I Remember

At times, this illness is a blur, a span of nearly three years that feels as if it all happened within the blink of an eye. But at other times, the painful memories consume you. Those moments etched in your memory, likely forever, stretching out time. All of us were much different people before we were struck down with this invader, this alien that maneuvers itself and infiltrates every part of your being. It can leave you handicapped emotionally, mentally, and physically all at once. It will rob you of your soul, and for some, it becomes too much of a burden to even endure. Somehow many of us overcome it all. Many will say they fought it off with iron fists slamming into the enemy. An enemy that is invisible to everyone else, but yourself. I believe them, but I never really fought, I just merely hung on. Somehow I got here, three years later, and I wouldn't recognize the person I was back then. I'm not better, I'm not worse, I'm different. I will forever carry the memories of being at the edge. I will forever remember things that I simply don't want to remember. Maybe, I need to remember them. I don't know.

I remember the pain. I remember the precise moment the pain entered my life. I remember how it felt, it was like two men grabbing my intestines from both ends and twisting them repeatedly with all their strength, as if the end goal were to rip it all apart. It wasn't intermittent, it was constant, never a moment's rest. When it set in I told myself this was temporary. It lasted for two more years. 

I remember the fatigue. I remember suddenly feeling so tired that I collapsed out of my chair. It happened weeks after the stomach pain set in. I thought nothing could render your life more miserable than the pain that had become part of my normal existence, I was wrong. I remember nearly fainting while going for a jog, trying to understand the new state of my body. I remember a month later, the fatigue increasing to the point where my bed became the only place I would exist for that next year. I remember being too tired to even get out and make my own meals. The act of simply walking from my room to the kitchen had transformed from a normal task, to feeling like I was about climb a mountain.

I remember the deterioration. I remember the scale in my room. I remember the numbers dropping as if it were a countdown to something. 185, 180, 165, 150, 140, 130. I remember looking in the mirror and seeing an unfamiliar gray face staring back with its ribs protruding out of him. I remember asking how I got here, in such a short time. I remember looking up to a god I had never spoken to before, and simply asked, "Why?"

Right before I became ill at 185 Lbs.

At 145 Lbs only 9 months later. Still enduring grueling treatments.

 I remember the doctors. Each and every one. I remember when they initially thought I had HIV, then Chron's, then IBS, I could continue on, but the list wouldn't stop for some time. I remember after almost a year being told there was nothing it could be but cancer. Hodgkins Lymphoma. I remember the elation I felt with this prognosis. I also recall the shock on people's faces when they could see the excitement in mine at the prospect of cancer. I felt like I was dying, at least now there was a chance I would get better. Life is all relative, no one wants cancer, but when you're suffering immensely every day, and someone tells you theres a possible solution, you can't help but feel joy. I remember the bone marrow biopsy, the spinal tap, the exams. I remember the doctor coming in and saying it was negative. I remember the words, "Your body is shutting down, we dont know why. Sorry." I remember being handed anti-depressants to help me through my "tough" situation. I remember breaking down into tears.

I remember the Lyme Diagnosis. I remember somehow finding the energy to leap out of my seat and give her the biggest hug I've ever given anyone. I now remember the look on her face, the half smile that spoke to her happiness but also to her fear that I had no idea what I was in for. I remember her telling me weeks later that I would've been better off with HIV, that the medical community was too far behind on Lyme. I remember the fear that had disappeared weeks earlier, suddenly creeping back in. I remember not getting better. I remember feeling like I was back at square one. I remember being hopeless.

I remember the deaths. The people who were too young to die, those that were once in my life, that suddenly weren't. I remember feeling guilty. I remember feeling worthless, I wasn't a good friend, I wasn't as good of a person as any of them. I remember feeling it should've been me, not them. I remember the calls to 1-800-SUICIDE. I remember thinking once again, how did I get here. I remember wanting to end it all, I remember the plans, I remember it all. I remember straggling into my car with all the fatigue, plotting plans, but then simply driving off to admit myself into a psychiatric clinic. "Not yet," I told myself. I had to hang on just a little bit longer.

I remember sitting in the psychiatric ward. Sitting in teal scrubs beside a man repeatedly talking to himself. I remember another man across the room tatted head to toe on the phone discussing it was another drug charge and he assaulted someone. I remember the staff looking at me as if I were vastly inferior to them. I remember agreeing. I remember meeting with the psychiatrist on staff. I remember her eyes filled with empathy, "You dont belong here. You're physically ill, not mentally. They need to figure out whats wrong with you. I really wish I could help." I remember going home, and I remember the worry that ensued within my family.

