*Photo: Live-blood analysis; 95% of my red-blood cells infected with Mycoplasma.
“…The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.” ~ Achilles
Re: December 19th 2012; 6pm PST. Roseville California.
My knees buckled.
Ever try walking through wet concrete?
It was like that.
As I treaded across my living-room, overwhelming flank-pain brought me down to reality… And by reality; I mean chest-down on the carpet, one side of my face graphed in fibers.
Something slowly became quite clear.
My adrenal glands were failing...
Welcome to Hunger Games.
I was home alone. (As luck would have it)
After kicking around like a snow angel for 3 hours, I stretched for an umbrella across the room, I used to knock a can of tuna off my kitchen counter.
That can of tuna seemed to glow like heroine might, under one of those graffitied overpass bridges. I instantly inhaled the family-can of drugs.
As I caught some more coherency, I slithered over to my phone and texted some near-by family for help.
They arrived about 45-minutes later; peeling-me off my living room carpet and dragging my fish-like body to their SUV.
It would be a long night.
I remember trying to fall asleep…
Fearing default of my financial responsibilities, worrying I may not be able to walk again for a few weeks. Lmao.
King of wishful thinking.
…Little did I know; It would be *5-months* before I could walk again and I’d spend the majority of the next 3-years bedridden.
Reality hadn’t crept in.
I’d spent the past year with bizarre sort of physical anxiety that left me laying on the floor for 4-5 hours at a time…
Sporadicly sending me to the ER, of which I’d return home with pockets-full-of-prescriptions and no fucking idea what was actually wrong with me.
Things got progressively worse.
Leading up to my impressionable crash day, after wasting down from 178 lbs to 118 lbs in less than 3-months.
60-pounds off my skeleton!
(And I was eating more than usual.)
I had spiraled into an aggressive case of cachexia; a wasting condition, often affecting advanced cancer patients, in their later demise.
One-week after my crash, I’d calculated that I’d been losing 8-pounds-per-week like clockwork, with no idea how to stop the wasting.
I had a serious problem.
*Mathematically; 3-weeks to live
I’m 5’11’’, so there was little optimism if I dropped down into the 90’s. (lbs)
I already had a resting-heart-rate of 150 BPM while confined to bed 23 hours per day… Where I laid pricking my finger 30x-per-day to try and throttle my blood sugar away from dangerous drops.
…I’d wake up throughout the night to “prick & eat” (usually soaked almonds in water), while laying on 3-5 pillows at a time to keep my stomach acid from raging up to singe my throat.
The worst part was I could barely ever breathe, as it was.
And I was always fucking hungry…
(Had to appease the parasites)
…Little bastards
consuming my flesh!
I required some form of meat, about a dozen times per day.
[*That isn’t what I ate prior to losing my legs. It’s what I ate to stay alive. All-meat isn’t ideal in every situation… it simply served my limited functioning metabolic-pathways, in the incredibly vulnerable predicament.]
I had to eat non-stop in my waking hours, just to maintain my 118 pound skeleton (arrest my wasting), gaining not a single-pound for months.
I’d finish my plate, I’d receive another. Eating was a marathon.
That lasted some months — until I began walking again, about 10-days after shocking myself intermittent with low-voltage square-waves.
I was finally able to “take breaks” between meals, but life still revolved around gross force-feeding… *For example; here’s (just) my breakfast routine that continued for roughly two years, after “getting my legs back”
Daily Breakfast:
*1-Pack Turkey Bacon
*1-Pack Pork Bacon
*1-box Chicken Sausage
*32oz Whole-Milk Yogurt (smoothie)
*Supplements (mostly gut)
*8oz Almond Milk
*Small container of berries
[*Visual for context]
*A lot of food.
All that to feed a starving squirrel of a person. 🐿
Mind you… that was just breakfast.
About 45 minutes after, came lunch #1… which usually consisted of a half-pound burger (on lettuce) with potatoes covered in a half-cup of garlic.
For dessert, bone broth.
Over $7,000 per month on food and food-based supplements, alone.
I maintained close-versions of these portions (5-6x per day) for the next few years, slowly cutting-back as I became more stabilized in weight.
Patience was never my virtue.
Surviving the Game.
Several doctors have told me they’ve never seen anyone survive advanced-cachexia, before hearing my story. I was ahem, “lucky”
So what happened?
