The Dust That My Brother’s Wife’s Friend Request Kicked Up + Giving Myself More Compassion

Last night I ran an errand and in the car I started to think about my brother’s wife’s friend request.

And I felt angry.

How dare she intrude on my life. She doesn’t know me. She can’t possibly know the truth of why I don’t speak to my brother and it is not her fucking business to attempt to insert herself into my life.  Whether it was to announce the marriage to me or try to serve as some sort of mediator to get my brother and me back to talking again, she can suck it.

When I opened this post to write a new one, I started it as a message to her, to write out and never send. But it got too jumbled. I got into stuff that if I were to actually write it, I’d have to get more into detail, and I have no desire to do that right now. I don’t want to give any of my family members that much energy. They’ve sucked enough out of me as it is.

It’s good enough for me to just write this and express how the fucking friend request made me feel. The emotional flooding that came first after realizing who she was and that it was my brother in the photos, jacked me up.  I could feel the stress and agitation. I could feel the anxiety.  I felt wired.

Thankfully, the errand I ran last night was to my favorite store (a health food store) in my county.

It’s a small store with such a calming atmosphere. And when I walk in, it’s like crossing another dimension and gives me a huge sigh of relief. It’s been like that since I discovered it years ago. On my way there, I could see a thunderstorm was on its way. A somewhat heavy rain hit almost as soon as I entered the store.  It was awesome and gave me the escape from my thoughts that I needed at that moment.

Unfortunately the drive home stressed me out once again. I was like where the fuck is all this traffic coming from after 8 pm on a Thursday night. And I was even on the back roads.

So anyway:

The old me would give my brother’s wife the benefit of the doubt. And my narrative would go something like this: “Oh, I don’t know what she knows. I don’t know what brother has told her. I don’t know her line of thinking. Maybe she just got curious and found me on her own. Maybe she’s just sentimental. It’s okay because she just doesn’t understand the family issues.”

But fuck that. In fact her not understanding and friend requesting anyway, served to piss me off. She knows that we don’t talk. And of course she only knows what my brother told her. So that would likely mean he didn’t tell her that I don’t want to talk to him because I acquired PTSD via his, my sister’s and my mother’s scapegoating, manipulation and raging.

So she’s butting in to something she knows nothing about and she needs to mind her own fucking business.

In the past, I would also be too scared of my brother’s reaction to delete her request and block her ass. I’d just let it linger there and try to ignore it. But not anymore.

He can suck it too.I’m sick and tired of caring more about their reactions and feelings than I do my own feelings and my own protection. I’m sick of being scared and doing things (or not) that are not in my own best interest and in fact a detriment to my well-being, to keep someone else from feeling bad.

I have no doubt he had a hand in her friend request. He’d have to point out that I was the right ‘Sleeping Tiger.”  Okay so, we all know that’s not my real name. But my actual name happens to be pretty fucking common and when you search it, a lot of people with the same name come up. So yeah, he’d have likely had to help her with that since she and I don’t know each other.

Every time one of those fuckers reaches out, it makes me wish I’d just been straight forward with them all in separate emails, instead of being vague and telling them simply that I need time away. I even said something so fucking co-dependent that I’m now so disgusted with myself for it.

I wrote that I needed a hiatus and that I wasn’t sure how long I needed and that it wasn’t about ‘grudges.’ UUUGGGGHHHHH!

But that was a lie. I mean, it’s not the whole of it. It’s not JUST a simple grudge. That word seems to minimize it. But I wanted to simplify it in the email and wanted to assure that there was no judgment toward me. No minimizing of my feelings or denial of their actions.

Nor did I want a raging brother at my door again screaming “HOW DARE YOU!” in my face again for pointing out the truth.

They definitely should be aware of their own behavior. But they are not.

So that means they have no clue. And I hate that I never just straight up told them. Even though my fear is completely justified.

Also in my own defense and giving myself some much needed slack and understanding, I had every reason to be afraid of them…or at least my brother. I was also in a very different state of mind at the time I sent that email.

