lose. I mean, how was I going to get around the fact that I was spotted at the Hollywood Mental Health Center at 8 am on a Friday morning—sober.  Only desperate people do shit like that. He listened intently and casually said, “I have a therapist and she takes your insurance, and I respect her a lot. She’s well educated and no joke. And you won’t have to do any of this nonsense.” A gift from the fucking angels, “Are you kidding me?” I said, “Insurance wouldn’t give me any therapist’s names. They just told me to come here.” “Oh yeah, I know,” he said with an eye roll, “her name is Claire. Call her, she’ll be good for you.”  I took her info and waited out my turn in the clinic because I was trying to cover my ass from all angles. If Claire didn’t work out, I needed something else in motion.

I called that day, and she got right back to me. It seemed like one of the first times since I had been sick that a medical professional got right back to me. And it saved my life. It was all of the hope I needed that day. That week. The first time I saw her, she promised that she would have my back—that even if insurance failed, we would be able to work something out. I’ve been seeing her twice a week, for free, for almost two years. Insurance never failed. Her office, her familiar face, her kindness, her insights, and just the simple consistency salvaged what was left of me.

I sat in Claire’s office last night crying about how far I’ve come, how lucky I feel just to have an appetite. How lucky I feel to be able to hold my head up. She wrapped up the session at minute 49 instead of 50 so we could “talk about a couple things.”  She said, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m pregnant.” I took a moment to congratulate myself on “being right,” because I had a suspicion she was pregnant and THEN promptly congratulated her. She spoke directly—her maternity leave will start in March, and she’s taking six months off.  She will no longer be working in the office where I see her—she will have a private practice and not be accepting insurance. She might do sliding scale with me if I need it, but, in the meantime, she will help me find someone new. BUMMER.

I started writing this a few days before I got the news and I’ve come to realize in that time just how much I credit her with keeping me alive/afloat during the last couple of years. The magic is this:  Just as I NEEDED her in the moment she came into my life and just as I needed her for the last two years, I am now perfectly capable and ready to let go of her. My need is not what it was. I AM alive. I AM afloat. I am so much healthier, in mind, body and spirit. She watched me fall completely apart and slowly reassemble the pieces—sometimes finding new, shinier pieces while throwing away the old ones. And how amazing that I feel ready to part with what we had. Yet again, it is proven to me that I CAN trust the Universe.

I think more today about how grateful I am to have some sense of myself back. I am often excited about life again. The days where I “just can’t imagine another day” are fewer…much fewer. Actually, they’re rare. But for a while there, I was just holding on and hoping it would pass reminding myself again and again that I was willing to do one more day. I was willing to do another hour or minute while I took care of myself and did the next right thing. I was willing to keep swimming and not let myself drown. And I was willing everyday until I got here:

Today I woke up at 6:30 am after about 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep, drank celery juice, drank some tea, read some spiritual stuff, and then STOOD IN LINE at the Chinese consulate to pick up my visa for an upcoming trip. And I was grateful for that whole hour-long wait—that line was glorious.

With Fun and Love,

Jackie

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Health Tip Tuesday: Eat Garlic

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Consuming raw garlic works as a natural antibiotic! Amazing, right? It fights fungal infections AND yeast which I found so fascinating and exciting AND curious that one time I stuck a clove of garlic up my vagina ..and that’s how I ended up LOSING a whole clove of garlic up my vagina. Apparently you can stick a clove up there if you’re worried about yeast infections so I did just for funnies, and then I LOST IT. Definitely, be sure to attach a thread or cheese cloth to the garlic.

The way I consume garlic these days (everyday, actually- so I ALWAYS smell like garlic) is by crushing it up and putting it on top of salads with olive oil and avocado.

It’s always one of my main suggestions especially for Lyme suffers.

Here is a link to some helpful garlic-consuming-instructions to follow:

Avoid These 6 Common Mistakes When Using Garlic As an Antibiotic

PS: That photo up there is me shouting at my friend Eric, “I lost the garlic!”

Fun and Love,

Jackie

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My Top 10 Simple and Affordable Wellness Suggestions

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This week, I’m in my second of twelve IVIG treatments. Five days in a row, six hours a day, I’m receiving IV Immunoglobulin therapy. It’s really hard on my body. I’m writing to you with an IV in my right hand (I was too out of it to take the practical idiocy of this into account- I’m a “righty” and I can’t get my hand wet.So I’m filthy)   an IV in my left arm, and some kind of head, neck, and back pain that has kept me up too many hours of the nights/ early mornings. I am mostly miserable. Considering the circumstances, for this weeks post, I’m going to take my business partner, Eva Fischer’s advice: “It’s OK to Can’t” and keep it simple.

