Microdosing LSD & Chronic Lyme Disease

Toxic people are like a bottle of poison we ingest slowly

Let’s talk about microdosing LSD and the effect it has on mental health issues caused by Chronic Lyme Disease! Hold onto your self-righteous, anti-drug hats, kids! I’m about to extol the virtues of psychedelics as therapeutics.

In April 2019, I was finally diagnosed with Chronic Lyme Disease after suffering through strange symptoms and unexplained illnesses, on and off, for 15 years. Back in 2004, I started having sporadic bouts of (what I believed to be) depression/extreme irritation (aka Bat Shit Crazy RAGE-O-HOLIC and crying episodes). As I’m not a fan of pharmaceuticals with a long list of side effects, I rejected my doctor’s suggestion that I take antidepressants and I did my best to try to control my crazy moods with healthy eating and regular exercise. However, now that I understand that my moods were a symptom of Lyme flare-ups, I realize that most of the time it didn’t matter how healthy I was eating or how hard I was trying to take care of my body. Most of it wasn’t making a difference.

After much research in the past few years (as many other symptoms began popping up in my body and mind), I decided to try to heal myself with food by trying to balance my gut flora. The brain is directly connected to the gut and if your gut flora gets all fucked up, so does your brain, so it made sense that if I healed my gut, my mood swings and down times would disappear. I worked with a nutritionist for months to heal and balance my gut microbiome, but once it was finally firing on all cylinders, I was still suffering from persistent brain fog and unexplained rages and malaise.

I’m kind of “persistent” (aka RELENTLESS), so when I didn’t get the results I expected, I kept searching for answers and a solution.

At the end of 2018, I stumbled upon a 14-part documentary called Psychedelica on Gaia.com and—Boom!—I had my answer.

The “magical” cure for my extreme moodiness and persistent brain fog that I’d been searching for came with microdosing. [As an aside, microdosing is taking tiny, therapeutic doses. The doses are so tiny (micro, in fact 🙄) that they usually have little to no effect on the body. Microdoses are also not to be confused with threshold doses, which open up your third eye and make you trip balls.] I first tried psilocybin (aka Magic Mushrooms) but even the smallest doses left me with a bit of a “body stone” and I couldn’t stand it. I don’t like the feeling of being fucked up or not in control of my faculties, so I gave up on the psilocybin and kept looking. A good friend introduced me to the idea of microdosing LSD and I figured I had nothing to lose so I gave it a try. The irony of using a synthesized drug (essentially, a pharmaceutical) to help my brain was not lost on me, but since all the side effects were actually beneficial, I said fuck it and tried it anyway.

All I can say is WOWZAS!

Psychedelics have removed my moodiness and persistent brain fog and I experience ZERO side effects from them—no physical sensation at all, no strange hallucinations or really much of anything else, except a good feeling. My brain, quite simply, functions better. My moods are stable, I can get all sorts of shit done, stress seems much easier to handle, and I feel happier.

Let me say that again, I feel happier.

Even on extremely tough days—when Lyme is making my body hurt all over, I’m struggling to just move around without wincing in pain, I have a pounding headache, and I’m wrestling with a stressful day or something particularly challenging, I STILL FEEL HAPPY and calm. Where I used to get overwhelmed and anxious, causing Lyme to flare and my symptoms to worsen, my brain now whispers shit like, “Don’t sweat it, girl. It’s just one moment in a lifetime of moments. What you can’t do today, you can do another day or never. It simply doesn’t matter.” And, strangely, I believe my brain’s brilliant pep talks and just skip (often figuratively because it’s too painful to literally do it) through my day.

Microdosing also helps me keep an eye on the upside as I struggle through the painful and Cha Cha nature (one step forward, two steps back) of Lyme Disease.

I’ve been on a new treatment for Lyme for a few months (high doses of Vitamin D3…the subject of another blog I’m currently drating) and this, coupled with the microdosing, has upped my health and wellness factor by 1000. The combo of the two are, for lack of a better description, a GD miracle!