I remember learning about the stigma behind Lyme Disease. I remember realizing that most doctors thought the illness I was given, didn't exist. I had been duped by quack doctors or I was faking it. I remember the aggression and rage that began to rise within. I remember not understanding, "How could they ignore this, how could they let people suffer like this?" I remember telling friends who were aspiring medical students about my situation and the empathy they felt. I remember after going to classes, some of those same medical students suddenly telling me I was wrong. I should be ok by now, and if I'm not then it's something else. I remember realizing this was a vicious cycle, this wasn't going to end anytime soon.

I remember going to a medical facility called Envita out of desperation. I remember the weird treatments that were making me better. I remember the relief I felt as there may be a way out of this. I remember not questioning that they didn't record anything, and the success rates they'd given me were clearly false. I remember ignoring how uncomfortable I felt when it seemed like the staff felt as if their methods were the best and untouchable, all due to some higher calling from God, and were sent on a mission to make us better. I remember the narcissism in the man who ran it, I remember getting worse after suddenly getting better. I remember pleading with my doctor to help me and him stating, "I don't know." I remember him telling me that I had a spell cast upon me while I was working in Africa and I needed to use the power of Jesus and also get an exorcism if I ever hoped to be well. I remember clenching a fist and a fire burning throughout my body as I was prepared to launch myself at the man I had entrusted my life to for six months. I remember somehow collecting myself and walking out. I remember feeling like it was all over.

I remember the family I met at Envita who was gracious enough to offer their home in Virginia to me and a doctor who'd help me get well. I remember flying out, wondering if it was all worth it, I had endured enough. I remember sitting in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber, and recovering faster than I ever thought possible. I remember hitting a wall in my recovery that I couldn't get past soon after. But I also remember feeling human again, I remember the thoughts of ending it all finally disappearing. 

I remember meeting my girlfriend. I remember the feeling I felt within. My heart raced, my eyes stayed fixed on her. I didn't know exactly what to say. I remember being extremely nervous. I remember the connection that ensued, the feelings that had risen in me that I had never experienced before. I remember questioning it. I remember feeling its too good to be true, I remember the confusion. I remember spending time with someone who knew what I was going through, someone who had experienced it herself. I remember not feeling alone for the first time in years, I remember falling in love.

I remember seeing her healthy, vibrant as ever. I remember the jumping jacks in the room, and the smiles that never seemed to fade away. I also remember feeling her pain. I remember watching her slowly get worse as she didn't have the finances to stay on the medications she needed. I remember screaming to myself, "Why isn't our care covered under medical insurance." I watched her lose part of herself. I watched as I also lost a part of myself. I watched her deterioration as she withered under the fists of this illness. I remember feeling I'd rather it be me, not her. I remember realizing what it's like to care about someone more than yourself.

I remember feeling what it's like to be close to wellness, but not there yet. I remember the PTSD that's followed this destruction, the type that I thought was only reserved for those in the armed forces. I remember still being scared, but knowing that I'm with a new doctor in New York who's pushed me past that wall I hit and that I'll feel wellness soon enough. I remember being hardened by Lyme to the point that the diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes hardly bothered me. If I could endure Lyme, than Diabetes would pale in comparison.

I remember the vast amount of friendships I lost. I remember feeling out of touch with others my age. I remember feeling like I was 19 and 80 at the same time, though I'm 23. I hadn't matured much after the point I became ill, but I've also been through more than someone should realistically go through in an entire lifetime. I remember feeling like I want to help those with this insidious disease, but I'm also afraid that my identity will always be tied into that guy that was sick. I remember wanting to be more than just my illness.

I remember all this not even being the worse part of this experience.

I remember hearing hundreds, even thousands of Lyme stories ten times worse than mine.

I remember sitting here, right now at this very moment, thinking when will the pain and suffering inflicted to all those with this illness ever stop. I remember thinking, "Life isn't fair."

Enslaved

I'm writing this because I desperately need an outlet to get all these thoughts and feelings that are caught inside of me out in the open, to be relieved of the pain that withers me down.

My mind no longer works or functions as it used to, this illness has begun to rob me of my cognitive gifts that I felt made me unique and slightly separated me from the norm. I fully realize that people have become relatively fatigued with my story. One minute I'm assaulting social media with posts of how I've won and beaten this horrific disease. Then within months I once again must shamefully reveal that I did not overcome the one thing that brings me sorrow every day I'm alive.

I can fully acknowledge that it is ridiculous at this point, to shout how proud I am to have won, only to lose once again. It's a vicious cycle, and eventually people get tired of hearing it, so you can only imagine my disgust of dealing with this battle that never seems to end.

