The Silent Majority.

I didn't know where to begin.
The pain was so intense each
thought came out a scream. I was
clawing at my chest just to
see the pain on the outside.

All of the sudden the howls
stopped, and in a moment of
clarity I heard...

" Lay off the
dairy products,
Chill on the Citrus.

Crispy Clean
No Caffeine."

I laughed at the fact, that
I had finally found where
to begin.

What triggers an "episode", a "relapse",
a "red bowl repeat".

Maybe it's what I ate
or maybe,
it's this confounded stress.

All the doctors I've talked to tell
me it's out of my control, I'll
never know when it's going to hit.

I think they get mixed up with other
diseases and lack the memory to distinguish
specific characteristics in the encyclopedia
of human genetic dysfunctions.

The last conversation I had with my doc, I
was trying to explain to him my goals with
regards to eliminating medication from
my life. As was the case with my last run around
with Crohns.
I woke up one day to
an empty medicine cabinet and a great
surge of energy filled my mind, a sensation
which could only be described as freedom.

I want to feel that again.

I was explaining to the doc that I understand
what brought about this episode of Crohns.
It was the incredible amount of stress I
put myself through in travelling around the
globe.

I told him of crack-head Newfoundlanders,
M.J. and his crazy cars.
A diet of frozen pizzas, rum, and magnums
of red wine.
Automated mutants driving boats two hundred
meters above the water mark.
Frothing and spitting and following and
chewing, tormenting our spirit with
the audacity of a machine bent on bad voltage.

The doctors perplexed smirk could only
be described in old Italian, hand gestures and all.

I believe this disease feeds off of the extra-sensitive.
People with a tendency toward anger, a pot easily
over-filled with stress and paranoia.

I believe by being aware, you can say to yourself
whoa! (like keanu) slow down, take a step back,
your working to hard.
Your meant to enjoy life, here's a pill, it's
new, it's called a sense of humor.
It's guaranteed to get you through any sort of
wild rancor.

I told the doc about my idea with regards to this "new"
drug remicade. I told him how when
I begin the infusions, I was already feeling better from
the antibiotics.

I said, Doc! as the pain from the infections I had in
the dark hole south of my lower
back subsided, somewhat. I was able
to pull myself out of bed and simply walk around.
When I moved back into the city, I began to
walk more and more, until it seemed, progress
was made. With this new energy I was able
to cook. A strict diet of stir-frys, protein shakes,
bagels, and bananas.
Doc! I was able to think again.
Oxygen to the brain!

By the time I received my first injection
of remicade I was already idling at
sixty percent. Remicade gave me the placebo
effect, and sped me into total remission.

It's easy to say it was the drug that healed me.
It's strange that for most people it's easier to
believe it was the drug that caused my record
breaking recovery, rather then all the hard work
I put into it.

It scares me to think about the addiction
people have to all types of medications.
Whether it be illegal or legal, if you
were able to visualize everyone who indulged
in these "meds", more then half the population
would be walking around on crutches.

It's like you break your leg, the doctor
puts a cast on it, but neglects to tell
you to stay off the leg.

Isn't it a little weird that you go see
a gastroenterologist, he gives you a handful
of pills, but doesn't mention diet or exercise,
or a simple change in lifestyle.
He doesn't tell you, that in order for the
medication to work to it's full potential
your going to have to work with the drugs.

It gets me depressed.

Bringing me to my next point.

Depression and disease.

Your sick, you've finally accepted that
all this pain, blood, and fecal failure
is far from being normal. You need to
see a doctor. He gives you pills, tests,
probes. etc. You loose all your energy,
your quick tempered, and slowly all
your friends trickle away. Rather you
pushed them away, or they just couldn't
deal with your negativity anymore. They're
gone.

Your body shrinks, your work begins to
slide. All you can think about is getting
home, wrapping the covers around you
and retreating to that dark cave at the
back of your mind. Where no one can reach
you, where you're all alone.

Depression is hardly the word.
Your much further away then that.

Now you find yourself in the worst possible
place. Sick, alone, and scared. Or in my case
angry. Very angry.

You sit and wait, why aren't these drugs working
GODDAMMIT! It's all happening to slowly.

Over time your body begins to pull itself together.

You have the energy to think again.
The screaming has subsided.

You begin to look at your brain and your body
as two separated entities.

You realize that it wasn't until you got over
the hump of being depressed and self absorbed
that your rapid recovery went into the next gear.

You realize that by thinking and figuring things
out, you were able to work with your body, and
feed it what it was asking for.

You realize your body has a voice.
If you've the right receptiveness it
will tell you exactly what what to do.

You realize the band-aids helped, like crutches,
it kept you on your feet while the real work
was being done. Inside your brain.

If you think about it, if I have this right.
The drugs tell your brain what to do. Sort
of like rewiring the great mechanism.
I believe without a shadow of a doubt
that by figuring things out, by training
yourself to live a different way, curbing
your stress. Looking at foods that taste good
but hurt you, as disgusting,
you can accomplish exactly what the pills
are doing.
Hard work indeed, if you want to look at it that
way.
If you have lived with pain, you learn ways
of controlling it. Like a weight lifter who
learns to love the "pump", the point where
your muscle reaches it's peak and begins
to rumble in contest. It hurts but you
understand that only by pushing the muscle to the max, will
you achieve the best result. Or a marathon runner
who learns to fight past the screaming in his thighs to
win the race.
Anything is possible.

Is it a wonder that the Asian population has
a dramatically lower rate of cancer then westerners.
Is it because of diet, or philosophy, or a combination
of the two?

I'm finding that all the stigmas we were taught
to believe, are crumbling with age.
People are learning to trust only in themselves,
and are beginning to be suspicious of the money
handlers.
People are beginning to notice that all employees'
at banks wear ridiculously large watches, why,
when there is a clock on every wall.

Something to think about.

Imagine two hands. In one you have natural instinct,
the other you have control.

You are to combine the two in harmony. Ying and Yang.

If you have one to the extreme you become un-scientific.

The other extreme you become mechanical.

A mechanical man is no longer a human being.

Wearing watches in a watch factory is like wearing roller blades
on a road of wheels.

All this to say that the first step in overcoming disease, whatever
the disease may be. (Because folks,
diseases like people,come in many shapes, sizes,
colors, and forms.)
The first step is simply to accept.

Accept - Separate

Depression - Illness

Mind and Body.

Harmony.


I'll end this with a quote that has got me thinking in a new light.

Life is a tragedy for those who feel,
a comedy for those who think.

...gatsby~