There’s a LOT to unwrap, so I’ll just point out the basics for you…
- I had mercury poisoning… stemming from childhood vaccines and dental-fillings.
- I was dangerously riddled with candidiasis… even my tongue was blanketed in alien-looking crop-circles of fungi.
- I was consumed with various pathogens, including Lyme Borrelia and Mycoplasma pneumonia.
- I had heart problems, hormonal-insufficiencies, liver problems, gall-bladder problems, nervous malfunction, kidney problems, etc.
- I developed a terminal case of Crohn’s Disease and my gut was (literally) disintegrating…
- To top everything off, my thyroid was shot, my liver couldn’t metabolize carbohydrates, and my adrenals lingered on life-support.
You get the idea.
There were several metabolic-factors that played into this, many of which IMO stemmed from mercury poisoning at their root-of-pathology.
To make matters worse, mercury (in dental fillings) constantly vaporizes, for as long as they remain in the individuals mouth. (*See video below)
[VIDEO – SMOKING TEETH]
*What happens as amalgam-fillings are disturbed
…If you drink hot-caffeinated beverages throughout the day, like I did, it gets exponentially worse. Brushing your teeth? Same thing…
In fact: It was while brushing my teeth (about 6-months post crash) that my knees began to buckle. I thought little of it’s direct-correlation with my activity at hand, until the same thing happened again the day after.
I was still a wobbly glass of water, so my extreme sensitivity assisted to identify the culprit in the new found horror;
Disturbing-teeth = Multiple Sclerosis.
Attempting to detox myself in anyway, yielded the same result, only worse.
My fillings were keeping my liver bottle-necked in toxicity and my gut was so withered that anything I minutely attempted to detox… just poured back into my blood through my permeable, withered gut.
My heart would go berserk, which often followed with an ambulance ride and laying in the germ-ridden ER with no solutions in sight.
Doctors hadn’t a clue.
And I knew it, which made it all the more grim.
…Over two-dozen medical-experts sifted through on both sides of the conventional and alternative aisles… still unable to provide much insight.
Don’t get me wrong, some were well-intended, just not much help.
This realization however, planted me in an extensive darkness, that served in itself as a critical-aid in my overall survival.
It was fortunate I’d spent life fascinated with interpreting behavior.
Had I not been able to properly read them, I would have potentially surrendered into submissiveness — due to common inferiority.
Sad Truth: Most people die because they prostrate their entire reality at the feet of “experts”
One of the few reasons I was lucky enough to survive is because I chose myself over the overwhelming influence of authority.
I sided with logic and listened to myself. Like everyone (should) do.
I’d lay there helpless and docile…. lights overhead flickering blinding fluorescents into my painfully hypersensitive eyes.
Realizing… I was the most capable person in the room, in a room of life-long experts, while also being the most incapacitated person in the room.
Staring at the cold-hard truth, on the back of my eyelids…
Nobody was going to save me.
So I dedicated what minimal-faith I retained to myself.
After an overnight-hospital stay for continued heart-monitoring, I decided I wouldn’t be staying past morning or returning there, again.
So come morning, I left the hospital with my heart fluttering out of my chest and hit the freeway…
I bunked up in a hotel some hours away for the following night, near a dentist I’d arranged appointment with months prior.
Had I disclosed my hospitalization, the appointment would have been cancelled. It could have taken months for another.
I didn’t have that long.
My last shot at life.
I underwent my first mercury-extraction with my bio-dentist, practicing safe-removal protocol by all IAOMT standards, and then some.
(*If you have any metal dental work in your mouth and need to get it removed, you can search their database here for a bio-dentist near you.)
I went through four procedures over the next 4-months, each time nearly collapsing from heart arrhythmias.
But the worst was behind me.
Thank God for Dr Gary. [my Dentist, since retired]
I focused on rebuilding my gut for the next 2 years, along with electrically-induced electroporation and careful heavy metal chelation.
After enough progress had been made, I shifted gears toward my weaker metabolic pathways… combing through as many individual biological processes I could, as it related to my conditional state.
The day I left my House.
*Sunset photo taken from my backyard; Laguna Beach Ca
Once I was finally back to “leaving the house” again, and feeling more normal-like, you could say…
I decided to move down to Southern California.