I no longer fear this disease has the ability to bury my beneath the earth, but now it has become a question of my quality of life. If I do not take my medications, I feel relatively well, semi-functioning, able to take care of myself. However, if I take the medication that will supposedly bring my quality of life back to its fullest extent, I must endure the worse suffering one could ever imagine. If I don't take my medications I will relapse even further, into the depths where I once was, that I never want to go back to. So here I am, stuck in a rather difficult situation.

My body has literally stopped working, I have become fully enslaved to it. I have been informed that the possibility of me fully beating this illness is not guaranteed, rather it may even be unlikely. So what is the point of continuing this fight that has already robbed me two years of my life.

I write this because I want all the people and friends I have lost over this period to know why we have lost contact. It is true, the amount of friends I have has dwindled due to the fact I completely shut down when my body refuses to comply with my wishes. It is literally a prison, a cruel one at that.

It's rather difficult for me to admit this, but there are many moments where I consider taking my own life. I once had very high expectations for myself, but I must lower them as each day passes with this alien that has invaded my body and robbed me of my physical and mental strength. If I lost contact with any of you, it is not because my affection for any of you has dissipated, it is much deeper than that.

Some days I feel fine, but the days when this disease infiltrates every aspect of my soul, the impulse to simply end my existence is inevitable. But I truly don't want to, and I resist it as much as I possibly can. I still cling to the hope that I can overcome this insidious ailment, and live at least a decent life that has some meaning, and though I have shut many people off, there are still the few that have stuck around that deeply care about me, and I know this situation is bigger than myself, and if I give into the horrific impulses I will be responsible for the despair of people that I truly care about.

However, I am fully aware it takes only one day where I can't muster the strength to fight any longer that will bring this to an end. I feel confident that I can avoid that day, but I sadly realize it is a possibility. It upsets me because I know there are others in my situation that would continue to fight on and never give up, and I now realize that I am not one of the stronger individuals out there as I have now been fully torn down.

I keep my circle small, and shut out many because if that moment comes where I can no longer resist those terrible impulses I dont want to burden those around me. I'd rather just be a distant memory, someone that they were once close with but the distance I have put between us won't burden them with my pain as much as if we had remained close.

I'm disconnected, I became sick on my 21st birthday. Even though I am now 23, I still feel 21. The pain I have endured has also left me feeling like an old man that has been through hell and back. I can no longer connect with those around me. The only contact I can maintain is with those who have suffered, and can relate to my situation.

There are moments where I wish I could go back in time, redo my life. I no longer know what my purpose in this life is. I once imagined myself accomplishing great things, but now I realize that my purpose may be nothing more than a lab rat if I live out my full existence. My doctor fully admits that most of the medications I am taking are experimental. I may be setting the path so those that come after me won't have to stomach my agony. That may be my only purpose, and sooner or later I have to come to terms with that.

I had to write this for myself, but I don't know why I'm sharing these extremely personal thoughts with others. It may be because I've reached my breaking point and I no longer care what others think. Some may believe I am doing this to only seek attention, and maybe so. Maybe I want empathy, I am not sure at this point, and it would probably take a psychologist to figure this out.

I merely want the pain to stop. I want my family to be free of the worries that come with a sick child. I want to grow with my girlfriend who is absolutely amazing and I couldn't get through this without her. I want my life back, I want to have a day where this illness does not infiltrate my thought process or hinder me in any way.

I am envious of my friends who can go on with their lives with hardly any worries. I want that life, and I am clinging to the hope that I can still get it back!

PEOPLE

I'm not quite sure why I am writing this. There are times where I believe I am too reflective. However, anyone who's gone through rough moments within their lives, whether it be the loss of a loved one, rejection, or illness knows that it allows for a time of deep introspection. You begin to question things that you never had before. The question, "What is the meaning of life?" that once seemed frivolous, is now significant, and is an answer that you actively search for. I'm 22 years old, with very little life experience compared to most, but the answer that I've been able to come up with is "people".

Take a second and imagine something. Close your eyes, and try to visualize the earth where there are no buildings, no sanitation, and no other human beings. There is nothing to this world beside the landscape that you used to peer out at from your window. You're all alone in this world, similar to the concept of a deserted island. Do you think you'd be able to attain happiness in this version of your life? Sure, this sounds like a Greenpeace member's wet dream, and if we don't curtail our rate of consumption we may very well be handing this type of world to future generations. However, I feel the answer for most would be a resounding "No".

When I leave my house now and walk through a city or town I'm amazed at the thought that we built this. We constructed these immensely complex societies, through generations of fostering education and cooperation with one another. It's our duty to soak up everything that past generations have to offer us, then build upon it ourselves and pass it down to our young one's. That is a fulfilling life, and that is our purpose. This may sound redundant, but knowledge and love will provide you with more wealth than any material objects ever could.