Life has become so much easier that I often can’t wrap my head around it. It boggles my mind that I can take a tiny amount of a drug (without experiencing any detrimental side effects) and it fills my world with rational butterflies and rainbows, productivity, and sense. How is that even legal?

Oh, right! It’s not! Please allow me to digress for a moment…

There’s the rub, right. Pharmaceuticals for ADHD, anxiety, depression, BiPolar Disorder and the like—with DEBILITATING side effects, including heightened thoughts of suicide and DEATH—are highly accepted by society, while truly helpful and life-changing, extremely affordable psychedelics (with no ill side effects from therapeutic doses), are considered “illicit” and “criminal”.

What, the fuck, ever.

Anyway, what was I talking about??? Ah, yes…

Life has changed astronomically for me, even on non-dosing days. The tiny amounts I take have rewired my brain to have better focus and a much better understanding of my thoughts. It helps me to look at all feelings and emotions with logic and easy understanding, so I spend less time overreacting and more time working through shit. It also helps me recognize the stuff I can’t work through and probably never will and allows me to accept it all with grace.

Even without all the shitty symptoms from Lyme disease, microdosing would still be helpful for balancing moods and increasing brain function and productivity. It’s like a friggin’ miracle in a 5 microgram, non-addictive dose. Did I mention that it’s proven that psychedelics are NOT ADDICTIVE…unlike antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds. FFS, governments, get your shit together.

If you are looking for more information on microdosing, here are some good links:

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/do-microdoses-of-lsd-change-your-mind/

Judgy McJudgerson Syndrome

Top view of Twin Lakes in the Okanagan of British Columbia from top peak.

Being judgemental stems from insecurity. No brainer, right? So, if social media feeds our insecurities, then it also magnifies and compounds our tendencies to judge each other. 
Therefore, it would make sense to take frequent breaks from social media to reclaim our confidence with real-world connections, to absorb good vibes with time outside (preferably in nature), and to reset with less technology overload. Yes?

This seems so obvious and necessary, yet so many of us ignore this innate need to recharge. To add insult, we also basically torture ourselves, endlessly consuming feeds of fake perfection. We habitually pick up our phones and start scrolling and the more we scroll, the more insecurity creeps in and judgement wakes again from its perpetually shallow sleep.

Regardless of how happy, comfortable, and satisfied I am with myself and my life, insecurities still exist within me. Doubts about my self-worth, creative abilities, and my appearance still catch me off guard. It doesn’t matter if I instantly recognize them and know I’m being ridiculous or that I, of course, conveniently forget that I usually don’t give a shit what others think of me. The cold, hard-to-swallow truth is that we have to be constantly tapped into our self-awareness or insecurities slip through our defences and start wreaking havoc on our psyches.

This is why I stopped managing social media for other people. It’s also why I barely put any effort into my own social media accounts anymore. By the end of every day, being constantly bombarded by incomplete glimpses of other people’s seemingly better, bigger, prettier, more-exciting lives, I ended up living my own coated by a distinct layer of filthy lack. 

And that feeling of lack leads to the beginning of judgement, which, if we are not aware or careful, spirals into a world filled with unbalanced assholes who spread negativity. 

If I’m feeling good, aware of my thoughts, grooving with my vibe, and focusing on myself and my own energy, I am never judgemental. The more time I spend laughing with my friends, adventuring in the wilderness, hanging with my animals, and quietly connecting with myself, the less likely I am to give a flying fuck what other people are doing.

But, Jesus H. Christ, saturate me with social media bullshit and suddenly I find myself wearing the asshole hat and handing out negative vibes likes hooker cards on the Vegas strip. Scoffing at people’s happiness. Ridiculing people. Downright shitting on the work of other creatives. Finding ways to convince myself I am better than others. 

It’s fucking ridonculous (it’s a word. Google it, bitches.) and not who I am. Not who I ever want to be. 

