When I first started the carnivore diet, I had a blissful honeymoon for about 3 days of feeling better than I’d ever remembered! It was awe-inspiring for someone who’d struggled with food and health most of their life.
And then I got really sick. For almost 3 months I was literally sick with anything and everything.
Common cold, the flu (twice!), upper respiratory infection, bronchitis, even pneumonia!
And then I suddenly woke up one day feeling… normal? It was such a novel feeling, I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing.
I’m working on all of this trauma stuff and in the beginning of course it was easy to accept, “it might get worse before it gets better.”
Now I’m well past the honeymoon phase and feeling like, “oh fuck what did I do, what if this is now the new normal?” and fighting panic.
Accepting that I’d get sicker before I get better with Mercury poisoning was easier than accepting the same while healing my soul.
I made an Instagram Reel yesterday and included a few photos from when I was physically assaulted by an ex-boyfriend, at one of the lowest points in my life. That was tough to look at.
In the afternoon, one of my neighbors came to me in tears asking if I’d call an ambulance to take them to the hospital, they’d tried to kill themselves and still wanted to commit suicide.
We sat on the curb talking while we waited for the police and fire department to show up. “I’m so sorry, Erica,” he said a few times. “It’s okay B, I’ve tried to do the same. It’s surprising how much the body will fight you when you think you want to die isn’t it?” And we laughed and joked together about the absurdity of it all.
I looked him in the eyes and told him he’s loved and it’s worth sticking around even if it doesn’t feel like it right now or most days.
While talking with the paramedics about B it reminded me of when the cops showed up at my own house. They always told me things like, “you don’t seem like the type,” but we’re all dealing with something.
A shelter dumped an elderly man in a wheelchair at the curb to fend for himself overnight yesterday. The police, firemen, and paramedics all took a moment to look at him for a few minutes before returning to their lives. He slept on the sidewalk in the cold.
This morning, another neighbor asked me about B, genuine worry in her eyes. I caught her up and she confided that she had tried the same thing just a few days before. Hopelessness is contagious.
“If you need anything, any time day or night, you can always come over. I’ve tried killing myself too, I understand what it means when you get to that place, the desperate loneliness of it.”
I haven’t been sleeping well for probably a week. Two days ago I had a short DMT session just to allow myself to openly cry and talk with my spirit guides.
I melted down emotionally last night and woke up this morning with a ball of anxiety burning my insides. And I’m the lucky one, these feelings easy in their relativity.
One of my best friends texts me, “things got violent last night,” as she’s packing to leave her abusive ex’s. “I can come help pack without making a scene, whatever you need I’m here for you,” I tell her. “I love you,” and want to save her but I know she can only be saved by herself when she’s ready.
People living in million-dollar houses will park in my neighborhood today to enjoy the beach, play pickle ball, ride their $3k racing bicycles, and stand in a small group complaining about homeless asking for handouts and doing drugs.
They won’t talk about the demons haunting them or what might have happened in a person’s life that they’d find more comfort sleeping in their car or the sidewalk than participate in society. They’ll happily overlook why an attractive woman who seems to have her shit together would prefer to live in a box on wheels.