Here is my tailor-made list of simple and affordable healing “musts.” Just to be clear: this is MY list- formed from 2 1/2 years of experience and many wise suggestions from fellow “spoonies” and some doctors. I’m simply sharing my experience. I’m not suggesting it’s the only way…I’m suggesting you create your own list.
But I’m definitely right on all accounts. 🙂

10. Sunshine: Vitamin D is an essential aspect of healing, and, it’s way more powerful to get it from the sun than to take it in supplement form. Fortunately, for those of us located in sunny parts of the world, it’s easy to step into a pool of sunshine and stay there for fifteen-thirty minutes. I understand it’s not that convenient for everyone. Regardless, I urge you to set aside time to let some of your skin touch the sun. It will lift your spirits and enhance your health. It’s important not to wear sunscreen. Sunscreen blocks vitamin D production. You can produce up to 25,000 IU of vitamin D between 15- 30 minutes of sunshine depending on other factors (skin tone, time of day, etc… ). Another quick FYI: glass blocks all UVB so, although it might boost your mood which is great, you will not get vitamin D if you are behind glass (glass= window).

9.Lymphatic Drainage: AKA: Exercise. I don’t use the word “exercise” because, if you’re like me, that word suggests something way more aggressive than what you might be capable of. Whatever it is you’re healing from will likely determine how much and what kind of movement you can do. It’s an individual quest to find the exercise that’s right for you. Regardless, I try to strategically move at some point in the day to assist in draining my lymph system. Light walks are a good call- you can even double fist it and get your sun time this way! Riding a bike (stationary or not) is amazing for draining, and usually really nice for my body. I often lay on my back with my legs up and pedal in the air. That is an effective and gentle way to move without causing too much strain on my body. It also ends up being a core work out which always makes me feel stronger and happier. If you have a trampoline,  use it! JUST MOVE A LITTLE.

8.Probiotics and stuff: Find your necessary supplements. I think it’s safe to say that probiotics are good for everyone. Your immune system starts in your gut and probiotics keep your gut healthy- it’s really simple. Take them in the morning on an empty stomach and at least 30-50 billion flora a day. If you’re on antibiotics wait AT LEAST two hours between abx and probiotics as abx just kill the good flora you’re taking. I also take magnesium, coQ10, Curcumin, esterC, L-lysine, and B complex daily among others. If you do some research you can find out what the best supplements are for you. God knows, I have tried them all , but it gets expensive and, so, I’ve found my most helpful ones and stick to them. It’s also important to give your cells a break as they get over saturated. Sometimes, I just take a day or two completely off.

7.Breathe: That’s right! This annoying word. This can come in the form of meditation, reading, watching TV, doing EMDR (I highly suggest the incredible EMDR anxiety release app- $5.00) or just sitting still and breathing. It’s so important to take deep breaths and avoid stress getting caught in my body. I’m no breathing expert. I forget to breathe  A LOT. I take my own suggestion to breathe usually around 3 or 5 am when I wake up in pain and with overwhelming thoughts about the future. I put a hand on my belly and just keep breathing into it- I keep returning my attention to whether or not I’m breathing until I fall back asleep. Take time, as often as possible, to take deep breaths and move your anxiety through instead of letting it get stuck. Stay present, do one thing at a time, and keep it simple. Stress IS never helpful or worthwhile. Sometimes, the greatest action I can take for my well-being is to breathe. Hint: Kundalini Yoga will keep you breathing 😉

6. Rest- STUPID REST. I have a negative physical reaction to that irritating word. But, alas, it has been made royalty in the well-being courts, and I bow down to it. I avoided rest for far too long, and I blame my restlessness for keeping me sick sometimes- so now, I try to take it very seriously. I turn off for the night, and make sure I have a full 8 hours of being in bed even if I’m not sleeping that whole time. I’ve found, I also need to take time midday. My personal goal is to take an hour every afternoon/ evening where I turn my phone off and do nothing but read, watch tv or lay still and breathe. On top of that, I need one FULL DAY OFF per week. That means, I have one day where I do not put any pressure on myself to accomplish ANYTHING. I understand that not everyone is lucky enough to be in this position (those of you with children). For those who can, I suggest a full day of expecting nothing of yourself but to eat, hydrate, take your supplements, and enjoy a day of rest! I’ve come to LOVE these days. From the girl who had a panic attack every time she was forced to sit still, that’s pretty incredible.