Human beings are social animals, we need to be able to connect emotionally and foster relationships with others, it's what gives our lives meaning and purpose. Unfortunately, I feel as if we're entering into an age in which we are becoming increasingly disconnected with one another. Technology, something that was able to make communication easier, may ultimately make it harder upon us and future generations. Bear in mind, the technological advancements are great as long as people use them properly. But when you're out to dinner with friends and spend the entire time on Facebook, or you spend hours a day taking the appropriate selfie to put on Instagram, you're out of touch with what's reality.

We no longer value friendship or connection like those who came before us. We now are mostly concerned with flaunting ourselves, and attaining a lifestyle that others would be envious of. We market ourselves through these social media outlets trying to create a picture of how close we are to being perfect. I don't know about you but I don't want to live in a world where everyone is perfect. Where's the fun in that? I constantly see people our age who are absurdly insecure, yet will go to great lengths to paint themselves as if they are without any flaws.

Flaws are what make us unique, it's what makes us human beings. Media will constantly fill you with images on why you don't fit society, and what you must acquire to achieve this normalcy that is so coveted. What should you say to these images being thrown your way making you feel inadequate? Fuck Em!

I am not saying that I constantly abide to these traits, but these are traits that I find most appealing in people, traits that I believe our world is doing a pretty good job of devaluing:

1. Vulnerability - Being vulnerable is usually linked with weakness, but I feel the opposite to be true. Yes, we are supposed to constantly flex our muscle and show how the world can't beat us down, but that is unrealistic and fake. We are vulnerable creatures, it's perfectly natural. What's unnatural is to deny our vulnerabilities and go through great lengths to hide them at all costs. I admire those who can be open about what their faults are, the people who allow you to see them for who they really are. I'm under the belief that that takes much more strength than walking around blindly parading how awesome you are. Now, bear in mind, when I say be vulnerable, I don't mean go on Facebook and rant to strangers about how much you hate yourself. I'm merely advising you to be open with those who you're close with. This is the very reason I will not list my insecurities through some blog, but if you're a friend and want to know on a personal level, than I'd be more than happy to oblige.

2. Compassion - In order for one to be vulnerable, others must be compassionate. To be empathetic may not come right away to some. More often than not, it's a trait that needs to be cultivated through life experiences and your own personal effort. But compassion is key to being human. It takes a truly special person to be able to feel someone else's pain or elation. If we are to succeed and prosper as people, we need to be able to understand each other, and empathize with what others may be going through, otherwise we will never be able to fully grasp the consequences of our actions (which is truly dangerous). Throughout your life, I feel it's important to be able to do your best to put yourself in someone else's shoes. Try to understand them instead of neglecting them.

3. Sincerity - I'm a hypocrite as I dont fully take part in this trait. I was taught to look out for my own interests among everything else, honesty was not valued in that ideology. However, those who are sincere and genuine in their actions are those who will forever be most respected among their peers. The true measure of someone's character is the ability one has to help someone else that can do nothing for them. Instead of constantly playing psychological games with a person to obtain what you want out of them, just be open and honest. It will likely help you in the long-run and create more trusting relationships throughout your life.

4. Easygoing - I think this trait is pretty self-explanatory, but I'll add my two cents anyways. Life is hard, it's supposed to be. But life is also fun, and if you take yourself too seriously you're going to have an unfulfilling existence. It's ok to make fun of yourself as long as it's not self-humiliating. Would you rather be around someone who constantly finds faults with everything, or someone who consistently lets things roll off his shoulder and finds the good within every day. Whether you are aware of it or not, life is extremely fragile, so it's important savor the time you do have. Life is messy, enjoy it!

5. Impervious - Let me clarify, when I say impervious, I mean impervious to comparing yourself with others. If your worth and value as a person are tied to what others are doing than you may be in for a life of disappointment. We are given these rigid paths that we must abide by, and if we fall off the path at any point than we are told we've failed because others haven't. The truth is, we all have different paths in life, none are identical. I can not stress this enough, but do not constantly measure yourself up against others. No one is going to want to spend time with the person who uses others as nothing more than a measuring stick for him or herself. Yes, you do need to listen to what other people think, it's impossible not to. An important quality is the ability to take in constructive criticism, but it shouldn't be everything. There are people in this world who aren't going to like you and that's perfectly ok. If you get too caught into what others think, it's going to do nothing but drive you mad. As long as you like yourself, that should be enough!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you found some pleasure in this ridiculous rant of mine :)

Recovery

As I was bored and reopened this blog I realized that an uplifting post was long overdue. Considering that the last time I wrote this I was on the verge of calling it quits, I figured an update was sorely needed. Reading through all the posts I've written is bittersweet. It's somewhat nostalgic reading through the posts I wrote while traveling as if it was yesterday. But it quickly grows bitter as I move through the various posts to the date when this suddenly transformed from something meant to detail my life abroad to an account of my medical journey, fighting to keep my head above water so to speak.