All I knew at the time was that I needed to protect myself by getting away and I needed to tell them something. In addition I needed to tell them something that would also ensure that none of them would come knocking on my door to persuade, manipulate or scream at me.

I was in a deep brain fog from the trauma of the abuse. And all I knew was that I needed protection. And unfortunately, I was the only one in my own life who was going to take care of me.

So I had some justifying reasons. And hell, if they really wanted to know, they could ask and stop dodging, stop pretending, stop trying to shove themselves back into my life like it’s just business as usual.

If they took the time to self reflect and looked in the mirror, they might actually come to some realization. But these are people who think that I am too sensitive. They think that I worry too much. They have double standards to the point that I should be able to let their shitty behavior and abuse go, because it’s in the past. They think that I have no justification to my own feelings.

The last time I expressed my hurt, I got a raging visitor in the form of my brother. Each time I have expressed my feelings and reason for doing something, I’ve been faced with either a minimizing response, scapegoating or some sort of manipulation. So it makes total sense as to why I wouldn’t tell any of them exactly why I want to not just walk away from them, but to run and never look back.


So My Brother’s (New) Wife Sent Me a Friend Request on Facebook

A photo I took at my maternal grandmother’s house when my brother and I took a drive down there together to visit her. This was years ago. We were feeling strange and creative. We came up with this. Guitar and case were my bro’s. Umbrella and surrounding furniture, my grandmother’s.

If you’ve read a good portion of this blog, you know I don’t talk to any of my immediate family…mother, sister, brother.  And for good reason.

I blocked both siblings a long time ago but the small area we are from and the school district we went to, I have plenty of friends on my list that know them both.

Apparently my brother, although he’s lived with this woman for a while, has recently gotten married…from what I can tell from what I can see on her FB page.

The moment I realized who she and the man were in the photos, was quite the strange experience.

He dated her before when they were younger, but I don’t remember her. I know this from an email he sent me a few summers ago, one I didn’t respond to.

When I saw this mysterious name as a friend request, I clicked on it to see who she was and if we had any friends in common.  I was taken to her FB page with photos of her and a man. A man I didn’t recognize at first. A man I wasn’t really looking at so much either. I was trying to figure out who the woman was requesting ‘friendship.’

I scrolled a bit and saw some post pertaining to a local radio station and then it clicked in my brain, who the man was I’d been looking at.  My brother.

It’s probably a variety of reasons request. My brother is blocked, so he can’t request unless he creates another account. They are likely announcing the marriage. And I think my brother still wants a relationship with me.

But I can’t do it. Not unless some discussions are had, some acknowledgments are made, apologies too. And that there is some understanding as to why I’ve stayed away so long.  And given his minimizing of my feelings last time I tried to confide in him, I don’t think that is there.

I won’t accept the friendship and I’ll likely block her at some point. I’m not on there much so it’s not a big deal. But it kinda freaked me out.

You know, when I was driving around yesterday, in the area I lived in with B for 13 years, I was wishing I could move the fuck out of this area, so I could stop being so close to all the things and places that hold so many shitty memories.  I feel like that again, right now. Not that my family’s or my internet presence won’t be a thing, but it would be much more freeing to not be in their physical vicinity.

Oh and btw: Even though I have been aware of what my brother looks like these days because of his YouTube channel, that I don’t visit often, he looks very different than he did the last time I saw him five years ago. And being distracted and focused on the woman made my mind kind of blind to who he is.

Lemme tell ya. It’s very strange not to recognize your own brother.

Regrets, Anger and a Little Bit Letting Myself off the Hook

Yesterday I ran some errands and needed to drive through the area that B and I lived in for 13 years before moving to where we live now.

Driving through there, I was inundated with memories, particularly the ones about my old petsitting/dogwalking boss.

-About how her husband actually asked me (after a few years of employment with them) to schedule phone calls with him, whereby I would talk dirty to him. (I know that one is hard to get past, but try to keep reading. There’s more.) Don’t worry. I said NO!

