What began as a diary of sorts to help me cope with Multiple Sclerosis, has turned into a book of portraits I have painted that, more often than not, have very little to do with MS. This is for the artists who taught me the most beautiful things come from pain, and my sister, Stacey, who also has MS...
So I read that we need 18 hugs just to be emotionally on par. To be really Zen, hug everyone I presume. So I had just woken, followed Tony to the kitchen and tried to give him a solid three hugs to leave the house with. I also figured out the numbers...each one of us would have to really focus on getting 6 hugs in with the other three family members. The thing with hugs is that when you give you also receive...so that messed my numbers up a bit more. We needed designated huggers each day?
Whatever. SO I'm telling him this and he said, "Imagine if we hugged 18 times before I left for work every morning, like as we were busy and getting the kids ready?" In my home, those are fighting words. He whipped out the camera and recorded it. I just woke up and was hella shy but did it.
Today, to get him back, I decided when he woke up, I'd do the same thing. The only problem, he was in his underwear. Nothing one of my sweaters couldn't fix. So here's Part 1 and Part 2 of 18 hugs. In all seriousness, you should spread them out so the chemicals are released evenly throughout your day and the person feels secure consistently. BUT, laughing with my husband and doing the dumbest things together is just as healing.
The cranial and cervical lesions are taking a toll. My ears hurt like I have people following me, piercing the cartilage. My throat, or trachea, feels like there's a ball in it. Breathing feels so strained sometimes I feel like I'm drowning. It is the worst hell. I was sad last month because of people I can't control. Why? They choose hate and lies and people choose to believe and I refuse to even attempt to change their minds. If you KNOW ME you should know the truth. God knows who I am, and the people that love me. But the stress, the mourning (it's like a death) really took over. I was catatonic almost. Indifferent. Showering was like...running a marathon. I truly thought my life was not worth living. I'd have crazy thoughts about what is the easiest, most pain free way to go. Please, if you feel that way, seek help. Be robotic. I didn't want help, but knew the protocol to save myself and just did it. I had to remove all feeling.
But then something tragic and magical happened soon after. They discontinued my meds and put me on this patch thing. My heart felt confused. I was withdrawing from the other thing and my heart was beating erratically. When it does that, you cannot breathe. I was laying here convinced I was going to die in front of my son. My body was started to get rigid and things were jerking. I begged my husband to come home. I couldn't have my little guy be here if this was it. But I tried my hardest to keep my gaze on him, to stay alive.
And then I just said the Our Father. I wasn't ready to die. I apologized over and over for such stupid thoughts. It felt wrong. I was meant to live. And then something crazy happened - something that happens when I am praying and spot on - my entire body filled with chills and a squeeze. It's like a hug from a ghost. An angel? A loved one that has transitioned before me? Jesus? I don't know. But I DO know, I don't want to go - I don't want to suffocate to death slowly either, I don't want to lose all my faculties (the spreading to my throat and ears suggests the lesion is getting bigger and I am closer to that), BUT I don't want to go now. It's too soon. And you know who I worried about other than my kids and T, my family that I am estranged from, "God don't let them find out I passed, not like this. They don't love me, but death changes people and I don't want them rehashing the awful things they did."
I was really dying. And I was thinking of the people who have caused me the greatest pain in my life, "God, please, I can't go thinking they may be hurt."
Maybe there was a point to this. I will let go of worry etc. Just be happy and make people smile. And maybe I am not so bad because my heart was broken for the people who continuously try to break me.
I am loved. I'm so blessed. And you need to know, yes it is depressing feeling like you are a burden. But God made you and every person who gets to know you and love you and laugh because of you... is blessed. I had to share my story with a woman in the same situation as me, this morning, only she didn't want to live. I could tell she was struggling. Her post read like my diary. So, I decided this is what I needed to tell her, and I am telling you. My heart started beating normally again for a reason, I regained breath...maybe it is to tell you to stop feeling like you have no purpose. Every person, caretaker, who gets to touch you is blessed and is fulfilling a divine calling to love and serve and connect...
Hug anyone and everything you can. I don't care if it's a tree. I'm not hugging enough. Try it. It helps. And believe me whenI say, you really do not want to end this life. You just want to end MS. There's a difference. This is for Ella.
