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Chapter 15 : The Depths of Treatment (Part 1 of 2)

This was an intense time for me. I didn’t realize it wholly at the time, but I was completely living from the outside-in. I was so projected into Jordan’s experience, totally having abandoned my own, that I didn’t even know how to live from under my own skin. In fact I didn’t even know who I was supposed to be, having been reduced to just an empty casing with dead eyes and expected parlance.

Certainly, when I looked at my timeline, I could see how this empty, vacuous woman had been formed; the faulty attempt at finding a home with a new religion, culture, family who were all rejecting me just as I was rejecting myself, the tailspinning marriage mirroring my own descent into a personal hell, the binge drinking and recreational drugs of the past, the lack of any deep communion with family or friends spoke to the mud-skipping superficiality of my fake human experience.

The death of my parents, especially my mother, had gutted me. I secretly kept her suicide as an option in my conscious back pocket, just in case I might need it one day. Patty let me know that this was part of the disease matrix for the Genetic Miasm Syphilis. My fibromyalgia-like life spoke to this armored, insidious self-destructive mess I was living having attempted to use drugs, alcohol and sex to numb the pain. I felt like Holden Caulfield en route to Marilyn Munroe. Interestingly I played the tragic Munroe in a variety shoe in in 8th grade … apparently, I was told, that I stole the show.

I was secretly assuming an exit strategy and I realized that if I did nothing, the end result would be the same, only slower. Even Patty spoke to how if left to my own devices, the other Miasm Cancer, was alive and also having its way with me. I found out that the nature of this disease is a modern woman’s “socially acceptable form of suicide”. My headaches, chronic fatigue and PMS all spoke to this one’s chronic theme. I was a suffering an insufferable mess and I was concerned that I wasn’t going to have the mental or physical resources to motivate any real change in my life.

Far be it for any innocuous homeopathic remedies to address my filled-to-the-brim state of overflowing anguish. I was curious, totally unconvinced and angry as a bear with its foot caught in the teeth of a metal trap. I was permanently postured in an F-off mode!

With the first remedies, I was laid bare in the most three dimensional way, now trapped with a hate so primal, I felt I could have committed some irreversible crime; I was internally assaulted and I came out fighting. The rage was beyond anything I could ever contain. My symptoms blossomed, tripling my angst further, with psoriasis, canker sores, breathing issues and stitches in my chest so profound in my heart muscle I wondered if I might be having my own heart attack.

Patty gave me the phone number by her bed. I called once when I couldn’t breath and thought I was suffocating. There were other times, too, that I had wished to crawl right up between both her and Rudi for a night … perhaps two. I was so broken, craving some force or person from the outside to rescue me. That individual never came, but something so much juicier finally did.

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