-About how she was calling me her right hand ‘man’ to clients before telling me that was her plan, in the first week of my employment with her.

-Telling me how ‘we’re not that busy over the Christmas holiday’ then emailing the schedule where I can clearly see ‘my-barely-any-room-to-eat schedule’ for the two weeks over Christmas. I felt completely manipulated when I got that email.

-Springing a last minute overnight on me for that same period of time, when I stopped over to give her my time sheet. THEN, giving the wrong starting date so that I am humiliated by walking into the clients’ house while they are still home, hanging around watching TV, etc. And then never compensating me for that mistake.

-Treating me like a child at times. I don’t remember exact examples of this. I just remember this one time when we were talking on the cell as I was walking a dog and she said something to me and I replied saying, “Stop treating me like a child.”  That was the only time I’d said that. And I know from that and myself well enough, that she already had a history of treating me that way a number of times before I’d had enough and barked back at her.

-Getting angry and agitated when I confronted her about not paying me for a visit to a dog that didn’t get walked.

This one is a bit tough to explain. Upon hiring me, she specifically told me time as well as well as followed through, that when a pet is scheduled for a visit and we show up for that visit and if the owner is home and does not want the dog walked or cat tended to, the sitter gets paid. (It shows up in the pay check. The company’s policy for clients is that the visit needs to be cancelled by 9am or they are charged for said visit.

The one particular day, she changed the rules, just for that day. I was training a new employee. We stopped at a regular client’s house who was on my schedule. The human was home. I introduced the new employee to the human and the dog client. The new employee played with the dog for a bit and talked to the human. I also asked human client if she wanted us to walk her dog, she said, “No, it’s too hot.” I said, Okay and we left.

When I got paid, I noticed that visit wasn’t on my pay check so I asked boss about it through email. She wrote back, ‘well you didn’t walk the dog, why would you get paid for that?’ Throughout this reply email, she also wrote, three or four times,  “just curious,”  “just curious,” “just curious.” It scared me, I backed off.   I kick myself for that one. I should’ve been “JUST CURIOUS” about when the fucking rules changed.

-Not respecting my boundaries. (When I’d say no I can’t do that visit because I’d have plans, she’d get upset and tell me how fast of a visit it would be and that I could still make it to my plans.)

-When I’d explain that I can’t do ‘so many visits’ because it was exhausting me and when I did too much I’d actually get depressed*, she’d tell me I was limiting myself.
(I know now, that I was getting depressed and exhausted from the dog walks and all the driving because of adrenal dysfunction. I had no idea then.)
-Also to be fair, I would get these bouts of excitement and want more work. I even told her I wanted to build up to full time, in the beginning of my employment. I think part of that was feeling important by her telling people I was her right hand man too. Despite also being afraid of that title so soon at the same time. But then I would have difficulty with that, and get a little scared of a too-busy schedule, both for physical reasons and mental/emotional reasons and pull away, telling her that I actually just wanted to have so many visits on my regular schedule and wanted to be done at a certain time most days.
-I also want to note that it was a given that I would have a heavier schedule during certain times of the year. I didn’t love it, but it was a bit easier when I knew what was coming. My problem was mainly with her telling me ‘it wasn’t that busy” and that she gave everyone else off on Christmas day except me. But she did that every year.  Then seeing my inundated schedule.  THAT’S MANIPULATION and LYING.

-Getting angry with me when I called out because I got really sick. It was the only time in 3 fucking years. I had a sore throat, nasty cough, etc and I missed the entire week.
-Granted it’s difficult to be sick when you’re a pet sitter. I was her employee though (not the owner of the company) and when I was hired, she told me that if her employees are sick, she rearranges things and takes care of it.  By the time I called out sick on her though, she’d had enough time to see my codependence and lack of boundaries. I stuck to my shit though. I was really sick and missed a week.  Of course she couldn’t resist to ask me when talking to me through that week, “What did your mom say?”  Many people would ask me that when I’d get sick because my mother’s a nurse.  And yesterday when I remembered this I got pissed off.