If you feel any feelings whatsoever about suicide, please call the National suicide Prevention Healthline, Call 1-800-273-8255
Music is so important to me. It moves me. When you're losing your mobility, that is so much bigger than it sounds. I never believed I'd hear a song by chance. They inspire me too much. An intangible touch that sometimes pokes me to move, sometimes it's a much needed hug. And sometimes, it's this fire boiling in my blood. I have been so self-deprecating, apologizing all my life. Sometimes a song is the greatest "fuck you" just in time. I don't pick on people, soI don't let people pick on me anymore. I won't let them be my predetors. I'm not prey. Not food for the bored and easily amused.
I'm tired. So, I let the music blast. I take on the fire. As I should.
BUT, the greatest thing? Every song seems to connect me to people who are gone, but still loved. Sometimes, they just get me UP and push me forward. Music or lose it. But I swear it's the people who have gone, trying to reach me, through it. So I listen, like it's a prayer. In reverse. People beckoning me from beyond, the ones who are already there, to really HEAR. I honor them. It's serious. Let them be heard.
This is by Ben Howard. If you found it, I believe you needed it for some reason. May it lead you...to freedom. In whichever way you need it. We are all trapped in different ways, different stages. Some of us are still 4 years-old, stuck on what she's saying'. Staring at our plates. Never quite moved on from someone telling us we're let downs. Let the music lead you. When I listen to this one - it means I am in a fighting mood. And I don' want to need you, or anyone. I'm a feisty one. As is Ben. This is Oats in the Water and dag, I am so my father's daughter,
The ugly truth about MY multiple sclerosis is summed up in this picture. My husband is a fit, sexy, cyclist and his life is about riding. And me. And us. He has a pair of compression socks to keep his feet and the blood moving. I like the name. Compress all of this into one, tidy, WELL, FIT, compartment.
Some things don't fit into neat compartments. Like my feet. If they are working (yours)...kiss them for me. My feet get so cold, to the bone, while sweating. Ten tiny frostbitten little volcanoes. It HURTS. He rubs one foot, as I squeeze the other. That sounds dirty. But it's not. It's just ugly dirty. Not sexy dirty.
I had to put on his beat up, ugly (albeit clean) white compression socks. Little balled up pieces of fabric on the toes that hang off. I look at the little orbs and feel reduced to them, that size and purpose, while he tries so hard to make this work. He's a 12.5. I'm a size 6. But oh my lordy lord they feel so good. They fit, enough.
It took us twenty minutes to cover those tiny, sad appendages. They look so delicate despite all that hard work. It was like putting lycra on over a very long, wet leg. I kept pouring baking soda on them. To make me feel better. To take the clammy away.
To make my fucking feet choose a side - are you hot or cold? Choose a side. Just speak! I hate wet and I hate the pain. It's inarticulate. Wet and cold. Sweat and heat. Which the fuck is it? spins and repeats. But it never does speak to me! I'm so fucking tired of confusion. It's like even my feet have emotions and are eternally confused.
My feet don't know what they mean anymore. There's nothing to say. Some things will never make sense that way. That's why I don't question MS (most of the time). I have to make peace with that. Some things will never make sense. Stop trying.
The foot thing, it sounds so small. But it is constant and just like anything that's slightly negative, but CONSTANT, it drives you fucking crazy. This could be a metaphor for so much. I want my feet to take a side, and I want the people I love to take a side. Stop playing all sides. You can't do it. Everyone just ends up hurt.
Maybe the dirty truth isn't that I'm this desperate to heal my feet - I am a vain girl, yes - but it's more than this. It's more than my confused feet and that kind of pain.
It's just what it symbolizes. Tony helped me put the compression socks on. He stayed and pulled and pushed with me, sweating and grabbing and trying to hold on. That's been our lives for almost ten years now. But the others ( I mean people), they just let go. They are slippery - so easily manipulated from side to side when they should be bound to the blood that has always loved and served them. They let me, making my MS into a hopeful thing, fodder for gossip - I was trying to make them proud. They just laughed at loud. To my face. (I also had to do it to survive and not burden them, and I had to do it for my babies who very well might get this from me - try trying on that type of GUILT. You'll spend half your life in a fitting room crying).
I finally picked a side. I chose MY kids. I had to. I heard all the words they said about the little ones who were born to... love them. Unconditionally. The kids are true because despite hearing all that, they still do. Love. Everyone is ENOUGH. They are their legacy, their blood. And let's not forget so much smarter than us.
But that's over. Let's not focus on what was. He is here. He's wrestling with these socks with me. He refuses to leave. I remember when I used to push him away. "Go. Save yourself. Please...just go away."
"No Mama, stay. Love doesn't work, or walk, that way." He's the only person who meant it, and stayed.
