I know for a fact that WordPress is fucking with my stats, so it looks like nobody is reading my blog. I know this because I can link a video in my blog and the playlist or video will increase by ~110 hits. Not every reader is going to follow a link, either. I imagine only 10% follow the links, but it could be even less. (Or more. I mean, it goes both ways.)
I guess what I’m trying to say is, WordPress, your analytics suck.
If you read every single word of it, you might be given a gift from The Universe(TM). The gift of understanding human beings, no less. If not even more than that. (Hello, telepathy!)
Telepathy is dangerous, however. So maybe that won’t happen.
Since I’ve wanted to commit suicide some 500 times, maybe it is for the best that nobody else is really aware of it. It’s still there, lurking in that percentage of the brain unused, you know. Little soft pings of suggestions you receive when you’re deep in theta waves and susceptible to the minds of the collective(tm). Well, that’s how most people experience it.
After my Kundalini Awakening, I actually began to hear them. I thought it was schizophrenia at first, which I thought my father had when I was a kid. (Turns out, he had severe PTSD from ‘Nam instead.) I remember him punching the air one time in the dining room and, trying to save face from embarrassment, telling me he was attacking someone in the spirit world. I believed him and validated him because, even if he was crazy, everyone needs validation.
Now, I wonder if he also suffered the Kundalini Awakening. I wonder if he could tune into the mind think of humanity, the collective bull shit traveling to the back of his brain from thousands of individual human beings who have nothing better to do than hate on my father. I admit, he’s a shit human being, but it’s not up to me to heap hatred onto him. It’s not up to anyone. Exile him and turn away. Tend to your own feelings and emotions. Stop tangling yourself up in him and his problems. Focus on your own healing.
That’s what we should do to every person on Earth (or even in space) that is mistreating us or not validating us or otherwise hurting us. Turn away, move on, fix yourself. It’s a simple formula, and yet I’m the only person who follows it. God tells me this is what Jesus Christ tried to teach you buffoons, but I have no idea if that’s actually true. I’m just typing what gets beamed into my brain. We’d have to get an independent re-translation of whatever text Jesus Christ is part of. And the Old Testament, too.
Honestly, I think it’s supposed to be part history book… but also honestly, I think over half of it is made up by King James and his scribes. I haven’t read many versions of The Holy Bible. Maybe they all follow the same story lines the same way with slightly different words. Maybe what I read is the truth… but you know what that means? It’s a shit story.
What kind of fucking “creator” kills thousands or millions of creatures He created by turning The Nile to blood to “persuade” one man to let go of some indentured servants? Not the one y’all tell me exists, you Christians that spread the word of Love. (I love you, too, sorry if I sound like I don’t.) I mean, seriously, doesn’t Exodus sound like a five year old’s imagination at play? Thirteen plagues! It rains frogs, yo! Et cetera.
And why do the Muslims accept Moses as their prophet? Where does Aaron really come in? I suspect he’s a white washing incident brought on by the King. You do realize the king’s objective was to subjugate as many people as possible, right? To prevent a peasant uprising, so he could stay in power, even if he was a petty and cruel imp?
I’m like this close to converting to Islam. (LE GASP!) Except I’m not even a Christian, so that’s false. FAKE NEWS! (Thanks, Ben.)
(Which one is he?)
(The one who raped me over 1,000 times. #NoAfterglow)
Honestly, if Reuel being renamed to Jethro mid-book isn’t a giant red flag, I don’t know what is. How about Esther’s real name being Hadassah? Sound white to you?! Nope. That’s why it had to become Esther, wouldn’t you know. Her uncle’s name is Mordecai. Doesn’t that just rub you the wrong way without explanation? Isn’t it weird that Google says his name means Follower/worshipper of Marduk (Babylonian deity). Marduk isn’t God… what the ever living fuck? Can this book be any more inconsistent?