It was only two months ago that I felt like I had finally lost this war. My previous doctor who had been overseeing my care told me that I wasn't getting better due to the fact I had a spell cast on me while I was in Africa. I was utterly demoralized in every sense of the word. I could no longer eat without vomiting, crawling out of bed was comparable to climbing a mountain, and the pain I experienced was excruciating. I once had a thirst for life, I wanted to experience life to its fullest potential and do everything I had dreamed of. However, I had now reached the point in which I could no longer live within my own body. The pain was too much, the fatigue too great, and the mental toll too devastating. I'm not exactly sure what I would have done, and I'm not comfortable really confiding every detail for everyone to see, but the fact remains I had reached the point where if things didn't improve quickly I saw no way in which I could continue to live in my current state.

I came clean to my family and told them the burden was too great to bear any longer, I had finally reached my breaking point. And then it happened. I received a phone call from a couple I met while I was in treatment at my previous clinic. They were middle-aged, but we got along well right from the beginning. The wife had been struggling with this illness for years and had yet to see any real improvement. They called me and told me that their family friend was one of the top doctors in the country and despite the fact that he wasn't seeing new patients for another year they would get me in to see him in a couple weeks. They would also allow me to stay at their house in the Washington DC area in which they currently weren't living in. These people stepped in and essentially saved my life and expected nothing in return.

I headed out loaded up on percocet (only way I could get out the house) and flew across country to give it one last shot at winning this war. I realized if this didn't work I wouldn't have anything left to go at it again. I thought my chances at improving at this point were slim but I was still holding onto the notion that I had to give it everything I could. I owed it not only to myself, but to everyone else inflicted with this terrible illness to overcome it. I was aware that this thing was much bigger then me, and I had to muster up whatever strength I could and give it one last go.

I'll fast forward through all the laborious details and get straight to the point. Upon meeting the doctor he explained to me that I was not even a difficult case. Being in Arizona was one of the worse possible scenarios for me and I should've gone out of state from the moment I received my diagnosis. He told me, that though he couldn't make any promises he truly believed he could bring me back. The best part of this was the treatment was simply taking the right medication. There was no grueling chemo like therapy, no days with my face hovering above a toilet seat. He simply figured out what was wrong, gave me the proper medication and I got better.

It's been two months and the recovery has been nothing short of amazing so far. I was practically a vegetable upon arriving here and I'm back to essentially being fully-functional. I still have a little ways to go, I'm at around 70% so I'll still need to get that other 30% back, but that should come with time. For now it really does seem like I will overcome what has been without a doubt the most difficult time in my life. A feat I thought was nearly impossible just a few months ago.

It's strange reading through the previous posts and reflecting upon the flight I took home from Australia nearly two years ago. I remember thinking that whatever was wrong with me was no big deal. I'd take some pills for a couple weeks and I'd be fine. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I'd have to fight and claw my way just to survive over the next couple years. Fortunately, in any negative situation there is always positives to be taken. I am without a doubt certain that I will never let petty issues detour me from my happiness ever again. Life truly is a gift, something that we all take for granted. It's only when it is potentially taken from us, we come to the realization just how precious it is. If I could offer advice to anyone, please try to live life to its greatest potential. Take chances, make mistakes, keep working to attain as much happiness as humanly possible. And that happiness will likely not be provided through materialistic things, but through relationships you cultivate, and goals you set forth and then accomplish.

We live in a society where we feel as if we are safe and protected from anything adverse ever happening to us. However, I can promise that life is much more fragile then you may ever realize. Start living today instead of tomorrow!

The Circus

I'm sitting here trying to come up with a witty opening paragraph, but the words no longer transfer from my mind to the keyboard like they once were able to. I'll put all the bullshit aside and just write an update on how I'm currently doing. A lot of friends have been trying to get ahold of me, curious as to where I am now at in my life. I didn't have the stomach or the patience to tell them one by one how everything had crumbled as quickly as it had been built.