5. Gratitude lists-  I don’t want to speak for everyone, but I can always find PLENTY to be grateful for. That doesn’t mean we’re not all allowed some moments of sadness, anger, and even self-pity. SURE! Go for it! It’s all just practice. I’ve been practicing writing gratitude lists for almost a decade and the result has been profound. I was once such a complainer, and I rarely complain these days without a whole list of positives birthed from the very same place the complaints come from. Being sick can get really dark for me, and I’d say gratitude lists are the flashing lights that keep me moving through the tunnel. Get it? The light is not at the end of the tunnel- it’s here and now…when I’m grateful.

4.Joy- Find SOMETHING that lifts your spirits and do it!  Like gratitude, I can often, if not always, find some moments of joy in my day. Prior to writing this blog (which has been my recent source of joy), I picked up my camera and took a photo a day for 365 days.I can’t tell you how many times the simple act of taking some photos changed the whole of my experience for that day. Now, during the hardest time of my life, I have these photos to look at…something fun and positive came out of that shitty year. Whether it’s watching cartoons, listening to good music, dancing,  singing in the shower, or working on something I believe in, my cells crave joy, and I feel healthier and lighter when I give it to them.

3. Toxic free- I Removed as many toxins as possible. I replace any harsh toxic cleaners (bleach. yuck) with more natural cleaners (better yet just use baking soda and vinegar). I use aluminum free deodorant (try thai crystal- it does work!) I use a natural toothpaste, natural hand wash, dish cleaner, body soap, laundry detergent, and removed all forms of mercury from my life (fish, fish oil supplements, amalgam fillings). There are so many pollutants and harsh chemicals around us (and in our food) so I do my best to control what I can. I never, ever saw myself going this route, I was a bleach using, aluminum using, don’t give a fuck human. But, I’m on that mission for total wellness now 🙂

2.Eat- Unless I’m doing a cleanse of some sort that is good for me, I don’t stop eating nutritious food! Sometimes, our appetites suffer as a result of being sick, and I’ve certainly been there. When I cut all of the crap out of my diet and I was so sick, I had a really hard time staying on top of eating. I suddenly dropped 10 pounds which is a lot on my small frame. I started just force feeding myself three nutritious meals a day. Now I happily consume food. I seem to be hungry all of the time which is great news! My daily menu generally consists of this: Celery juice on an empty stomach, followed by a glass of water with my supplements, followed by coffee,then a smoothies of 2 bananas, 2 dates, a cup of wild blueberries and some sort of protein that I can take my xenostat with. Lunch is a giant (mostly raw) salad: I use two different kinds of greens, cucumber, celery, radish, hemp seeds, a full avocado smashed with raw garlic and lemon, an engine 2 black bean burger and Bragg’s organic olive oil. Dinner is usually a toss-up, but I tend to go for something like rice, beans, sweet potato mash or cauliflower mash with sautéed snap peas and a turkey patty. Obviously, I’m on an extremely strict diet. For snacks, I eat nuts, seeds, fruit, veggies, lara bars, go raw Spirulina crackers, and gluten-free toast with coconut oil. I urge you to find the foods that are most important to your well-being and eat them everyday.

1. Stay Hydrated- OH! My favorite. My mother calls me the “hydration bully” for a reason. I average 2.5 liters of rehydrating fluids a day. It’s much harder for infection to live in an alkaline body, and one of the best ways to alkaline is by drinking water with citrus- for me, usually lemon or lime. It’s also super important to have a good filtering system!  Green juices are also hydrating especially straight cucumber juice or celery juice, and then, there’s the beloved coconut water! I make sure to buy organic coconut water with NOTHING ELSE in it and I usually squeeze some lime into it. Then there’s herbal teas, and making your own ginger tea which usually makes me feel really good. I just heat up some filtered water with sliced ginger in it and let it steep. I add lemon or cayenne if I’m feeling extra spicy. It’s SO important, especially if you’re participating in ANY detox methods to drink loads of water.
Speaking of hydration, I’m currently drinking coffee. I’ll be on my couch watching “A Big Fat Greek Wedding” until treatment is over.  We’re all just doing our best.