Love picks a side. It stays and it wrestles, even though it can't touch the pain.That pains me so much to see the helplessness in his eyes. The creases on his face. All the places he can't touch or fix inside. Of me. He never stops trying. And still, he chose a side. He chose to serve me and not give in to MS...or the bullshit. OR, the fact, he will never, ever, be able to fix it.
This is love. It's not my face framed in perfect lighting, skinny dipping in a hidden pond, somewhere beyond the moonlight. Although we had all of that in its time and place. We still do. It's him, and the sun rising, while desperately trying to help me to pull those socks higher. The gratitude on my face. To offer me relief. A relief that will always be physically incomplete, and still, so fucking emotional.
I woke wrapped up in my husband. Fidgeting. Stretching desperately. Trying to regulate. I fell asleep in his arms again, counting the freckles on his wrist, leading to his hand that cradled his face. I memorized every trace. Maps of his skin. I am praying this disease can never erase from my memory. He is all I'll ever need to know now...that and how our children grow. In bed, sleepy head, I'm mapping his skin, I said, "Thank you." He asked, stunned with sleepy hair, "for what...?.
"For everything, for all of it."
He said I was welcome and he kissed me. And together we embarked on THIS sock destiny? It was so dumb, but it showed him for all he is - love. Putting on a pair of really ugly sucks. For twenty minutes. That's grace. Give thanks for grace. That it was sent, and spent, on you because you were more than enough. That's what the universe does with love. It spends it, on you. The trick is, you MUST TRUST it to. It's just delivered in packaging you aren't used to. Don't be fooled by marketing. Let them be fools to you.
I'm not sure what you are looking for. We run wild as kids thinking we were born to be rockstars, celebrities, adored. So much more than we feel. I never felt anything more than lost, but I treasured every rooftop I slept on, every love I've ever had. Not just romantic love. Love is more than sex. More than men. Women. Women taught me that.
But that was a time. It was a place. A season. There's a time when you graduate into more. When that, that Freshman year, is no longer real. The hardest thing you can ever reach for is ... this. There's no moon or sun to guide you. Just your heart, in the darkness, beckoning you to reach and feel. Keep going when you know it is real. There's no path. Trust yourself. Reach for that next level. Walk toward nirvana. Trees, roots, branches. Anything you can grab, to make you steady. There are stages to all of this. Let your love graduate to a higher, more spiritual level. I finish his thoughts. I'd say we've gotten pretty closet nirvana in love. You can too. I believe every human being deserves this because, without it, you aren't totally seeing. By the end of this road, you should have 20/20 vision. That is why true love is so freeing. It is why I pray.
He'd say "Who fucking cares Mama, just get them on and stop the pain," because he worries so much about me. He panics to make sure I'm breathing. But in his calm, he knows, the point of all this is to see. See. And yet it pains me to see his face. I always try to hide mine. The socks are just a farmer's almanac - all the rain it can't stop. Just telling us when? The desperation pops, it's all over his face. He married a feminist, and yet he still believes he's suppose to save me. So I nod, and smile, and try with him again. Out of breath, from socks. But if you have a soul, you know, it's not about the socks. It's so much more.
Someone to love you enough to slip you into this, so tedious and painful. Frantic to fix it. Someone who promised to stay and did it, all the while investing all of themselves, in you. Someone who is so focused on the ugliest parts of you, to make you feel good, for twenty minutes.
Crazy things will envelope you on your journey to "sick". I panic, worrying about breathing, suffocating to death. I've never said that out loud. But there you go. If you must know - it's slowly suffocating to death, trapped in my body. Not able to move, but totally aware. So we have to make lists and sit and talk it over. All the hard things he needs to do for love, if it goes that way. Let your soulmate transition and stay here alone during the wait, until we can be together again? my heart breaks from him. That doesn't sound quite fair. That's not just a lover, it's a best friend. I know where the lesion is, I know the pain my neck and my shoulder are used to feeling, It's so close to my airway. But you can't get stuck on "what if's?" and "somedays". Repeat it. Sing it.
You can't get stuck on "what if's?" and "somedays".
I don't know how this will end, but my lord how my body is leaving me. With MS it is slow. It's always taking something small and new. Over and over again. In a patient way. Until I go. Sometimes I forget this isn't pretend. I will go. And then I feel loved and it hits me - this isn't gonna end well, for anybody that loves me. I feel like loving back will only hurt them. I try to withdraw, to protect them. He pulls me back and refuses. These, he insists, are a bunch of stupid excuses ...not to live.