A little over three months ago, I rejoiced in thinking that the worse was finally behind me. I had spent a substantial amount of time in a chemo like therapy that ripped me to shreds. Throughout the duration of the treatment I forced myself to keep a positive outlook no matter how bleak things may actually have been. In the beginning I regressed as each week passed, and it was pretty demoralizing. Then, it suddenly happened, it was as if a light switch that had been turned off for a year was suddenly flicked on. I woke up and no longer felt as if I was dying. There were no longer periods of regression, as each day wore on I was improving more and more. Eventually the improvement was so apparent and dramatic that we felt comfortable enough to pull me off of everything and let me return to the normal life that had eluded me for some time.

I was excited at the prospect of being able to move on and put the tortuous memories of what had occurred behind me. For once, I was able to tell all the people that had constantly kept up on my situation some good news. It really was as if the most massive weight in the world had finally been lifted off of my shoulders. Unfortunately, as quickly as the situation had improved, it corroded once again at that same pace. Within a couple of months everything that I had worked so hard to beat had come right back. but this time with an even greater ferocity.

This is where the circus began. I wanted answers, I had expended all financial resources and energy into this thing. At first, my doctor had came back and said it was still side-effects from the treatment and it would eventually improve, but it never did. Months wore on, and I was not showing any signs of recovery. In actuality, it had gotten even worse. The fatigue had risen to the point where it was unbearable. I experienced severe light and sound sensitivity. Throughout these past few years, I could always make due with my iTunes or a book I enjoyed. But I no longer had the focus or initiative to make my way through any novel and listening to music had become an arduous task. Due to the sound sensitivity and constant ringing in the ears, music was no longer pleasant. Instead it had morphed into this chore, anything I tried to listen to now just sounded like loud metal objects clashing into each other.

I was entrenched in the medical maze once again, and this time words like Parkinson's or MS were thrown my way. I thought to myself, "When does it end?" As I started to talk to people who were more in-tune  to my situation it had become pretty clear that my physician had pulled me off the meds way too soon. A relapse was all but inevitable for the time frame he had kept me on everything. Without getting too much into specifics it is essentially common knowledge that when you find something that works for the patient (we did) you keep them on that medication for two months after all symptoms have resolved, not pull them off as soon as improvement is shown.

When I went back to my treating physician at Envita with this information he became a bit defensive. Suddenly our discussion had taken a wide turn left and had approached a place I didn't think was possible. The man I had entrusted the last six months of my life vented himself into a fiery harangue in which he accused me of possibly having a spell casted on me while I had been traveling. This "spell" that had been put on me was a major contributing factor to my current predicament. He then proceeded to give me the name of a minister who could perform an exorcism upon me. Lets also not forget, his speech wouldn't have been complete without incorporating a few "Finding Jesus" anecdotes. No, this is not an exaggeration, as crazy as this may sound, it all happened. When he had finished, I was at an utter loss for words, I basically had to pick my tongue up off the floor from disbelief. I simply thanked him for his time and walked out the door.

To have bought into everything someone had sold you upon, only to come to the realization that it was a huge mistake and that said person may be mentally unstable was absolutely dejecting. I came home and decided it was time to accept my losses and quit. I had given it a fair shot, but there was nothing left of me to give. I couldn't handle anymore disappointment. The fact that I had had the carrot of a normal life dangling in front of my face only to have it snatched away before I could enjoy it was too much for me. In fact, it probably made the entire situation worse.

The past few weeks, friends and family have worked on talking me into giving it one more shot. However, I am running on empty, I really don't have much left to give. I'll be moving to Michigan in a couple weeks to re-start on a treatment that will probably be brutal once again. I wish there was a happy ending to this story, I truly do wish that the next post had been about me reacclimating to a normal life. Sadly, I've had to come to the realization that nothing in this life is guaranteed and everything can change before you're even fully aware of what's happening. One of the main reasons I probably continue to push on is because before this I exhibited pretty self destructive behavior. It almost seems wrong that something like this would possibly be the thing that takes me down considering everything else I've done. If I'm going to leave this world it should be from a mistimed jump off an airplane, not from a damn bug bite and a doctor who believed he was the second-coming of christ.

Earning My Life

My entire life things have just been given to me. For twenty-one years I've been on the receiving end of practically every exchange made between another human being and myself. I've been provided with clothes, medicine, an education, a car, and anything else I so wished for at the drop of a dime with little to no resistance. I'm an only child and was raised as such, I labored through a childhood that lacked any real purpose. I had never been instilled with a work-ethic that is essentially a fundamental requirement for one to live a life of value and worth.