With Fun and Love,

Jackie

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In Loving Memory

 

dad

My father is not dead- not by medical standards. Not yet. Tick tock- I’ve been waiting for him to die, watching, angrily, as the more innocent go in his place. He’s more..missing with an expectation of no return- I expect he’ll die, lonely, on his lifelong search for the unattainable. I tried. I tried to show him that maybe I could BE all he was searching for, but there’s no competing with the ever- sparkly temptress crack cocaine. She comes with immortal magic AND hookers. At some point, it’s just demoralizing to compete with that world ESPECIALLY when it’s for the attention of an abusive lunatic- the whores can have him. I let him go. He’s now an unrecognizable imposter still called my dad. He’s the walking dead. This kind of grief is very complicated- losing someone completely before they’ve actually departed. I tried to avoid the feelings for a decade, covering my heartbreak up with “forgiveness,” “acceptance,” and “apathy.” When I got sick and was stripped of all of my defenses, maintaining any sort of relationship with my father felt like voluntarily signing up for a causeless war that puts me in the front line alone with no protection or weapons. Being on a mission for total wellness, that would be insane of me. Instead, I faced my past- my devastating heartbreak, and, very recently, uncovered the love I had forgotten all about.

It’s SO easy to vilify my father: he’s an abusive crack addict/ alcoholic, narcissist with sociopathic tendencies, cheater, liar, and he left my family in shambles. I spent most of my childhood tortured by fear, wishing my parents would divorce, or wishing him dead. He was a scary, nasty, and handsy drunk that I could honestly say, I did not love. SO when, at my very impressionable age of 9, my Dad sobered up and ripened into a tall, dark, handsome, and rich man, I was bamboozled into falling in love. I didn’t know how to brace myself for a love like that so I just let myself fall like the naive child I was. I was totally taken by him. My heart went all fireworks every time he held my hand or gave me a hug or said something nice to me. When he wanted to be with me, when he wanted to take me on a date, I put on my best dresses and sat cross-legged across from him at fancy restaurants as I tried to be his peer, his most beloved. Sound a little weird? TOTALLY. It is weird. It’s unhealthy but kind of sweet at best and like super creepy at worst. It’s the truth, though, my father was my first all-encompassing love. And my first (arguably my only) shattering heartbreak.

In 2001, after just a few short but poignant years of sobriety, he started drinking again. There were signs. He was being cruel, and he had that look again: that feral look. I lived with an unshakable faith that my father, MY FATHER, would NEVER use again so it was very confusing for me the first night he didn’t come home. At 6 AM, on my way to school I asked my mother what happened. She said, “ I’m not sure what happened- I think Dad’s in the hospital. Maybe a car accident? He’s drinking again.” I was dumbstruck. I thought about it for the rest of the day in a sort of daze- a world where my dad drinks again? The puzzle pieces didn’t fit- it just didn’t fucking fit. I admittedly have an active and dramatic imagination, but I could have never thought up what was about to come.

2001-2003 were bad years- challenging and disorienting, but they were also the hopeful years. Yes, the downward spiral was picking up speed, and, yes, really nasty things were happening in the home, and, yes, my father was not only drinking, but also snorting coke, and not coming home and acting unstable at best but, he still had a job, and it appeared from my 15-year-old perspective that, at any minute, he’d change his mind and it could all just magically go back to “normal.” I attempted to sway him- believing if he loved me enough, he’d come around – be my knight in shinging armor again. He had an office in a dark corner of the house. It was filled with all of the expensive things that he purchased at the height of his simultaneous success and sobriety. In 2001, he sat behind a big oak desk, smoking cigarettes, clicking away at his computer, and taking business calls that he always sounded so authoritative and intelligent on. By 2003, it was a drug den. He locked the door, and left the lights out so there was always an uncertainty about whether or not he was even in there. His oak desk was now piled with clutter of all sorts and his drawers were filled with the paraphernalia of his new lifestyle. I sometimes knocked on the door. I often wondered if he was around, if he would be willing to see me- if he would maybe hold me once more, and tell me it was OK. I would write him letters and slip them under the door with high hopes of how they might affect him.