My point is that a huge part of maintaining a high vibe is recognizing negative patterns within ourselves and working hard to change them and, for me at least, social media saturation is a pattern I recognize and am working to change. 

So for the next few weeks, I’ll be outside soaking up nature’s cleansing energy, belly laughing with my people, and clearing out all the angst that the online collective can breed within me. 

Kids & Journaling

A photo of many coloured journals beside the words "Teach your kids to journal" as part of written therapy.

When I was in Grade 5 (10 years old), I wrote a short story and a poem and submitted them in a contest. As a result, I was invited to attend the Young Authors of Canada conference in Montreal later that year. When my radtastical teacher, Mrs. Kirwin, told me the news, I practically levitated with excitement the entire way home. Unfortunately, when I told my mom the news, even though she was truly proud of me, she told me I couldn’t go to the conference. 

I. was. pissed.

My 10-year-old brain could not even fathom the costs of flying a child and her mother across the entire country, so when mom told me that we just couldn’t afford it, I was less than gracious about it. I threw a tantrum. 

I remember this so clearly, in such detail, that it must be one of those defining milestones in a child’s life. I was mid-tantrum when my mom slapped me across the face. It wasn’t a hard slap (and shit like that was perfectly acceptable back then), but it sure as shit stopped me in my tracks. She told me she didn’t want to hear another word unless I could lose my attitude and be nicer. I stormed off to my room and stewed for hours, screaming in frustration every now and then. (Yes, I was a complete SHIT when I was a child…)

Just before bedtime, mom came into my room and sat on my bed, where I was still pouting, arms crossed and glaring out the window. She told me that she understood how upset I was about not being able to go to the conference and that she was extremely proud that I’d been invited because she knew how much I loved writing stories and poems. But, she said, despite the reasons for not being able to go, she wasn’t going to apologize about not being able to afford the trip and that my behaviour and treatment of her was totally unacceptable. She said that, from that point on, when if I became extremely angry, I was to come to my room and write down everything I was feeling and thinking instead of speaking out loud about it. She said that it would give me the chance to get all of my anger out and it would stop me from hurting someone’s feelings by speaking unkind words.  She also said that I didn’t have to apologize to her because she knew how upset I was, but she wanted me to really think about how I spoke to her from that point onward. 

She placed something on my bed and walked out of my room. I looked down to see a cute little notebook and a pack of ballpoint pens in assorted colours. It was one of those old Hilroy books with the top half of the page blank and bottom half lined and she’d written “Jo’s Anger Journal” on the front in her neat printing. 

Man alive, I was good at being a shithead.

Aside from the fact that I was THRILLED with the cool pens AND the gift of the new notebook, I immediately picked it up and wrote my mom an angry, assholish letter. I made sure to point out that she was a terrible mother, that she didn’t care about me, that if she really loved me she would find the money to make my dreams come true (hahaha, Jayzus, right!). One of the lines I wrote said, “My mom is such a bich. She is always trying to ruin my dreams. I don’t even like her at all.” 

I was 10. What in the actual fuck?

I went to sleep that night with the book on the floor beside my bed and, when I woke up, I noticed the book was on my desk. Curious, I walked over and opened it to the entry I’d made the night before. My mom, with the rad sense of humour that she was famous for, had used a red pen to cross out “bich” and wrote “bitch” above it. 😂She’d also written, directly underneath the part where I’d said I didn’t like her, “Sometimes I don’t like your attitude or your smart mouth, but I always love you, am always be proud of you, and will always be here for you.”

I bolted out of my room to the kitchen, feeling a huge amount of remorse for being such an asshole and so childish, and wrapped my arms around her and told her how sorry I was. 

I have been journaling ever since and it has helped me get through some of the darkest times in my life. That first journal turned into a lifelong therapy tool and, knowing how much writing helps me to process my own shit and connect with others, I am eternally grateful for her motherly insight and the push to get me started. 