He beckons me again, to feel this. Relax. Feel him. So I try. For him. For someone who struggles to move, I do a lot of moving for him. His love is always stirring.
Maybe I should be sad, and maybe I am sad, but mostly I just FEEL this. He's getting me to feel again. I trace my belly button, contemplating how I was attached, physically, to our kids. I make him touch it, trace it with me. Life can be magic as much as tragedy. I sit and question proportions.
Feel where I once was connected to ourkids baby. Isn't that crazy? I was connected to each of them through my ballon button? I was his bridge to a love he couldn't possibly fathom. Until THIS, our kids. His hands, on my ankles. Something so ugly and pathetic, feels more like a kiss.
That's what you want to shoot for. The rest you cannot control. We didn't write the script. But you can pick the players. Choose the one who make the scariest moments feel like a kiss. Who turn it into pleasure.
Shame on me for ever wanting anything more than this. Oh, and don't forget - sometimes you have to pick a side. You are sick, but it doesn't mean you are a weenie. You have to stand up for what is right. Remember you are DIVINE and your vote counts. I don't let anything slide despite them insisting I'm uptight. Giggling behind my back. The difference between us, I can still sleep at night. I heard the tapes. They hurt, I close my eyes, dismissing them. Because T is with me in this, our faith, our babies, there is someone else we must please at the end of all this. It will never be your "friends" the gossips. Tell them I said "hello" and to "suck it".
I imagine He will ask me one question at the end of all this - did I choose war, or did I kiss?
That and, "How were you gonna rock those socks with your new quicks?"
A million stories whispered, secrets laid bare, and dances at dusk.
My namesake is US.
That is where I come from.
Hence, I honor you.
As best friends do. In many ways we felt forsaken, abandoned, as orphans do. In hindsight, we were spoiled, we just never knew. Oh wow, how I tethered myself to you, and the music.
The rest of me, in regards to engaging the rest of the world, withdrew. I'd dye my hair crazy colors, pierce weird things, like a scream, "I don't want want to be anything like you, just him." You were enough then. You are enough now, my friend.
You are boundless electricity, energy. You will always be.
We rushed the stage, the band. Their last show, the end. Everyone is adultin' and aging. But we never ended, buddy. So many more stages. The creativity. The loyalty, you're stuck with me. Like dust or lint, sitting on the windowsill. I'm with you as you stare out, wondering what all of this adds up to. I'm beside you. Slightly. Still.
Just as much as you need me. I will let you grow. As you allowed me.
You accompanied me down an aisle, to my husband. You must have felt widowed in a way. Afraid in some way that you'd lose me. But you were brave. You let me smile fourteen years ago today. We got drunk and we danced like we did on the stage, that night. Bass darting through our hearts at the speed of life. And you smiled. I saw you. Every now and then, my friend, I catch you. You let yourself stop thinking and the waves in your head crash, presenting in a smile, tsunami over you, in the coldest, purest way.
And you, you just ride the waves...
You revere the sea. You say since the beginning of time, it has been here. How many whale's kidney's have processed this ... water? I giggle, watching my daughter test "brave" with each wave. Knowing, you. You are the sea. You've always been. You've always stayed. You shaped me in ways and waves no else could. Not then.
Your mind, all the books in the world could never satiate.
God how you loved books. Building them into walls, surrounding your bed. We'd pass out listening to this song, with titles in our head. I'd read and read...til sleep. All those titles made me feel so small. Until one day they dared me, "Woman the fuck up, stand tall," and made me a writer.
You made me man. In so many ways, you made me because you stuck around. You were so brave.
I write about it all. And our love will never be understood, not that it should be, it's that unique. Complete. Absolute. And yet this mystery. Like faith. Some things, the most spiritual, sacred contemplations, are not meant to be seen. The is how I see US. Except, those teen sneak previews at dusk. We'd come out, dancing.
Titles and crickets and walls lined with books. The smartest boy I've ever known. How you looked into me. It showed your heart. It showed your mind. I love you completely. Even when you make me mad. Even though you are not "mine". Unconditionally. Which is rather rare - we never really knew unconditional love. We were born ashamed of something, some "untitled" bad, that had nothing to do with us. Mistakes our parents made that condensed into residue after nine-months. Were we unwanted? Were we their offspring their children, or just dust?
We didn't know. But we stuck together. And you never left me. Not even in the hurricane, when we parked the beat up, green car on the hill. Instead we laughed and danced, knowing it was a moment we'd never again get to feel. We literally weathered everything.