The cult of self dominated my entire thought process. I exhibited the classic traits of a psychopath: superficial charm, grandiosity, and self-importance. I had a need for constant stimulation, a penchant for lying, deception, and manipulation, the inability to feel remorse or guilt. In other words, by the time I had reached adulthood a monster had been created. I internally knew something wasn't right, that the pieces didn't quite fit. As I began to mature I was riddled with a sense of guilt; I had done nothing to earn everything I had been given. I remember at nineteen looking into the mirror and being ashamed of the reflection that peered back. At that time I was living in an incredibly nice apartment complex and attending one of the best business schools in the country. The only setback was that it was all completely unwarranted.

Whenever any task became difficult I would generally quit, it became a recurring theme in my life. Sure, there was the occasional moment due to the encouragement of a friend that I may have pushed through, but it was indeed quite rare. I had grown accustom to just skating by, it was all I ever knew. Fast forward to the present time; as I drag myself to the mirror every morning the difference between now and a couple years ago is pretty dramatic. The muscles that rippled through my arms are no longer existent, my shoulders are now narrow and curve inwards. A face that was once filled with color and defined with strong features, is now a lifeless dull gray, marked with a thinness that is correlated with not being well.  I should be mortified with this new man staring back at me, but I am not. Though there are times I may cringe at my new appearance, I am usually content. The feelings of condescension and disdain towards myself are no longer there, and that is because for the first time since being born I am earning my life.

For those of you that have been following my story you are probably aware that I am currently in the midst of a brutal treatment to try and overcome a debilitating illness. The side effects produced from my current treatment tend be just as, if not more devastating than chemotherapy for cancer patients. I spend most of my days now collapsed on my knees with my face hovered over a toilet as the nausea consumes me. My body will involuntarily shake viciously, the jerked movements completely out of my control. People who come across me will inevitably confuse me with a Parkinson's patient, and I dont blame them at this point. To the foreign eye I am trapped in hell, and while they may be correct in their assessment, it isn't the entire story. Though I would never choose to be in shoes that Im currently filling, there is a piece of me that relishes the struggle.

For the first I can ever recall I feel as i am now earning everything. If I somehow find a way to overcome this illness and win, the guilt that consumed my entire life will forever be gone. Quitting is no longer an option in this difficult task because we all know where quitting will lead me now. I simply can not back out of this; there may be a time when I have given everything Ive had and it will be OK to let go, but that time hasn't arisen yet. For the time being, I am fighting with everything I have. The complaining and whining that was a common theme in my life simply isn't there anymore. When I stare back at that new reflection in the mirror I simply nod at it, signifying a confirmation to myself that I must fight through the day, I must fight for my existence.

When you are faced with a life threatening hurdle you have to adapt and transform yourself. We all still have the tools to survive and overcome insurmountable odds even though society tries to inhibit those attributes from ever being accessed. I realized from day one that if I did not dig deep into myself and find the traits that were essential to humans thriving in this world than I would never make it through this hell. If I were to let all the fears that come along with this situation devour me, I would not have lasted as long as I have so far. Don't get me wrong, there are times where I will find the unknown of my predicament debilitating me as much as the disease itself; but once I catch myself letting the mental aspect destroy me I will stop those thoughts and move on.

I am aware that all the suppressed feelings and anger will eventually catch up with me. If I am one of the lucky ones that is able to beat this, the world will not suddenly become rainbows and lollipops once this struggle is over. I will at some point have to acknowledge and deal with the ugly traumatic distress that comes with this battle, but I can't do it now. For the time being I have to ignore the fact that this isn't something a young man should have to endure, For the time being I need to come to terms that this is my life for now and I can't change that. The fulfilling entity in this process is that if Im able to win this war, than any issue that may arise in my future will be much easier to manage. Every day that I am given after this will have been earned, and that satisfaction would've only been obtained by going through something similar to this. As I've stated previously, as difficult as this whole ordeal has been, I am at least able to take the pleasure in knowing that for the first time ever, I have Earned My Life.

The Fight Continues

These past two months have tested my will and strength more than I ever could've imagined. When I originally received my diagnosis, people within the Lyme community made sure to continually remind me of the fact that being diagnosed properly was only half the battle. As I sit here and type my thoughts out, that statement rings more clearly and louder than it ever had before. The Ape that I felt I had been lugging on my back throughout the day had suddenly morphed into an over-sized Gorilla the moment I began treatment.

Lyme recovery differs from that of other diseases. You do not progressively get better with each day, instead recovering from Lyme at its core is similar to running a marathon with peaks and valleys along the way, not a straight 100 meter sprint. In these past two months I have not only experienced every physical condition deemed possible to man, but Ive been taken through a roller coaster of every emotion that could possibly exist. Euphoria, Depression, Resentment, Pride, Sorrow, can all be explored internally within the span of a day.