The Collective Vibe

Energy speaks.

Your energy has the power to change the world.

Think that bold statement is just a bunch of hooey?

Ever been cruising through your day in a jolly good mood only to suddenly find yourself pissed off after someone is rude to you or rude to someone else in front of you? 

Ever been dragging your feet and head around in a depressive fog only to experience an instant shift upward when someone smiles at your or makes you laugh? 

Such is the power of energy sensitivity; it’s built into our divine DNA and we all find ourselves affected by others. 

When something profound happens (such as the Amazon burning right now), people in other parts of the world, who may not even know it’s happening, will find themselves waking up full of unexplained positive or negative emotions. These feelings may plague them for days or weeks and, unless they get how energy works, they may not even notice how affected they are. If you get enough people feeling a certain emotion or vibrating at a certain frequency, the energy of it travels far and wide, one person at a time, like…well, like wildfire. 

Those people who are tuned in to the collective energy intuitively understand this. We instinctively feel when energy is not our own and we get that it’s our responsibility to keep raising the vibe by controlling how we project our own energy. 

Why? 

Because so many others aren’t tuned in, aren’t aware of their energy at all, have no idea how their energy can influence others, or simply aren’t equipped to choose the vibe they project. 

And that’s perfectly okay. Everyone in the world is here to experience life at their own pace and even though they may not be aware of the effect their energy has on others right now, eventually—in this lifetime or another—they’ll get there, just as we have.

Am I saying that we (who are tuned in) should strive to walk around all the time with sunshine and rainbows shooting out of our asses? As if. Impossible. 

I’m saying that we have a responsibility to choose—even on our darkest days—how we interact with and treat others and that choice will continue to raise the vibe and improve humankind’s outlook.

I love Mondays!

Picture of a woman in a purple hat standing in front of an alpine lake and smiling so hard her face hurts.

It’s Monday ya’ll! My FAVE day of the week lately. Most people dread Mondays because they mean “back to the grind”, but lately I’ve been thinking of Mondays as a chance to start fresh, with positive energy and determination. 

Admittedly, I’ve had some shit days in the past month because of the good fight against asshole Lyme bacteria and my beloved OJ cat MIA since the full moon, but I haven’t lost my spark. In fact, if anything I think my light has been a beacon that I’m continuously using as a guiding light. Somewhere along the way—through the constant weakness in my hands and the debilitating Lyme arthritis migrating through my joints and the gut feeling that my wandering shitten is gone for good—my outlook has shifted into excessive joy. 

Life can be so much worse than the shit I’m rolling through right now (and it has been for me, many times). I’m alive, still mostly mobile, still able to do some of the things I love most (like hiking through the mountains), still able to write and be creative, and still able to choose positivity and joy on the hardest days, even through tears of pain and sorrow.
So whatever you’re rolling through, remember that YOU have the ability to make it a good (or at least tolerable) experience or the worst experience ever. You. Your choice, no matter what it is.
So yah, #ilovemondays

This Too Shall Pass

Truth be told, I stay away from social media when my mental health goes for shit and, right now, it’s pretty brutal. I have been unable to get through a single day in the last two weeks without having a mini mental breakdown or losing my shit about something.

The Lyme struggle is real—not only physically (EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.), but also mentally…especially mentally. Right now I am in a downward spiral of extremely irrational irritation mixed with uncontrollable manic episodes.

Even LSD microdosing isn’t helping with this level of Jo Is Crazy AF.

It ain’t pretty.

I am not a pleasant person to be around at the moment.

I can’t even stand myself and I have always been able to take myself, even at my worst.

It’s actually that bad.

The only thing that keeps me somewhat chill and borderline happy for any length of time is hanging with my animals, by myself.

The rub here is that I know this will pass and that my treatment will progress. I’ll look back and think, “Phew. That was a doozy! So happy I weathered that shitstorm and I am feeling so much better.”

I know this, intrinsically, and yet, here I am slogging through the shit.

