“Mad as a hatter” wasn’t invented by Lewis Carrol, it was a term that identified Hatters who’d gone mad from exposure to Mercury vapor while shaping hats.
Of all the fears I’ve struggled to face while coming to terms with how Mercury poisoning has changed my life, the very real threat of permanent madness has been the most challenging.
I’ve witnessed my brain behave in ways I didn’t think it ever would. At times, foreign thoughts invading it like a lobster after some half-rotted chicken. Other moments a single thought could not be found and instead a well of emotion so deep even deep-sea creatures would drown.
I’ve come to feel more compassionate towards those wandering the streets, homeless and out of their mind. I wonder how many amalgam fillings line their mouth, how much Mercury has invaded their mind like mine.
I no longer believe heavy metal poisoning is a rare thing. And not just for the extreme health problems it causes, but for minor “oddities” that people can’t quite work out as well.
Maybe that’s just some of the madness, but I don’t think my whole brain has turned to mush just yet.
I have good days and bad. This last week was very, very bad.
I’d spent several weeks not being as strict about what I was eating, staying up later than I would, sleeping less, doing more psychedelics than I probably should have, not always taking my supplements on schedule, and still trying to do rounds of chelation.
It seemed overnight that I was overcome with anger, sadness, confusion, restlessness. But even worse was the extreme anxiety that fueled thoughts of suicide. And thinking all of what I was feeling was actually somehow a part of who I am, instead of what was happening to me.
I’m a few days into putting myself back on track with food and sleep and things. I cut my last round of chelation short; which will have it’s own unique set of consequences but likely less severe than sticking it out. Within hours I was noticeably improved by those who care about me.
I was able to sleep many many hours for the past two nights. Anxiety gone. No longer thinking about death as a haven. And wondering, “what the fuck just happened,” as it feels like I’m waking up out of a sort of nightmare I didn’t choose to participate in.
The Mercury feels like a stand-in persona that answers to the world for me, while the real me is locked away out of sight, out of my mind.
It's Sunday, morning almost done being morning.
Still in bed, can't remember the last
time I let myself sleep in again.
I'm always forgetting.
5 weeks, 5 days, 5 hours, 5 minutes, 5 seconds.
All gone in the bin,
never to be seen again.
I even forget what things I tend to forget.
Broke down in emotion this last week.
Sad, mad, anxious. I even treasured half-a-day
of suicidal ideations.
They'll all pass, eventually. As long as I
remember that I'll live long enough to
keep on forgetting.
The memory-loss is real, and so tough.
I forget the people around me. I forget myself.
It’s getting better; and since the psychedelics now my days are filled with random memories from throughout my life.
But I still forget just how serious I have to keep the care of my health. It’s annoying. All of the little things nobody else has to think about could mean the difference between weeks of suffering or not for me. Like what you ask?
When I say I can’t eat 99% of foods, I mean it. Garlic, onion, soy, cilantro, oregano, black pepper, salt, dairy, eggs, chocolate, citrus of any kind (lemon, lime, orange, etc), pineapple are some of the worst offenders. Check the ingredient label on any seasoning or spice or sauce and they all contain one or several of those things.
I react badly to oxalates, salicylates, lectins, sulfur (sulfates), alcohol and histamines. Thiols in foods specifically increase my Mercury symptoms.
Oddly enough, table sugar doesn’t bother me in the least.
One time when I had a few hours of mental clarity I made a spreadsheet cross-referencing all of these things in common foods to help identify the safest options. I came up with just 6 foods. I could maybe find a few more, but I’d need to update the spreadsheet first.
Time is always running the wrong way for me. I’m always behind; always behind what though? I’m learning patience, I have to there’s no other choice; it has to be my decision or I’ll just go mad with misery fighting against it.
I remember that I’ve forgotten all of the notebooks I filled with daily entries of what I’d done in the day, what I ate, how I felt, what supplements I took and when, what side-effects they had. Entry after entry when my memory was so bad I couldn’t remember what I’d done 5 seconds ago.
I remember that I’ve forgotten about passing out or having a bout of cataplexy every time I’d try to stand up.
Or it taking too long for my brain to process the words people spoke to me, so I’d just say nothing.
Or the old men on the strand making laughs at me for walking slower than the slowest of them and having to sit down to rest every few hundred feet.
I’m at a reasonable “fake it” hiatus, where I could probably fool someone I’m well enough for a few weeks, but I’m really still so very not well.
When I was balled up with anxiety this last week, I wanted so badly to go to the gym and run it out on the treadmill. It’s something I would have done years ago to manage my moods. Sometimes people called me the cardio queen, they’d see me on a machine for 4-6 hours sometimes, go go go go go because my brain’s motivation to flee outlasted my body’s pleas stop.
But I can’t do that anymore. Even if my body would let me (doubtful, my legs would likely full cramp up after less than a minute) I’d just tank my adrenals and end up paying double overtime to recover over the next several months.
In some ways being sick has been saving me.
It’s forcing me to figure out what’s really important in my life.
Just as long as I can remember long enough to remember this is my life.
