most of my friends have met my younger sister who is 8 years younger than me. many people don’t know that we have an older sister who is 2 years older than me. my older sister has 3 kids, a big kid and 2 little kids. she mentioned that the middle child was having meltdowns and it really inspired me to open up and talk about my past.

little jewish libra

with that said, in no way am i comparing my past to my nephews present. also i am not comparing my sister to my parents. my sister is a bad ass mother. she has been from day one. she is very progressive and was the first person to tell me about unschooling when i knew no one else who had even heard of it. that can’t be glossed over, she really is a great mother and person.

though i said i wasn’t going to compare us i just want to say that i really really really love this little guy. when we’re around each other all i want to do it make him laugh and hug & hold him. his smile is awesome. plus, he’s a little libra & a middle child just like me!…both jews….how can i not think this kid is awesome?

on to my life:     people who do not know me well consider me super positive, goofy maybe, always in a good mood…blah blah blah. people who know my point of view consider me very serious. people who know ME, more than my point of view & more than the mood i project, find me a well rounded person. but even those people may not know how depressed and suicidal i was damn near most of my life.

growing up, i clearly remember sitting on the top of the staircase looking down at the living room wanting to die. i was maybe 4 or 5 years old. that feeling wasn’t strange but rather a private and familar feeling that reoccured often. the feeling of wanting to die was a sinking black hole that removed the safety ropes that a more functioning person could have used to pull themself out. i remember looking at my parents, longingly, needing their love and attention. when i was 7 years old my mom told me as nicely as she could that i was draining her. i remember feeling a cracked sensation that i’ve felt one other time in that same way. i got a job when i was 14 then moved out of my parents house when i was 17. i stayed gone for a whole 4 months. there were ghetto fabulous problems at the duplex so i moved back into my parents for a few months to come up with a new plan. while living at my parents with my boyfriend one day my mother said, “you know, you cry everyday” she said it sweetly with concern. that was the second time i felt a cracked sensation. none of the statements we’re profound but my parents never gave me unsolicited perspective. they never tried to battle me, to show me that they knew more or better so those two statements from my mother contained all of the observation that i didn’t think she had. i underestimated her. fantastically speaking, that cracked feeling was me being consumed by my compulsive feeling, that feeling freezing into something as solid as ice then cracked. trees that don’t bend, break. cracking is breaking. there’s a leonard cohen song that goes “Ring the bells that still can ring, Forget your perfect offering, There is a crack in everything, That’s how the light gets in”.

so i had these moments of childhood psychadelic expansion but that didn’t stop the feeling of sinking and the dreams of suffocation. as a kid my emotions were fucking tough from teenager on shit was going towards the point of no return. in middle school i “tried” to buy a gun from some kid that swore he was gangsta and a note i wrote about the ordeal found its way to a teacher. that turned into a thing. first semester of high school i skipped school on the day of finals. that landed me in alternative school. i didn’t go into the large room with all the potheads and pregnant girls. i was in a less talked about room with 2 “teachers” and 15 kids max. across from our room was an even smaller room, where we’d go if things got bad. these kids were different  and the “teachers” heading the class were so fucking real (i loved them). behind me sat a kid who i hadn’t heard speak for weeks. one day when i was turned around he said something to me, mentioning that our class was the “emotionaly disturbed room”. holy shit, how come no one told me? i was there for a year and a half. when i was sent to senior high school i was starting to border some crazy manic phase. the big moments that my pychologist knew about were nothing compared to the daily and weekly torture of my mind demanding me to die getting louder.

when i was 13 i was coming out of the tail end of a 2 year depression stemmed from moving to texas from new york. i’d walk to the creek with natural health magazines trying to give my mind something to do. i remember reading an article about sugar causing depression and thinking that health minded people are fucking bizarre. my dad subscribed to the magazine because he was a super strict macrobiotic health nut who i thought was crazy too. before he was into health we were poor as fuck. i remember once in a blue moon we’d go to the store and stock up on total shit food (hot dogs & soda) but most of the time i’d live on mustard sandwiches (no joke). processed cheese product was a luxury at the time. my dad never talked about health but everything was out in the open, all the grains, bean, veggies, health magazines, health books, and my dads restored health. a year later i read another article which planted a seed opening me up to the health food rabbit hole that i’m in now, soon to be 29.  when i was 17 i got my feet wet with health food, went vegan, blah blah blah, soy junk etc. when i was 19 and without a boyfriend for the first time in a few years i was free to explore extreme whole food veganism with fresh fruits, veggies and juice. that was the first time i lost a LOT of muscle and some fat. i was living mostly on fresh veggie juice, kale, grapes and clif bars. fucking sugar bombs. i remember laying really still, crying, trying not to move, scared that i would hurt myself. long story short i had my first, black and white eat-sugar-bite-someones(justin norrell)-head-off moment. that was profound, maybe sugar makes me moody.