He responded to one of my letters, and I saved it all of these years. I think I saved it because it is this one piece of loose leaf that proves what he and I had together- the love we shared as father and daughter. It slipped out of a book the other day, and inspired this post. From late 2003:

Dad,
There are just some things I have on my mind that I want you to know. I want you back in my life…You haven’t hit rock bottom yet because you still have a family who loves you…don’t let that slip away. I hate seeing you do this to yourself but I believe in you. I have hope that you will pull through this. You have a problem that you understand better than any of us so all I truly get is that you are in lots of physical and mental pain. I see the anxiety and guilt in your eyes. I just ask one thing: please don’t turn your back on me and pretend I don’t see what’s going on. I see it, but I still love you soooo much and am extremely concerned about you. I just want you to know that people still care…especially me..hitting rock bottom is when you lose that. I LOVE YOU. I hope you can feel this deep in your soul. LOVE, JACKIE

and on the back of the piece of looseleaf, he returned this…

Jackie:
When did you get so smart? So mature? Sorry I am giving you this particular lesson this way. Yes, I am in a really bad place filled with fear and guilt. It’s nobody’s fault and no one can help. It’s all up to me. Unfortunately, the same things that have given me success in life bring me to this place. It’s part of who I am and I have to overcome it. There is no denial on my part. I see and feel everything which is why I will prevail! I need you to stay strong and stay on course. I feed off that. Ultimately, this will make me stronger and a better person. Don’t cry baby- let me see your strength. Show me how people like us handle things! You know what I mean- I know you do. God damn I’m proud of you! Love, Dad.

I remember reading that letter and feeling so much hope- dad was on the horizon! The very next thing I remember is Crack-the fucking Devil’s drug- I’ve never seen anything like it. That drug hijacked what was left of my father’s heart, his spirit, in the middle of the night, leaving no time for me to say my goodbyes. That letter is the last thing I have from him that resembles the man I loved. The years 2003-2005 were the most violent, destructive years we lived through. I wondered often whether my Mother would get out alive as there were ever-increasing attempts to take her out. I wondered nightly whether or not my father was alive. I heard his screams in the middle of the night (if he was home).  He’d convulse on the couch so fiercely that his crack pipe would fall out of the pocket of the terry cloth robe his body was now too frail for. If he was alive, I considered killing him myself which, by the way, I am VERY GLAD I never fully attempted.  He lost his job, our cars, our house, and my parents divorced all in those 2 years. The last engagement I saw between my parents as married people was October of 2005 when my dad said, “Jackie, there’s one last thing I want you to see me do to your mother,” and then he spit a wad of yellow phlegm right on her face so it dripped off of her nose. That was not great. See- IT’S EASY TO VILIFY MY FATHER.

I thought I walked away from all of that unaffected. It was my mission to move on and be unaffected. I numbed it- who could begin to deal with all of that garbage AND continue living a life? I talked about my past like it was some story- someone else’s life. “Yeah like that time my dad had hookers in the house and beat my mom and threatened to eat my dog,” I’d laugh while others would crane their necks in silence.  I moved 6,000 miles away from home, and I decided to be the best daughter I could be regardless of who he was. All that meant was that we maybe talked once every six months, and I sent him a “Happy Birthday” text. The last time I saw him, 2 years ago, he was so high that I swore/ hoped I was leaving him for dead, and I had NO PROBLEM leaving. Five minutes after I left him, my doctor called to let me know that my Lyme results came back still very much positive.

When I got sick and my father was what he had been for 15 years (absent and high) I fell apart. I lived, I think, with some reservation, that if I ever needed my father desperately enough, he would show up. Surely, if I got sick, he would revert back to 1999 Dad. When I had to face the reality that my father was no help whatsoever but only a hindrance to my well-being, I was faced with a level of grief so painful, I thought I’d never get over it. As a coping mechanism, I again turned to hate- vilify the asshole.  I felt and often feel the anger, but he’s not just this one thing. He’s not just “monster.”

When I found that letter, I remembered everything I ever loved about him, and I remembered how much he loved me. There was good there- there was even something innocent there, I think. I can take an eraser to my hard edges that leave no room for mistakes. I can see the whole, messy, imperfect picture. It’s weird, I know, to talk about him in the past. It’s so complicated to grieve the loss of someone who is still bodily alive…somewhere…I don’t even know where. Today, I wish he was dead just so I could talk to him. I really do miss that man- the man in that letter.

I remember my father telling me one day in 2004 while we both fiercely sucked down cigarettes in his Porsche, “The opposite of love is not hate, the opposite of love is not caring.” I TRIED so hard to not care about my Dad- just to show him. Wouldn’t it be so easy to not care? But I’m on a fucking mission to heal, and that has meant unveiling all of the nasty shit, facing it, and finding what lives underneath- an innocent, unshakable love. It also means, staying the hell away from the toxic, lunatic man he’s become. But, dammit,  I love you, Dad- can’t wait till you find peace.

Fun and Love,

Jackie

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