Who fucking cares what my mom says! I’m the one who’s sick. I’m the one in my own body. What’s important is what I say and how I feel.  But luckily my mother was always aware that, most of the time when I got sick that it was a virus and not an infection (although that has happened too) and no anti-biotic will take away a virus, so going to the doctor is pointless for that.

(Of course if there’s something more serious, anti-biotics are necessary. I got sick one year, working at a deli and on this virus premise did not go to a doctor. Still sick after a couple weeks, my boss and owner of the deli, finally said, you should go see a doctor. She even suggested one nearby.  I went during work hours. I got anti-biotics and got better. That’s fucked up because I still lived with my mother at the time and she didn’t catch this.

But I digress. Back to the pet sitter boss:

-The last time I asked for the vacation I had coming to me, she gave me a hard time. It was March, a few months after that Christmas schedule-from-hell and she gave me a hard time about it.

She said, “What do you need a vacation for?”

I kid you not!

I said, “Well, I have vacation time coming to me right?”

She said, “Yes.”

I said, “I figured it would be a good time to take it since Easter is next.” (Another somewhat busy time for pet sitters.)

I’m thinking about this yesterday and getting pissed off at her for the ridiculous questions and hard time about a vacation I had the time for.  And then pissed at myself for ‘explaining’ so much to her.

WTF! All she needed to know is that I wanted vacation time and the dates I was taking. The rest was none of her fucking business.

I got my vacation time. I had wanted to take that time and collect it before telling her about her pervy ass husband.  I’d been back and forth on that for so long.To tell or not to tell. (A bit manipulative I suppose. But this was survival.)

Carrying it around, to me at that time, felt like a heavy weight. I needed to tell her. But I already knew it wouldn’t go over well. I already knew she wouldn’t believe me. And I already knew I’d lose the job. So I wanted that vacation time.

The last night of my vacation, I spoke to her on the phone and told her all about how her husband wanted to schedule phone calls with me to talk dirty to him. I told her things that I would not know unless she or her husband had told me. And we both knew she would never tell me such personal shit.  I mean he got downright personal.

Her response? <GASP> “Not MY Bill.  (That was that perv’s name.)

And that was that. My job was, poof, gone.

So fast forward years later. I run into the old boss in a Wawa, although I’d passed her one other time in the doorway of that same store months before. This time, though, I was at the coffee station.  She got herself some coffee and then walked over to stand near me as I was stirring the cream into my coffee.

She says, “Hi Tiger, how are you?” All cheerful and maple syrupy sweet.
Like we’re old friends. Like nothing ever went down between us.

I froze. I was nervous. But I also didn’t forget. I also didn’t want to pretend that all was okay with us and I didn’t. I kept a straight face and just said, “Meh, okay.” And then walked to the cash register to pay and left.

At that time, I was part of a super small FB group that had been started by a woman whose blog introduced me to narcissistic abuse. We had also exchanged emails and got to know each other pretty well, even though we are on opposite ends of the country.

After running into the old boss, I posted about it on the group. From other members, I got some really validating comments. The woman running it however, suggested that I should’ve been more open. That it was an opportunity to find out more about what was going on with her presently. If she’d found out the truth, if her husband was still alive, etc.

So after reading that, I kicked myself. And ever since, when I’ve thought about it, I’ve kicked myself for not behaving differently.

But yesterday, as I thought about all of this shit, (and that it wasn’t just that one incident of her not believing me, and that she was going to sweep the sexual harassment in her company under the rug) I realized, I didn’t owe her a fucking thing. I didn’t necessarily make a mistake. I was protecting myself. The ball was in her court ffs.

I was being somewhat true to myself by not acting all lovey dovey-fake, like it was fine, just so I could manipulate information out of her. If I was being really real though, I could’ve said, “Wtf? You are seriously going to walk over here with a grin on your face and talk to me like we’re long lost friends after basically calling me a liar about your pervert husband??? I think you owe me an apology or we have nothing to say to each other.”