Do not covet they neighbor’s wife, but have two or three of your own even though we preach monogamy. (Maybe wife really just used to mean “a woman you have to provide food and shelter for.”) Oh wait, no it didn’t. SNAP!
Do you know what else is wrong with this stupid Bible book thingy?
It’s out of order. It’s not in chronological order at all. I can prove it, but it’s going to take some doing. I’ll defer to this person who’s done it already.
I would like to tell you now that I happen to know that some names of kings are intentionally left out in translation so you cannot prove or disprove the fake-ass shit someone wrote instead of what’s really on those scrolls. There was no Exodus.
You’d know the real story if you checked out The Quran. I keep trying to read it, but wouldn’t you know the idiots in my head get bored when we’re deep into something that might benefit our spirit. It’s like everything I do to heal my spiritual body is blocked by these hijackers, these would-be lovers, these losers who cannot come to terms with losing. Aren’t y’all just wasting your time, pining away for women you threw away years ago? You are boys, not men. Men would recognize they have lost and just move on.
I’m not talking about hopeful flirts, by the way, Sir Grey Eyes Deli Man. By the way, it’s rude to call yourself “rat face.” First of all, rats are cute. Second of all, putting yourself down like that is interfering with your self-confidence and growth. Find something you like and compliment yourself on it. I promise, it makes all the difference.
It took me ages to find something I liked in myself and compliment it. I don’t know how long, precisely, but I feel like it might’ve been years. Slowly, as my opinion of myself changed, so did my outlook on life. After years and years of telling myself that X or Y or Z looked great that day, I began to look at others and see that X or Y or Z was great that day. Then I started telling them so.
It took a long time to get to that part because I’m shy. Or I was. I started that way… People would pay attention to me as a child and I didn’t know why so I got bashful and hid. I don’t do that anymore. Instead, I talk about… well, anything except myself. I learned to look people in the eyes, though for a time it was painful to do so. I can see the light behind a person’s eyes and when it is unusually bright, it’s hard to look.
I learned a lot of things in this lifetime, but I think now I have to unlearn at least some of the harmful things. If I knew exactly what those things were, it would be a less bumpy ride, of that I’m sure. I have learned, as of late, that calories + exercise != weight loss. Conventional wisdom says that limiting intake and exercising more will equate to weight loss, but I just gain weight instead or lose all my energy, one or the other. I think this is a recipe for starvation and people need to stop doing it. Instead, I had to learn what my body can and cannot tolerate. It’s a very long list of things I shouldn’t eat, sadly, so I focus on the shorter list of things I can eat.
I hate food these days. Every time I walk through your deli, I look at the labels for ingredients when I see something new. If it’s not got gluten, dairy, or nightshades in it, I’m deterred by the price point. I am not sure why anyone would buy the food in the deli, honestly. It’s no more nutritious than the prepackaged crap in the rest of the store… I guess one could say they are supporting the local artisans and chefs. A.k.a. the deli men and women.
Still… I’m sad. Nowhere in this town do they have a gluten-free donut (let alone sugar-free.) Nowhere in this town is there a ready-made gluten-free sandwich (without dairy, to boot.) Nobody wants to eat anything that doesn’t have the trifecta of disaster in it: gluten, dairy, and sugar. Unfortunately, it’s exactly what led me to the pinnacle of illness and nearly fucking killed me, so I avoid all three like the plague these days. I can’t say I’ve really met a sandwich (or pizza, or salad, or much of anything) without a tomato in it, either. I know some day people will catch on to how tomato (and potato and paprika and eggplant) are all destroying our innards, but it’s not today.
I got excited when I saw brussel sprouts in the deli. I even picked some up. You could use probably 2 more minutes on that recipe. They’re a little under-done. And I paid twice as much for those when I could have made them the perfect way myself… I was a bit sad, to put it in a single word.
Anyway, sorry to complain about the deli. It’s not like you’re the head of it. (Yet. You seem to be getting promotions based on my observations of said deli, so congratulations! You’re awesome! Keep up the good work!)