more years of me being a total basket case, speed forward to age 23. i really wanted to change my life, i want to be a raw foodist, the real deal. 100%, ya know. at the time i was with my trainhopping partner who was a total drunken (smart as fuck) fire breathing monster. passionate vegan who loved vegan bread with soy shit on it. regardless of my ideals sooner or later i’m gonna eat (shit) like my partner does. i finally got a 3 month stretch of 100% raw foodist under my belt while living with him. living on agave/nut combos, agave/chocolate drinks and lots of fresh juices. i’d get my period once every 6 months or so. on this raw food kick, i got my period, it was a full moon and i was living on sugar. holy hell. pretty much no one knows this. i flipped the fuck out, i sunk in soooo deep i NEEDED the way a suffocating person needs air, for someone i would believe to tell me they loved me. sooo sunken in i looked at the phone, i couldn’t call anyone, they were all too far away. or i hadn’t called them enough and now i want to call them to be loved?!, too selfish. i couldn’t call anyone. at that moment my drunken boyfriend gets carried into our front bedroom and is lefted passed out on the bed. i come out from the back bedroom and think that it’s now or never to be told i’m loved. he’s sooo drunk, so unconscious, sinking in himself, i snapped. i called 911, confused, i knew i couldn’t stay there watching him so out of reach. i was taken to the mental hospital. i felt the pressure come down the second i left my home. the police waited with me outside before the hosptial was ready for me to come inside. while standing at the door a car pulls up and lady gets out and she stands alone, beside us. the cop says something jokey to her and she doesn’t give in. she doesn’t say anything. it was already late at night so when i arrived i was put into a large room, men on one side, women on the other, all laying in recliners with blankets. lights out, but it’s not dark in the room. adults surround the room. the woman who came in with me starts freaking out. the room feels like the emotionally disturbed class room. everyone is scared. women beside me start crying and breathing hard. the woman who came in with me is fighting the staff and more staff are running to take her down. she’s screaming shit you’d only hear in  a scary movie. i sobered up. i didn’t want to die, i wanted to get the fuck out of there. i had to wait till the morning to talk to the doctor to see what was the next step to getting out. in the morning they passed out brown bags of food that we’re not on my raw or vegan diet so i declined. they said it may be 4 or 5 hours to see the doctor. there in a full room of people, some seemed more crazy than others. people kept walking up to this window with stressed looks on their face. they were asking for drugs to relax them. they called my name, i went to the window. i declined my drugs. they told me it might be a few days before i get to leave. i was panicked. i ended up leaving that day. my boyfriend met me at the train station. when i got home, i juiced a quart of orange juice. i flipped out again and felt a hopeless shock of living a fucked life. i couldn’t be loved, i was too sunk in and i couldn’t love because i was easy to flip out.

homeboy flipped out, too dunk for himself to deal with he ran away to portland. he already fucked 2 other girls, already cared more about drinking than me….now i was alone. and i needed it. now i could dive into raw food as deep as i wanted. i lived extreme and loved it. i was a rollercoaster of highs and lows. then i met mark. real love is renewing. i tried to keep my shit under control. mark, young little mark, seemed so sweet i didn’t want to dampen his parade. fortunately for us, about 6 months after i met him veganism started to get cracks in it. another 6 months after that i was brave enough to eat animal foods. shifting from sugar to fat really shifted a lot in me. plus mark doesn’t want to fight with me. he doesn’t want to push my buttons and wants to understand if he does it by mistake.

even though i’m glossing over it, finding paleo and robb wolf (from starting with daniel vitals and lierre keith) made a change in my life that is hard to put into words. depression doesn’t sink in like it used to. i am aware of my reaction to sugar. i am sugar sensitive, not all the time, not every time. but one flip of the switch and i have to wait it out. i don’t have to die, i don’t have to sink in, just wait, meat and veggies are on their way and i will be okay. before, one form of sugar after another and the doses were out of control because i didn’t know what to look for.  what, like, 20 years of my life were a private struggle. so anyone who wants to tell me that paleo is a fad or a joke and they like bread (heathre)….that’s fine. you don’t have the emotional history that i have so paleo doesn’t address your needs.

with that said, my diet is not as hardcore as my living-alone-ideal-self would be. also, if the right trigger comes along i will sink, deeply. do i think about wanting to die? no. finally.  

 

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