Despite knowing that everything passes and that every shitstorm can be weathered, we still have to feel our way through it WHILE it’s happening. We still have to ride the rollercoaster of bullshit irrationality and seemingly endless sadness in order to learn and grow and strengthen.

This is the entire point of life.

But sometimes—HOLY SHITSNACKS!—life sucks a giant bag of douche nozzles.

Right now, at this stage of my Lyme treatment, my psyche is in two pieces:

One side is rational and clinical. It sits back, observing the other side’s batshit crazy temper tantrums and full-on bullshit crying fits and says shit like, “Oooph. Jo must be killing off some serious bacteria and their toxic waste must be coursing through her system right now. She’s having a rough go of this one. It’s tough for her to stay happy and positive when her body hurts so much and she’s so frustrated and irrationally angry about stupid shit. It’s hard to watch her fall apart when she’s such a strong gal and she’s already made it through so much. Too bad she can’t accept that it’s okay to have crazy shit days like this and that, in the long run, it’s good for her because it gets it out rather than bottling it up.”

My crazy side just says shit like, “AHHHHHHHHHH! I AM SO ANNOYED BY EVERYTHING!”

My rational side sees my crazy side and gets a good giggle out of it, but in the meantime, my crazy side wreaks havoc on my attitude and relationships.

This, too, is something I have heard about Lyme time and again, but it doesn’t make the process easier. It doesn’t make me easily forgive myself when I lose my shit on Greg or others. It doesn’t help me work on self-love when I’m berating myself for not being able to be happy and cheerful and see the upside.

To put it bluntly, it fucking sucks and I feel like I’m flailing like a dandelion seed in the wind—never knowing where I’ll touch down next or if I’ll ruin a perfectly good lawn with my infectious and prolifically invasive roots.

For now, though, I’m sharing my crazy because I know so many others out there are going through similar shit and struggling with themselves. Maybe not because of Lyme Disease, but from other issues that beat you down regularly.

Take heart, kids! This, too, shall pass, and when it does, I’ll still be here, writing about it and high-fiving you for riding out your latest shitstorm too.

Buckle down. You got this!

Lyme Rage & Juxtaposition

Life with Lyme Disease is a constant juxtaposition with moments of pure joy mixed in with pure agony. Lyme Rage is a side effect of treament and it can really knock us on our asses.

Life. It’s all about juxtaposition.

Moments of pure joy filling up my heart while sadness simultaneously tries to empty it. This has been my daily lately—actually, since last October when the Lyme flared up and I started struggling healthwise again—but especially in the past three weeks since the Lyme treatments have really started kicking in.

HOLY TOXIC WASTE DUMP OF EMOTION, BATMAN!

As I’ve finally started to feel a shift in some of my symptoms (less overall skin pain and a reduction in joint pain), I’ve also started to become progressively crazier. I mean, ha ha, I’m always slightly crazy and I definitely have a temper sometimes, but I’m talking CRAZY. As the treatment is killing off massive swaths of bacteria and they are emptying into my system to be flushed out, I am turning into a full-on psycho.

For example, Greg and I were building the back fence last weekend and I tripped over some tomato cages that fell over while I was walking by them and I LOST MY SHIT. I threw down my tools, picked up the cages and LAUNCHED them across the yard with all my strength. If I’d had a sledgehammer handy, I probably would have smashed them into flat, unrecognizable lumps of wire. I may have also let out a guttural screech of pure stabby frustration as well.

Then I calmly picked up my tools and went back to work. What in the actual fuck?

Then, after a week of watching my orange fluffball, OJ, fight for his life after contracting some unknown illness, I lost my shit on my dad without meaning to. The conversation started out fine, we chatted for a bit and then he told me he would be dropping his cat off soon because he and my stepmama were going out of town. I told him that I couldn’t take Roger Flatface because OJ was too sick and it would be too much right now, to which my dad replied, “What did he do to himself now?”