My doctor had told me that my treatment would last anywhere from six months to an entire year to achieve full remission from this wretched disease. She did not mince words when she explained it would be a difficult journey and that during this time I needed to just, "Hold On!" When I began treatment I fell into a dark place. Reading one horror story after another of a patient afflicted with Lyme only left me more distressed, especially since admissions of success within treatment were rarely found. The thought of death had cast over me like a shadow that I could not escape. No matter how hard I tried to run from it, I couldn't shake it. It literally drove me mad, progressing to the point where it caused more agony than the disease itself.

Eventually I was able to come to terms with my situation, and I am now in a much better place mentally. Lyme is a disease that can possibly take your life, but more often will just rob you of everything that is special and unique to yourself. Within the Lyme community you witness people cast out by conventional medicine and left to rot away. They desperately try to cling onto any quality of life they can still claim as theirs, but to some, the burden becomes just too much and they eventually let go.

I do not fear death in itself, but I do fear a life of agony and pain. The thought of dying wasn't what left me sleepless, it was the thought of not dying. What would become of me if this disease stole everything, and left me to be nothing but an empty vessel counting his days down until his eventual demise? At last I acknowledged the fact that there was a line drawn. A line that was representative of the point where I would accept my loss to this disease. There was no need to be a beaten boxer trudging along through rounds in a fight he couldn't win, only to be drubbed even more. This may seem dark to you, but Im sure any Lyme patient can attest to the fact that calling it quits at a certain point is a normal, rational thought among us.

When I became comfortable with the fact that not every Lyme patient recovers and there indeed is a time when it's OK to bow out, I was much more at ease. There was no longer anything to fear, I quickly learned that fear had become my most aggressive agitator throughtout this process. When I began to harness that fear and use it as strength towards fighting I began to handle my situation better than ever before. I woke up with the mission to make the most of each and every day. Whether that was reading, learning a foreign language, talking with friends, or relishing and embracing the pain and fighting through it I became content.

The road to recovery is still not without its difficulties though. There are some days where I feel well enough to leave the house for the day and do something, while there are others where I'm back to being bedridden. In a months time I become ecstatic over the fact I was able to put 10 lbs. on, only to lose all that weight a week later. My doctor has said that from my bloodwork I am someone whose body is responding to treatment (Thank God!) She did admit that I have yet to turn the corner in my battle and I still have to fight my way towards beating this thing. I am aware that every day I am straddling between the line that has been drawn for myself, and the light at the end of the tunnel signifying a full recovery. I am not scared of either destination, but do hope to inch closer to that light as each day passes.

(RIP David Byrne 1991-2012)                                

Before I end this post, I have one last thing to touch upon  I have no problem with people reading this,  but I use this blog now as a way to get my thoughts and feelings out and into somewhere. A couple weeks ago myself and many others lost a close friend. Being faced with my own mortality has been tough enough, but seeing a friend go at such a young age is even tougher. The grieving process is hard and takes time. What has been difficult is I have had to witness losing two friends in just the time I've been sick.

The amazing thing about that though is those two people, Michael Graziano and David Byrne share so much in common. I had the pleasure of meeting Michael while I worked in South Africa, and I was taken in by David as a friend when I was nothing more than an awkward high school kid. I can say that both of them were similar, and thats a compliment to each of them. David and Michael both had everything going for them, and also had insurmountable odds to face. When each confided in me the mountains they had to climb to reach the point they were at I was astonished. For them to have suffered through so much and still have a personality that shone through so brightly amongst all the hardships they had incurred was truly amazing.

(RIP Michael Graziano 1988-2012)

It wasn't losing a friend that broke me down into tears, it was the fact that David and Michael were both  guys you found yourself rooting for. There was nothing to dislike about either of these two, and you couldn't help but cheer them on as they made their way through life's obstacles. In a juvenile sense, watching the two of them leave this earth too soon is like watching your favorite team lose. To steal a quote from Charlie Sheen, David and Michael deserved to win! They were too talented, and too good of human beings not to come out on top. Having to see them go is hard, but I can honestly say when it is my time to go, I will leave this earth knowing I had lived a richer life by meeting David Byrne and Michael Graziano. I looked up to the both of you, and Im sure I wasn't the only one.

I plan on writing a post every couple months as I navigate my way through treatment. I have to say the past eight months has been the most humbling experience in my life. I truly do have a different perspective and outlook upon life, I honestly feel things that I never did before. I'd be lying if I said I am happy that I got Lyme, Id be much happier if I was never afflicted with this roller coaster ride. But I'd also be lying if I said this hasn't made me a better person. If I've learned anything from this experience, you have to take your victories wherever you can.