Maybe some day you can take my gripes into consideration and I can just buy something from the deli and take it home, heat it up, and melt with delight.
Then again, maybe not.
Switching gears… I am not sure where to turn, actually. My head is oddly empty at this exact moment in time, after listening to a random “stop anxiety” tune on YouTube for hours. (It’s about damn time!)
You know what really sucks? Going to the store for a while and continuously running into you, then monkey wrench assholes screwing it up telling me falsehoods to drive me away. Like, I’m fine with going away, but why the lies, bro? I hate that shit. I stopped looking for you, sorry; I didn’t get “the vibe(TM).” It’s not your fault, I’m sure. I’ve got 300 assholes in my head trying to make me into someone I’m not, so I don’t get that vibe from anywhere, really.
One day, I will be a giant compared to them. Their voices will be so small again that I won’t even know they are there. Almost dying really fucked everything up, I have to say. I know there is a point to everything I’ve gone through, including one of them trying to inform me that I’m the messiah (yeah, right, as if that person even exists) and so much more. I remember there was a time I was convinced everyone gave a shit I existed. That was kind of rude. It can’t possibly be true; we are programmed to only care about a certain subsection of our species. We can’t possibly care about every single person in existence. Nor does every little action go noticed, at least not by the same people all the time.
It’s weird, thinking about how things used to be. Have I really progressed so far in the past 18 months? What benchmark have I come to? Where will I be by Christmas? What will life be like if it’s true and I end up with all the junk I was parted with via the moving company? Having my throne of a chair back would be nice. It’s a balloon chair except antique and made from bamboo. I looked those suckers up, they cost a fortune. I only paid $60 for it at a yard sale.
Anyway, I want it back because I just have one folding plastic chair in my apartment. And my cats like to steal it for themselves, of course. Well, there’s a second chair. I tried to convince said cats to enjoy that chair instead of mine. (Backfired.)
One chair, one bed, one storage bench.
Six cat towers, though.
I guess nobody wanted those.
I remember when this crazy began, there was a voice speaking out of my own mouth saying things to me. It was not me. We tried in-my-head communication but I eventually would get confused who was me and who was not me, so it ended up being external. One of them is God. I know that because he fixes my body, one muscle at a time, one day at a time. I don’t know how to do this. It’s information dug up from my chiropractor’s brain and my own brain, applied artfully.
The darndest thing is that during these sessions, bones will pop back into place randomly. I don’t know if God is absolutely aware of that being about to happen, but I think he must be because (he’s a He when we’re doing PT) he will go the extra mile to push me past the point of excruciating pain, knowing if I just bypass this hurdle, I will be comfortable (or almost comfortable) again. I remember the day two of my tail bones popped back into place, no longer being subluxated by default. We had to redo it a few times to make it stick. If I recall, I screamed. It was painful! But afterward? Man, it was so much more comfortable just to exist, let alone sit down and stuff.
My ribs and collarbone and shoulder blades pop back into place as we do PT on my straightened neck. It’s a lot of pain and work, but every month I get closer and closer to being pain-free. God told me that I’ve never not been in pain my whole life. That’s sad, isn’t it? I’m not the only one, though. I’m not wholly unique in this. Lots of people have this problem… it doesn’t make me feel any better to know that. It just makes me despise the American healthcare system even more.
I saw you gained some weight… wait, don’t stop reading yet. I have something important to say about it that has nothing to do with your insecurity. You’re in pain and you don’t even realize it because the guts don’t have very good receptors that know how to say “I’m in pain!” Something you are eating is hard for your body to digest. You may just lack an enzyme, or it could be an intolerance/minor allergy. If you can isolate whatever it is, that weight will just come back off. You’ll be less tired. You’ll feel great, actually. Your body is literally being bogged down by one ingredient (or more) that it cannot handle.