This is where the anger sparked a little. He didn’t even offer sympathy or express concern for the cat, he just acted annoyed, like it was my fault the cat was sick. So I told him that OJ had just stopped eating and drinking and I’d had him back and forth to the vet all week trying to figure out what was going on with him. To which he then said, “Why don’t you just put the cat down and get another one.”

Again, spark spark, sparkity spark spark. I think my face actually started twitching at this point. Caveat: This is my dad. He may actually feel compassion and sympathy, but I’ve seldom seen it because, for whatever reason, he simply does not show it to me. His way with me is to be gruff or disapproving and to offer advice that he thinks will solve the issue. Most of the time I just roll with it and let him say whatever he feels like he needs to say, even though it is usually kind of hurtful and often makes me feel like I’m completely failing at life. Also, I know my dad loves me and I know he means well, so I usually just roll with it.

At this point though, I was starting to feel extremely agitated that my dad would be so callous and just tell me to basically discard one of my kids and replace him with a new model. I’m positive he didn’t see it that way, but I sure as shit did. I told him that I wasn’t going to kill my cat just because he was sick and also pointed out that he wouldn’t do that to his pets either. And, again, for whatever reason and because dad is dad, he got pissed off, told me I couldn’t afford to pay for all these vet visits and then he hung up on me. (Ironically, my eldest brother who has Schizophrenia gets angry and hangs up on my dad ALL THE TIME and dad gets really annoyed by it, but apparently, it’s totally acceptable for dad to do it to people.)

Normally, when my dad says or does things that are extremely hurtful, I let it go. It may annoy me, but it doesn’t make me see red or feel the need to retaliate. As Greg always tells me, “Water off a duck’s back.”

This particular day, however, my body was flushing hot with all the dead bacteria flowing through me and I was completely exhausted. In my head, I thought, “Oh well. There I go doing the wrong thing again by trying to save my furchild with medical attention. What a disappointment I am.”

And then I simply snapped. If I were observing from across the room, I would have seen the top of my head explode with such force it hit the ceiling and my face would have turned a pretty shade of vermillion.

In less than 30 seconds, my thoughts turned extremely dark and spiralled down the shithole. These aren’t even thoughts I normally entertain, so it was just SO out of character. I have been to A LOT of counselling over the years to deal with my shit and I have learned many techniques to calm myself down, let shit go, and keep moving forward (even before my daughter died I had been to many counselling sessions). No. This is a whole different ballgame—one I have no idea how to play. This is Lyme Rage and, from what I hear from so many people, it’s a giant mind fuck. It takes your brain to places that you would never normally even go and on this day, it was instant and overwhelming. It drowned me in a wave of bullshit.

…How DARE he tell me to kill one of my children. The only fucking children I will ever have. How DARE he get pissed off at me because I won’t watch his fucking cat and I’ve been trying to save my cat’s life with medical treatment. Who the FUCK does he think he is, always trying to dictate my life and telling me what to do with my money? Always making me feel like I’m a giant fucking disappointment who has never accomplished anything or done anything in my life worthy of his acceptance or respect? Where the fuck was he when I was growing up? Oh, that’s right, he was ignoring me and tending to his other four children. Me he simply left behind to be raised by a crazy person. In his eyes, I’m the shitty child. I’ve always been the shitty child. I’m the child who always fucks up everything and has never been worthy of his love. That’s why he left when I was five. That’s why he’s always telling me how proud he is of my sister and how she always finishes things she puts her mind to (even though HE never finishes anything and almost never follows through with the plans he makes). My sister who basically lived at home, when she wasn’t away at school, until she was nearly 30 and has never struggled for money or food or to keep a roof over her head. Proud of the sister who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and has no clue what real struggle is like while my dad left me to be raised by a woman who was shitty with money and taught me nothing about living out in the real world, had mental issues, and yelled at me all the fucking time. Not proud of the daughter who got straight As all through school, has two degrees, has fought her way through a lot of death and loss and still manages to keep smiling and loving through all of it. Nope, I’m somehow a burden, a disappointment and an asshole because I refuse to give up on a cat I love more than life…Why do I even let this bother me? Why does his opinion even matter? Why am I always hanging around, seeking his praise when I know it will never come, never has. Fuck this. I’m done. I’m done with allowing myself to be hurt by his words and actions. I’m done with letting him dictate to me or tell me what’s best. He is mean. He is judgemental. He kicks me when I’m down because he doesn’t know how to love. I don’t need this in my life. It is hurting me. It is slowing down my healing. Enough is enough…