Let it rain, bring the pain, we'll love anyway. We'll stay, smiling.
We were an US. Still are.
Even separated and struggling. Emotionally together. All these years and you'd never leave. You were my soldier. You let me just be. And loved me that way. On and off the stage. Music or silence. Cradling the violence. Drugs and boys. All kinds of noise. There is a darkness in all of us. BUT, you loved me. Beautiful boy. You still love me. And, well I'm not looking back. Never will. My love is eternal, it can't be taken back. It is boundless, it always was...where the fuck would it go even if I tried? It will never die.
And I was right, I had no family. But amen, you did. You fought, You win. I sin. I have my friends and him, ours.
We rushed the stage during their last show. Your sweat surrounded you like a halo. I can still see your smile. Miles and miles from where we are today. It always calls me back, "Stay. Stay."
So, I go back to that day. Of velocitygrl and their last show.
We're jumping. Center stage. Happy little us. Questioning everything we couldn't know, except the beat. In some ways, we are still rushing the stage. Music knows no age. Nor does love and orphans saturated with loyalty. I am forever a servant at your feet. Happily. I pray you know that when you worry you don't me, or anything for that matter, anymore.
Here is my home. Here's the key. You have all of me and my family.
She's singing beside us. The bar, since, has closed down. Twenty years later. We're still bopping along. You're still my favorite skater. She's still our favorite sound. My namesake you say until this day. I giggle and look away. I whisper, "US." We were never dust my love, we were US. Enough. And loved beyond dimension. Beyond every contention. We stayed. Family.
We won. We proved it could be done.
It's not our last show. Not yet. I'm still dancing, everywhere you go. My legs, diseased and slow. I still dance beside you, wherever you go. I made a promise to you. As you did me. It's not what US do. My namesake. Velocity. Everything going by so fast beside us, but I'm still slo-dancing with you, in my forties, at dusk.
In case no one ever told you...you are loved, just as you are, and far more than "enough"...
I'm on my last leg Running when I Can barely walk
And when you said I couldn't see You told everything but the truth Could it be all that bad To forget about my favorite thing I know you
You know all I want to do Is live my life And forget about you...
Rob, I didn't know how to really LIVE, before you. Eternal gratitude for you. This, this is what you do. Inspire people to try.
Trying to tiptoe down the stairs. With the heat, and the light, it was like I could see the air. My feet are bare and dancing for you. In hopes to leave you in your slumber. You have been in my life for eight years and three days. Don't tell me age is just a number. Do tell me how I smiled before you. Completely. Certain things were put into place before you. Cracking me. Patiently. Uplifting the edges. Steeper, and steeper. Until you were here. Then and only then...
I recently read such an irresponsible report (shocker) on Daily Mail. It said, “Women who loses 100 Lbs cures her MS”. I am paraphrasing, but it was something like that. Click the link above for the article. It then said, she lost 100 lbs and her MS went away. Then the doozy of all doozies, however, was its incredibly bold claim that MS is caused by genetics. Okay 8 years ago, I begged doctors to check me out, but they said there was no way I was falling and breaking things on marathon training runs due to the fact that my sister and cousin struggle with the disease. If I got it, it would be like lightening would be hitting the same place twice.
A fact about lightening - it tends to hit the same thing about three times. Google "Chicago" and "Lightening". My instincts took on the doctor's "knowledge" and understanding of how this disease works. I fought for doctors to listen - there was a HEREDITARY component. I wrote it into every article I could; so those searching for answers would know they weren't crazy for thinking such a thing. That said, it doesn't mean it is the CAUSE, that means it is a "component". There is a BIG difference there.
After fighting so hard for a doctor to listen to me - it could be hereditary - now you’d be hard pressed to find something about MS online that doesn’t talk about the hereditary component in MS. As a writer in 97 countries for the disease, I feel proud. I fought for what I felt, you fought for what you felt, and I do believe we played a role in teaching doctors. Me writing about my experience finally got them to accept the hereditary comonent. YOU doing the same, in whatever way you fought, to show them the connection, did the same. We did it. BUT, man, no one was saying it was the CAUSE. It’s ONE factor of many. For the Daily Mail to suggest they know the cause is both preposterous and dangerous.