I learned from my chiropractor how to figure out what ingredient it is (as well as my own experimentation) and I’ll share it with you now. It’s called elimination dieting. You take a group of foods (i.e. nightshades or dairy or grains) and eliminate them for 6 weeks. Then, I discovered this is the best way to tell if your body hates it — you eat it 3 days in a row for the same meal at exactly the same time and take notes on how you feel.
15-30 minutes after eating: If you feel bad, this is your esophagus rejecting it. You might cough a bit or get a little phlegm going. You should stop eating it for a while longer and try again in another 6 weeks.
30-90 minutes after eating: If you feel bad, this is your stomach rejecting it. You might feel nauseous or a pain or, if you belch, you might taste some of what you just ate. Whatever that flavor is, it’s stuck in your tummy. Add enzymes in order to eat it. (Take your enzymes 15 minutes before eating.)
Next stop is your small intestine, which occurs anywhere from 30 minutes to six hours later. You might feel bloating and get gassy. This is a sign of SIBO (small intestine bacterial overgrowth), which I believe is another side-effect of lack of enzymes. Again, try enzymes 15 minutes before eating. If it doesn’t stop, try reducing the amount of the food or avoiding for another six weeks.
After this, the food enters the large intestine. That’s six to twelve hours later. Most nutrient absorption happens in the large intestine; the small intestine and the stomach prepare all food molecules for this, though the small intestine also soaks up some of the nutrients. (Liquids are absolutely absorbed in the large intestine, though.) If your stool becomes weird, this is where it all begins. I’m still working out the exact ratios of things, but I’ve taken to eating 33% of each macro type and I need a little bit of greens for a perfect digestion experience. Men, on the other hand, need less fat than women, so you might try more like 20% fat and splitting the difference between carbs and protein. (Play with these numbers until you have tons of energy that sends you running around in circles… and then run around in circles.) Anyway, if you have some minor cramping at this stage or more gas, it could be enzymes and that is one approach… or you could be eating the wrong macros. I’m not a doctor, I’m just playing one on TV, you know.
Then, everything goes to The Colon(TM). We all know what The Colon is for. Absorption of the last nutrients before ejecting the waste, of course. If you suffer cramping, incontinence (never had it, but totally read it’s a thing you can have) or other problems with elimination, this is where you are having an issue. And, totally gross but true, the anus will get real sensitive if you pass an allergen in some format other than diarrhea. So, if you have issues with that, you know you are eating something your body doesn’t want or need. (I’d suspect dairy first and foremost if you’re in America… because Native Americans cannot eat that shit and we all have some Native in us by now.)
It was hard to get to the bottom of my issues, but I might have done it… now if I can just ignore all the saboteurs in my head. “Buy this rack of pork ribs!” Except you have problems eating pork, ninny… “Buy dairy!” Except it makes you cry every time you eat it, you idiot! [God says that one is particularly heinous and every man who tries to force dairy on someone who is dairy free is going to have one Hell of an afterlife(TM).] “Buy pepperoni! It’s so tasty!” Except it’s full of paprika, asshole and a half. DIE IN A FIRE.
You get the idea. I’m going to stop now because God seems to be getting very angry over these things and I’m at peace right now and that’s how I want it to stay.
Basically, I had to come to the conclusion that my favorite food of all time (pepperoni pizza) is literally my nemesis. It’s got tomato puree on it [nightshade], it’s got mozzarella on it [dairy], and it’s got pepperoni on it [paprika is a nightshade found in everything from modern hot dogs, bologna, and pepperoni. Read your product labels carefully, human beings!] And it’s all on top of a dough platter [hello, gluten.]
God says that it’s actually the tomato/paprika that kind of fucked up everything else for me, even the dairy, but since dairy is cow pain these days, there’s no reason to try to eat it anymore. I barely miss it, really. I did make a successful dairy-free, gluten-free, tomato-free lasagna, but it’s too expensive to justify continuing to make it regularly. I’m living on my parents’ food stamps thanks to being too sick to work.