And then…I picked up my phone and spewed out a bunch of nasty words, calling my dad out on being cold and cruel and heartless, telling him that I am done with him and telling him to stay out of my life.

Even though my gut was SCREAMING at me to let it go, to walk away, to just take a deep breath and it would pass…I hit SEND.

I HIT SEND. Jesus H. Christ. I HIT SEND.

And then I just sat there wondering what the hell was happening to me, breathing heavily, torrents of tears pouring down my face, gasping for breath, staring at my phone.

For 10 minutes I stayed this way, sobbing, feeling my heart rip open and simultaneously feeling totally justified and like a complete asshole. It didn’t matter that Rational Jo knew that dad did the best he could when we were kids and did what he felt he had to do. It didn’t matter that Rational Jo had already been to counselling for years to deal with all the hurt and resentment she’d felt surrounding her parents and her mom’s death. It didn’t matter that Rational Jo LOVES her siblings and is much too intelligent to blame any of them for any of her shit. It didn’t matter that Rational Jo knew her dad loves her and would never intentionally hurt her feelings or deliberately set out to make her feel like a loser. None of it mattered because Rational Jo wasn’t even present. Rational Jo was pinned into a corner by a thick wall of zombie Lyme bacteria while the rest of the zombie army was penetrating her brain, tapdancing all over her sensibilities.

10 minutes of all-consuming, completely irrational rage and then, like a switch was flicked, back to totally calm and rational.

I was filled with regret, but too tired and too “Johnson Proud” (we have a thing with stubborn pride in our genes that is tough to admit to ourselves…) to do anything about it. I could have picked up the phone, profusely apologized to my Pops and explained what had happened and how much I’ve been struggling with the side effects of treatment, but I just sat there. I could have called him and told him how much I love and appreciate him for all the good things he does and says, but I just sat there. For another hour.
Eventually, I got up and got on with my day and just shoved the episode out of my mind to deal with another day.

Incidentally, I did end up apologizing, after losing sleep for a couple nights and agonizing over all of it. But, really, hurtful words are just that and sometimes even an apology—no matter how sincere—really sounds empty when the words were cruel. So I really have no idea if he will forgive me or not and I’m totally fine if he doesn’t because I’ve forgiven myself. I’ve also forgiven him for his hurtful words. They don’t matter anyway. Kitty has made a full recovery and it was worth every penny.

The point of all this, though, isn’t my baggage or the struggles that relationships go through, it’s about juxtaposition and the fact that there is always going to be a yin and yang flow to life. We are on this earthly plane to learn and grow and we do that with periods of struggle and bliss and everything in between. We are also human and we ALL fuck up, we ALL do shitty things that we regret, we ALL bring light and joy into the world, and we ALL have the capacity to accept this, accept our shit, work to improve ourselves and keep moving forward.

The past two weeks have been a constant juxtaposition for me—fighting the massive bacterial bitch that is Lyme disease, nursing a sick cat back from the brink, and adopting a small bundle of Meximutt craziness who fills my heart with ecstatic joy. I’ve had moments that bring me to tears, both from sheer happiness and utter frustration. Moments that make me belly laugh, both from genuine mirth and stark irony. And moments of quiet, euphoric stillness that remind me that we have to drop in and relish those good times so we have something to boost us and get us through the shitty ones.