Also, this woman’s weight loss (and she is still bigger than me), is great! You must live healthy if you really want to fight it. However, some of us don't care to fight it that way. We want to have fun and LIVE while we can. If I have learned anything from this disease, we have have different ways of living. I cut gluten, wheat, yeast, dairy, sugar, and caffeine, juiced etc. I ran marathons. No one can tell me I didn't do everything I could in the lifestyle arena. I read every book etc. I wrote a book. I wrote everywhere. I am a size 0-2 and guess what - there is another, newly formed lesion, that just formed under my brain stem, at the tip of my spinal cord. Prognosis: Quadriplegia. To imply weight loss will cure your disease is cruel. I wasn’t always a size 2either. I was a size 16 at one time.
There are different types of MS. Some insanely aggressive, causing seizure and tremors and paralysis. These sufferers (the suffers under advanced MS categories) do not benefit from holistic alone. However, some believe it can. That is up to YOU. The primary reason is - many times it takes time we do not have. That doesn't mean do not keep at it. Do. If you choose. But don't shut down western medicine either. It has been years now and I have been doing what I should holistically. I take the most aggressive, life-preserving treatment, I meditate, and incorporate eastern medication. I WRITE about it which is so healing. BUT, none of these things ALONE are indicative of a cure.
The people who will not be cured have a much different type that starts with”chronic progressive”. There are four types. You could only have lesions in your brain - in which case, you may present with very little symptoms. You could have them on your spine, in which case, just one lesion, that cannot be seen with the naked-eye, can render you paralyzed.
If you are eating correctly, moving what you can and your disease is still progressing, just know it isn’t you. You didn't cause it. Don’t let this article make you feel badly. I am a safe size 2, juice and have been eating the MS Diet for the majority of ten years; no gluten, wheat, yeast, dairy etc. and my MS is still not cured. However, I do believe I now live a better quality of my life than I would if I hadn't taken care of my lifestyle. AND, my children are watching and learning. In the end, however, it worsened. Through zero “laziness” of my own. My hands take forever to type. I stutter. My vision is changing again. Word recall is a bitch. I act differently at certain times from a lesion invading some lobe in my brain that controls my moods. Weight? My weight or lack of will for trying, is complete rubbish.
The article should be taken down. It is dangerous and wrong. It’s misleading. If you want to interview an expert - interview Dr. Gregory Anselmi in Bayonne and Hoboken, NJ. Many of his methods have actually been taken by higher institutions, which I find flattering. Until they began to name methods they borrowed from him and named them after themselves. He is a humble man. He lets it go. He is informed and knew about MS when other neurologists knew nothing about and didn't seem to care to figure it out. He also wasn't afraid to fight back, to learn it. He cared. He sits in church alone sometimes, asking God how to save us. He talks to me about my dreams to keep me going AND he even went to meet the Pope and got his MS patients, there were a few us who believed in Christ, Mary BLESSED medallions from the Pope for us. I am not Catholic, but I wore it like a medal of achievement.
Please, educate yourself. Don’t believe these quick fixes. The type of MS that woman has may be mild, miles away from your struggles, your type. My sister’s MS is different from mine.
I can say that your lifestyle plays a HUGE factor in how your symptoms present, how often they present. You should be eating a diet in rich, green, leafy food, vegetables and some fruit (not too much because of sugar) IF they want to change their MS. That is in no way implying you must. You do you. You choose. But if you are interested - no cow's milk. There are many books that you can read on why. Its chemical make up is to make a calf 1600 lbs. When it reaches that goal, it stops. Yet, humans continue to consume in America. But the biggest probable is how often we keep our cows pregnant and milked. All over the world they do it respectfully and with caution, knowing the dangers. Here, we want money and ignore the dangers of milking a cow almost 300 days out of a year.
Scores of medications are pumped into the cow for depression etc. and its own body is making pregnancy chemicals. THAT is what your child is ingesting. Boys develop breasts. Ten year-old girls are shaving their legs and menstruating. For people in general, it fills our joints up with mucus. So, when our bodies send out X fighters at the sense of an infection, these fighters can't get there, so to speak. BUT, because of the mucus, they are stuck in traffic. Held up in MUCUS.
Casein, a protein in cow's milk, contains morphine to lull the calf into feeding. If you quick and replace with Almond milk, or Rice milk. you WILL feel a withdrawal for about a month. But after that, your skin will glow, pours shrinking, you smell differently (when the Chinese started to immigrate here, they could smell us because of the cream and ick in our bodies. There was a word in their language that called us the "greasy ones".