For those of you with all the funds in the world, here you go:
- Gluten-free lasagna noodles
- 1 pound ground beef, browned in a skillet and drained
- 1 tsp beef base (bouillon has more salt)
- 1 tub faux ricotta
- 1 package faux mozzarella
- 1/6 cup water
Follow your lasagna recipe or creation instructions from Anywhere(TM) and bake for the prescribed time (usually 55-60 minutes) and voila, you have magically delicious faux lasagna. I’d put more effort into communicating the recipe, except I can’t eat it so why bother?
(Mix the beef base with the ground beef, silly. And add about 1/6 cup water to that mixture to fully dissolve the base and so the noodles soften up.)
Anyway, people who are picky as fuck loved it, so I’m sure it’ll be a smash hit while you try to steer clear of nightshades. I’m sure you’re going to love it when the pounds go away without really trying. That’s the result of eating what your body can process. The weight just flies off, much like when it slid onto your frame.
I gained 50 pounds since I got here. I hate it to bits. I keep eating what I know I cannot eat. Why? It’s either cheap or someone tried to convince me I can eat it. I’m tired of this, so God’s helping me grow out of it again. This time, for good, I hope. I seriously cannot eat more than about 20 different base foods/ingredients. Get over it.
A real man would just go out to lunch without me and eat whatever it is he really wants. I don’t need to be forced to conform into eating what he eats. (Hell, I make everything I cannot eat(TM) for my parents already. Just eat that shit.)
Seriously, there’s mac & cheese, macaroni salad, potatoes au gratin, liver, vanilla-raspberry pudding pie, chili, Spanish rice, and much more in there. Even a gallon of milk for my father’s habit of eating sugar-laden cereal. (It’s almost impossible to get a cereal without sugar added, by the way. I looked.)
All kind of nightshades and gluten and sugar, all over the place.
What did I eat? Cabbage soup. For three days. And then some rib and some beef, etc. Exercising ups enzyme production, by the way. I’ve been trying to walk more for that reason. I even went up to the mall recently and did a lap around the corridors, eyeballing All The Things(TM). All the things I can’t wear now that I’m bigger again.
One of my goals for weight loss was to be able to walk into any store and pick out what I like instead of having to try it on and figure out if it’s going to fit me or not. It’s smart to try it on anyway, ladies, because a size 8 in Store A is not the same as a size 8 in Store B because not every brand is measured the same. Some are measured in inches before they are given seams and then some are measured after they are given seams. I’m just using 8 as an example.
While I’m at it, I’ve got a bone to pick with the ladies’ clothing industry: do you think we cannot handle knowing how many inches around our waist size is? What the fuck is wrong with you, subtracting 28 inches from the measurement and calling it a size? Again, what the fuck is wrong with you, calling size 16 “plus size” when half of America is hovering around size 22. Furthermore, calling it “plus” is fucking stupid. We are a size. It just is.
So we sit around (us ladies, and maybe even some gents) agonizing how our waist line isn’t ideal, going on diet after diet trying to figure it all out, when all along it’s just nightshades, dairy, and grains making us fatter and fatter. (The more you work out, the more you can eat that shit, but I’d steer clear of the nightshades forever if I was you.)
You see, if I had known I could be intolerant of nightshades, dairy, and citrus fruits/acids like vinegar ten years ago, I could have cut them out despite their “health benefits” and gotten to my more ideal silhouette a hell of lot sooner without nearly killing myself. I could have dodged a bullet instead of dying in 2020.
Hindsight and all.
Ah, well. I’ve yammered your eyeballs to dust by now, probably.
I hope you find your way, whatever way that is. I’m still looking for mine and maybe some day I will be able to say I found it.
Sincerely,
Crystal
the crazy woman who always talks to herself.
everywhere she goes.
Angel-Sansara 