I’d been back to work consulting for nearly three years now, so it felt like I deserved reward for my elongated prevalence in survival….
I bought a new 600hp sports car and moved into a multi-million dollar 180-degree ocean view home in Laguna Beach CA.
*Photo [of me]; Instagram photographer, Newport Beach Ca
…Six months out of the woods, I’d racked-up over $50k per month in living expenses.
Hard to resist after feeling like a limp prisoner for so long.
And yeah… it turned out to be a REALLY DUMB MISTAKE.
In all my sickness, the one organ that functioned sharply was my BRAIN.
(Otherwise my bread and butter)
Even when I couldn’t walk, talk or barely breathe for God sakes… I still managed to write sales letters — while confined to bed.
[*On an iPod in Airplane mode, because my nervous system was so frayed, the EMF’s (electro-magnetic fields) made me feel too bizarre to function.]
I managed to earn some more companies tens-of-millions of dollars, using my brain and my thumbs. And my thumbs were expendable.
My brain was not only vital in navigating my survival, but it was my saving grace in being able to support myself… being an otherwise useless vegetable.
Until it wasn’t.
The house I moved into in Laguna Beach was completely rebuilt and remodeled, beautifully with contemporary architecture…
*Rebuilt; due to prior black-mold that was never disclosed to me.
Well, they had forgotten to sterilize the mold spores in the dirt, which happened to be the crawl-space under the master-bedroom where I slept.
The incoming plumbing to the vanity was also not sealed with any pipe foam, which made things worse; As the daily evening mist climbed up the front hillside from the ocean…. it constantly saturated the mold-spores.
I was breathing it in every night (all-night) in my sleep. For months.
BLACK MOLD!
Mind you, this was after my 4-year battle-to-recovery of where I’d gotten myself up until that point…
{Me: Feeling like bruh… Have mercy!}
My new exposure didn’t however carry the physical havoc on my gut or mobile ability, anything like before… But it had introduced an entirely new problem I hadn’t (yet) navigated.
…MY BRAIN WAS
COMPLETELY TRASHED!
After countless sleepless nights, feeling like my kidneys were being rung-out like wet washcloths… the culprit-at-hand (again) revealed itself.
That is to say; once you get worn-down (enough) and become overly-sensitized to anything… the cause becomes far more prominent.
*A frayed nervous system amplifies distortion like a fading radio-signal.
Appeasing my suspicions, I ran a test for black mold on my house and myself, while both were confirmed.
I moved out a week later and trashed all my furniture.
Health-wise, I could still attend to myself for normal day-to-day, but holy smokes, when it came to creative thought, my brain was TOAST.
…I couldn’t formulate a single impactful paragraph for the next 9 months!
My bank account plummeted fast and I pissed off some clients in the process.
That’s why you don’t rack up a $50k-per-month lifestyle when you’re life involves any instability. [Wisdom that isn’t all that cryptic…]
As a copywriter, I never fathomed such a handicap.
I just assembled words into a doc and it worked.
Companies (my clients) simply took the word doc I emailed them, published it onto one of their webpages, and we all reaped the healthy profits.
So the day I didn’t know if I’d lost that capability forever, I was petrified.
Fortunately after another long year, I slowly gained my brain back.
(…Or so it seemed)
After detoxing the mold, metals, pathogens, fluoride, etc… I discovered myself to appear superior in mental acuity than that prior to my sickness.
Perceptively, this was very good.
I felt much more in-tune with macro-reality.
But then again, that’s (also) what happens when you can’t move, walk or work and your 3rd eye blooms like an onion… while you lay in darkness, intoxicated with anxiousness.
…You think about stuff.
…You explore new rabbit-holes.
…You form interesting models.
You (can) discover some mind-bending shit.
Eventually, you begin playing Tetris with our collective reality… from origination, existence, disease, dishonor, ill-intent and the psychological fingerprints left on *everything* wrong around us.
Stuff I’m inclined to share.
WARNING: Folks committed to compartmentalized views of reality, handed to them through our authoritarian societal framework, will need opt-out.
This stuff isn’t for the meek.
If that sounds good, cool.
We’ll get jiggy with an array of things that’ll be sure to riptide the pot.
My first agenda, is to resume with entrepreneurship…
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Dilly dilly,
David
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