Juice, get pure enzymes while letting your gastrointestinal track heal. So much energy goes into digestion. Giving it a rest, will actually give you some energy back. The first sign for many of us, that something is wrong before we are diagnosed, is FATIGUE. BUT, Nutribullet too at other times to get FIBER. Meditate. Face your feelings and emotional pain. All the hurt in your life, in your past, you must deal with. Let go of. Let someone help you because it will progress your disease. Therapists, church counselors, or even just a very peaceful, objective friend. That, and hang out with people who lift you up. All those who constantly hurt you, you must let go of if you want to live well. We all make mistakes and we talk them out. But some people, we have been trying for decades to get through to - those are the ones you must cut off in order to heal. Conversely, ask the universe for forgiveness you have caused others, whether knowingly or unknowingly.
All these things matter - that and your treatment. Make sure it is specific to you and your needs and remember, a GOOD doctor gives you options. Dr. Anselmi told me that. Until this day, it is the best advice I've ever gotten regarding treating this disease.
But first and foremost - don't let anyone tell you how to do this. If you are interested in holistic treatment, I gave you some tips above. If you are progressing quickly and just want to live the way you know and are comfortable with, then you go for it. Disease is intimate. It's yours. You choose. That woman's treatment was hers. Her result, hers and hers alone. Mine, well, mine.
Any questions - please feel free to write me. I am happy to help in any way I can. I do not know all the answers, but I can point you to the resources that will know your CHOICES. Be well. And promise me you won't think you are lazy and that is why you have this disease. Positivity is so important is your quality of life. There is so, so much you can control with lifestyle in most cases. In others, not so much. Only you know how this affects you.
PS-I did tell the Daily Mail how DANGEROUS their article was and how their proclamation to know the cause of MS, was factually wrong. We do not know the cause of multiple sclerosis. We do know that some types seem to have a hereditary predisposition. A poor lifestyle can possibly set it off. This, however, in no way means we know the cause of multiple sclerosis. The Daily Mail needs to take down before a litigious reader or group of, gets...litigious. As of 5 am on July 15, it is still up. I apologize for the typos. My fingers are going. It's like they aren't mine and one slip, hits the wrong button and auto cucumber changes a word drastically. That, and cognitively my mind is now moving faster than my fingers. Resulting in me "thinking" I've typed words, and haven't. Meh. The important thing is that you you get the point.
I’m going to start by talking about Kesha. I have a couple visions of Kesha in my head. Not visions, but images from things I’ve seen of her, and I have held on to her words. I do not tend to be musically uplifted by her. I remember trying to keep Zoe from LOVING that song she wrote a while back where she wakes up in the bathtub, brushes her teeth with “a bottle of Jack”. That’s what led me to stay away.
But I’ve watched her weight go up and down, her behavior become erratic and then her truth comes out - her producer raped her and Sony wouldn’t let her out of a contract with HIM. Her struggle was public and so many celebrities, like Taylor Swift, sent her hundreds of thousands of dollars to fight Dr. Luke, her producer. To help her. So many were women musicians and wonder what they knew, what THEY experienced. Strong females like P!NK were stepping up, and calling Sony’s treatment of her - pure shit.
Then I saw an image of Conan O’Brien just holding her on a Venice Beach boardwalk. I listened to him talk about that picture and he said he was just minding his own business and he walked by her. He could see the struggle in her. She was losing in court. She looked destroyed. He held her. HE hugged her. What a beautiful man.
I remember an audience giving her a standing ovation as she announced the next winner at some show.
And then I see her in an interview talking about “infamous Jerry Seinfeld” hug incident. I did not know of any incident. In true, sexually abused, fashion - she very graciously swallows her pride and says some people just aren’t huggers. She is kind.
And then I watch Seinfeld. The incident. And THEN I watch him talk to someone who has interviewed him for like 20 years, and they appear like “men” laughing it up about the incident. “I don’t know her…” “You don’t start with a hug…” But then he says, what I feel is at the bottom of it, “Plus, I was in the middle of an interview and it was a little ‘off’. Basically, he wasn’t down with her being besotted with him and losing her cool and interrupting an in interview. He was super celebrity. He was putting her in her place, kind of making fun. That's what I felt and I am sure many disagree.
Have you ever had someone deny you of a hug. It is their right, but it's a little 'ouchie' without millions watching. I don’t make my children hug or kiss anyone, not even me. Hence, when AJ asked me to go down an aisle in Target where no one was, and he kissed me, on his own, for the first time last week because I got I'm something he wanted SO much - I was floored.