But I didn’t say that, so no, I wasn’t being completely authentic.

You could say that I wasn’t open enough for her to initiate any sort of apology or any further conversation.

But I’m calling bullshit on that. She could’ve humbled herself. I know if the tables were turned, if I got that kind of reaction, I’d know why.  And I know that the onus was on me to initiate some kind of conversation about what happened.

I’d stood there long enough for her to say something. She could’ve said something along the lines of, “Hey, I understand your reaction to me. I would like to talk, if you have time.”

And she knew where I lived so there’s that as well. If she really wanted a real authentic conversation and not to just throw around superficial pleasantries, she could have found a way to do so.  Authentic: that was the only kind of conversation I wanted to have. And since she wasn’t forthcoming, there was nothing to say.

Addendum to: I Wish My Mother Had Breast Fed Me

After I tapped out the emotions in my post about my mother not breast feeding me and the excuse she gave…I listened to the rest of the podcast/YouTube video the excerpt I also posted was from.

The doctor interviewed said that she struggled to breast feed. That it didn’t just come naturally or easy. That she had to work at it before it really worked.

I also was told by a friend of mine the same thing, telling me she had to work at it before she was actually able to do it.

Well, although I do think that a mother owes it to her infant to continue to try until she makes a success of breast feeding, so that her baby has at the very least that head start in health, I now understand now that it’s not just something that happens quickly and automatically for everyone.

So I wanted to add that I didn’t mean anything I wrote to be judgmental against every mother who never breast fed.  All circumstances are unique. Plus I want to admit to my mistake of not understanding how difficult it can be. I just thought it was easier and more natural than I’ve found out that it is. I was under the impression that most babies will just automatically latch, but I was wrong about that.

I mean, I still wish she’d breast fed. My feelings haven’t changed about that.

But I can probably even forgive her for not doing so. Were there pumps back then? Because if there were, then it would’ve been an option she opted against. Which would be another sign of her apathy and not wanting to bother.

But I don’t know the entire story since I don’t have any memory of any of this. Maybe she tried for a few months. If she did, she didn’t tell me about it. Maybe she tried once and gave up.  Again I don’t know.

I’m really not trying to find and nitpick shit my mother did wrong. I’m not even really mad at her  most of the time, for the shit that happened to me in childhood. I am disappointed that she didn’t try harder for me. That I wasn’t important enough to her to make the effort until it worked. I’m disappointed that she didn’t protect me more. I’m sad for myself as both adult and child, that I didn’t have a mother who wasn’t so apathetic, who wasn’t all that physically affectionate, who didn’t stand up for me when it was appropriate.  It sucks hard.

But what I’m mostly pissed off about as well as very emotionally injured from, is her behavior during my father’s time of dying. The story is weaved through the blog so I won’t get into it here.

Thing is, that level of manipulation and abuse taints the good to the point that there seems to be none of it left when it comes to my memories of her.

I Wish My Mother Had At Least Cared Enough to Breast Feed Me

I’m sitting here watching/listening to a woman who is a nutritional scientist named Rhonda Patrick. I’m not sure if that’s her technical title, but that’s the topic…nutrition from a scientific perspective.

If you’re into nutrition, you’ll find her quite interesting and very personable.

She had a baby earlier this year and on the Joe Rogan show she talked about her desire to breast feed because of the benefits of it to her baby. I’ll link the excerpt from the interview below, but I wanted to relate this to my own infant-hood.

My mother didn’t breast feed. No surprise there really. Not now that I know what a narcissist she actually is.

But I’ve known this for decades. I knew it as a child because I asked her once.

Me: Hey mom, was I breast fed?
Her: No, you didn’t like it.
Me: Oh.