That said, that is a huge hugging industry and she meant well. She’s also been through hell, and his arrogance, to someone as fragile as her at this time, can lead her to believe she’s still dirty. That is what you are forever trying to scrub off when you are sexually abused. Your dirt. YOUR shame. I felt really disappointed that Seinfeld didn’t do it and then went on air with one of his bros and mocked her. Oh, and he hugged HIM to show her - it was more like HER that he didn’t want a hug from. He tried to say it was nothing personal, but it wreaks of arrogance when he talks about it and laughs with this anchor..
But Kesha really tried to be graceful and said it was okay. And then something super, fucking amazing crazy happens. She walks back stage, somewhat defeated, and Bob Dylan - the reason why she started writing music - comes up to her and gives her the most brilliant hug!!! Dylan is sneaky, elusive, you never know when he’s lying or messing with your head. He’s elusive to say the least, esp. with fame…and DYLAN COMES IN, divine timing, and HUGS her. For a long freaking time!! And Kesha, was okay.
Bob Dylan, I would never go in for the hug with - he just isn’t the type of man. But maybe he knew what she’s been going through. Maybe he liked her music. Maybe he had seen what happened. It didn’t matter. Boy Dylan for the win. And he is so much more iconic and amazing then Seinfeld.
All of this lead me to listen to her latest song, praying. Can’t lie. I love it. We have all been hurt by people, but can you pray for them?I pray for enemies a lot. I’m okay.When I wasn’t, it felt impossible to pray for them. People will do something wrong, cross a line, invade your body and then get sneaky about how they handle things. They will put THEIR shame on YOU. Convincing you that you are dumb, dirty, unworthy, untalented… in many ways jealousy kicks in to play too.
But all of this, and homegirl is praying for Dr. Luke, according to the song. Amen. That is a sign she truly is healing. The hardest thing I have ever had to do to get right in my religion, is love and pray for my enemies. I do now. Mostly because I don’t feel them anymore. I have distanced myself so much - it doesn’t rip me open like it used to do. I wonder how much that is because of prayer. Praying for them and me, at the same time. For softened hearts, changed hearts. It’s a catch 22 really. I don’t know where it starts…but I’m fairly certain, for me, it started with praying. As Kesha, has begun again…by singing about doing the same thing as me. Pray for them always.
Bob Dylan - I fucking love you.
Listen to her new song here. It’s nothing like her old stuff (from what I know, which isn't much) and has a soulful feeling to it. I also had to include a beautiful cover by Kesha and Ben Folds of a Dylan song. It's beautiful. And for what it is worth, I am sending Kesha so much love and light and one fuck of a bear HUG, I’d hug you anytime.
I take a lot of pictures and videos of happenings in our lives as a family, but also in my own private way, of me doing things like working out, swimming etc. I show the bulk of these to my doctors as my multiple sclerosis is progressing. I do take pics and videos of workouts and so much more for a very important, personal, reason. The reason is icky and freaks me out; so I try not to talk about it too much. BUT, because it is the reason I've chosen to record this instead of tying to write it, I felt I needed to mention.
This is the first video I took for the specific purpose of explaining why (that is more peripheral, but it needs to be said) and, more importantly, to explain my experience with trying acupuncture the other day at the Center for Acupuncture and Herbal Medicine in Westfield. If you have considered doing for your sickness, here is MY testimony, and also here are some tips if you cannot AFFORD it. I have never found one center that took insurance which has always been a huge problem for me.
Until...I started trying and offering my services like I speak of in the video. Some are happy to barter. I realize I talk so much and don't shut; whether I'm on video or just typing words. I DO see a change in how I talk from the beginning compared to how I talk at the end. It's subtle, but I can my mouth working harder to get the words out and searching for words more at the end of the recording.
So, it this video is indeed long but covers tips, my crazy experience, being at the mercy of others when you are ill...and what the haters tend to gossip about you. I do talk about how to deal with that.
Be true to yourself. Someone will always question your motives. As long as you are true to yourself, and your higher power, and are doing the best you can to keep your head above water, with love... you are doing more than enough and those sideline voices, they tend to get more and more faint as you continue on your journey of healing. Focus on healing and being true, and they are shushed. Be well and please, be open. It could save your life, improving your quality of life for decades.
*Correction that does come into play later in the video - Ann is JAPANESE! I misspoke in the beginning, and while I make up for it later, it bothers me that you have to wait so long to hear it. Her mother was a beautiful Japanese woman and so much of who she is - compromises of her mother and that culture. It's how she lives. It's all she IS. I am sorry I misspoke at the beginning and wish I was savvy enough to take it out.
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