I had colic when I was a baby too. And now that I know what I know about breast feeding, even before I came across this info that you’ll hear in the video below, I realized it was because I wasn’t breast fed. Or at the very least given some sort of probiotic…which would’ve been in the breast milk.

My mother’s answer to my crying with all that stomach cramping? Was to feed me more of what the fuck was causing me the colic in the first place.

I know all of this because she told me.  And yeah, maybe she didn’t know. But isn’t it her responsibility to know, to learn if she didn’t know. For God’s sake she’s a fucking nurse.  There must’ve been some inkling.

So the thing that contradicts her saying that I didn’t like it is this: First of all, let me just say that it’s instinct for a new born to seek out the breast for food.

Second: My father told me that right as he had me settled in his arms for the first time, I turned to seek out his breast. Why the fuck do you think I would do that? Of course I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for there,  (A theme that would play out through my entire life btw) but my instincts were obviously working.

So telling me that I didn’t like it????

I’d put money on that being a big fat ass lie.

So without further ado, here’s the video, and why if you weren’t breast fed as a baby could effect you even into adulthood:  (UGH! This makes me so angry.)

They’re Back

Yes, I’m talking about the heart palpitations. I felt really pissed off about various things yesterday, including things involving B. I have been having one of my cycles of intense anger and disgust.

And I think this has a lot to do with it. But I did do a bunch of talking like shit to B when he got home from being out most of the day.  I reminded him of another form to be followed through with and felt pissed that I had to do that. Because of him forgetting about a form last time that by the grace of me asking about it, he got it in by the skin of his teeth.

There were some other things too, like him putting away a couple things in the kitchen cabinet and having them hanging over the edge on the top shelf because something was behind them. And to fix that, someone had to get up on a step stool and move the shit in back so the shit in front isn’t hanging over.

That second one is pretty minor. But if that shit falls and breaks something or even makes me jump out of my skin because it makes a bunch of noise, well, that’s just fucked up. It’s preventable. Both examples are things a grown ass man should fucking know without being prompted. I feel like I live with a fucking 10 year old half the time.

So when I was verbalizing about the form and the boxes at the top of the shelf, I was pissed. My body was tense. I thought, what the fuck. Yet again, I have to tell him the same shit I tell him all the time.

Another example is he takes something out of a container or a box and doesn’t put the box or container back.

Not to be a bitch or anything but if I wanted to be a parent I would have a kid.

So I’m being traumatized by the day. How do you detach from something that effects you???

I didn’t really want to be writing about my physical health here, because, well, because I have an aversion to it over all.  Everyone has a different idea about what health is. Everyone has a different idea of what we should all be eating.

I really don’t mind conversations about food and nutrients and supplements. I like getting new ideas. I like to find out what works for others.   But I think my aversion mostly comes from my family. My sister in particular but my mother runs a close second on that.

Because I talked about nutrition and foods years ago, when I first started researching all of that back in 2000, my sister accused me of pushing it on others. There were other contentions too when I suggested that perhaps some of one of her friends’ kids behavior issues might have something to do with something in his diet.

She got all pissed about it but saved it to use against me later.  So yeah, when I write about nutrition here, I get a little nervous.

Note: Sister is the most malignant narc in my family. She knows full well that certain foods can effect not only a child’s behavior but an adult’s too. She’s made plenty of comments in the past about how sugar made her kids hyper. So there ya have it.  She’s just an asshole.

But I also know it fits on this blog, because (I believe whole heartedly that) people with PTSD and other ‘mental’ illnesses have more health problems.

Notice the little quotes around the word “mental”. I also don’t believe that mental illness is mental.  To me mental has to do with mind, thoughts even beliefs. The mind is a concept really, not a physical entity. We can’t touch our mind.

But illnesses like PTSD, bi-polar disorder, depression, GAD, etc. Even the cluster Bs and schizophrenia are illnesses of the brain. Does that not make them PHYSICAL illnesses. Our brain is something that CAN be touched. It’s part of our…well most of our bodies. (Sorry, sad attempt at being funny there.)

I also think that they involve other parts of the body, especially when talking about those brought on by lots of stress or trauma. And for all we know maybe they’re all brought on by stress and trauma.

So those are my opinions. I respect it if you think and feel differently about it. I just really needed to write that because I tend to hold my opinions back for fear of getting someone all worked up or mad.

And guess what the result is. I’m the one that gets sick.

So back to the arrhythmia. I think my getting worked up again is a result of getting these things. My cortisol goes up and it set my heart up. I can feel something going on right now.

When I was sitting in bed last night and when I laid down those fuckers happened again.  I had taken a bunch of supplements, the same as before but still they would not abate.   They weren’t as bad and scary but they were still there and it isn’t normal/healthy.

Okay so here’s the food part. I will admit to having issues with food.Since I started researching nutrition, after being diagnosed with a chronic illness. I was determined to heal it with diet and maybe supplements too.

And so I’ve been trying all kinds of things, usually for only short stints.
Vegan was one of them and I could never stick to it. The last time I tried that, I became ravenous (no exaggeration) for red meat.

Before I went and bought a steak at TJs though, I tried what I could think of to get the protein from vegan sources, the rice and beans trick, miso, tofu, vegan protein powder. Nothing satisfied until I bit into that steak.

Recently I’ve tried a ketogenic diet. More than once. To be honest, I’m kinda kicking myself for not sticking to it the first time because I was doing pretty well. But I gave in to carb cravings and went off of it.

When I tried again that’s when I noticed the heart palps and always being hungry. No surprise there. It had been years since doing it before and I had lots more metabolic damage from sitting around in a depression eating a bunch of junk and take out for at least two years straight. (With a few breaks in between of me cooking.)

Recently I’ve been checking out what’s called the carnivore diet.  I wanted this to work. The first time I tried it, I made it two weeks and started to shed some fat. My clothes were starting to fit better. My brain felt more clear. My moods were improving.

But two things. Constipation and heart palpitations.
I figured out that rendered/cooked fat was both giving me a histamine response and heart palpitations or even sometimes a racing heart.

But when you cut out fat while eating mostly protein, constipation happens.

I’ve also been having histamine responses to lots of carbs as well. And if I wasn’t getting a histamine reaction from them, I was having problems digesting them. My stomach would hurt after eating anything carby. And yes, that includes veggies, fruits and starches.

Can you say rock and a hard place.

So I’ve been eating lots of beef. One day I even ate half a pound of raw ground beef. I actually felt pretty good afterward. But mostly it’s been cooked burgers with raw milk melted cheese.

It digests well. But now I’m wondering if the lack of carbs is contributing the heart arrhythmia.  Don’t get me wrong, I do believe that it’s all the stress my body has been under, continuously and still going for 52 (almost 53 now) years.

But even when I don’t add extra fat, a burger has some fat. Not as much as some meats, but some and it’s rendered and cooked fat unless I eat it raw.

I didn’t take notice though of whether my heart had issues after eating that raw beef though.  And as much as I’d truly like to experiment with that, (because there are actually people out there thriving on it) it just doesn’t appeal to me.

Even if I wanted to do it, I don’t think I could eat enough at first to get enough calories.

Which brings me to another issue. I may not be getting enough  energy from my food. I ran into that before and I do have a habit of not eating right away when I’m hungry.

I was hoping that I could thrive on the cooked carnivore diet because it’s simple. Not a lot of thought has to go into meal prep. It’s something I’ve been needing because of my lack of motivation to spend time in the kitchen. Dishes are easy to.

And as much as I wanted it to work for mood, I think it’s making it worse now. I think it worked for a while but I think with my heart involved in the adverse reactions, it’s connected to how I feel mood wise.

I’m sitting here though, even after a night of little sleep and heart palpitations before getting to sleep, feeling wide awake and my mood isn’t too bad.  I have a feeling the supplements I’ve been taking have something to do with that.

Speaking of supplements I was taking magnesium citrate and at first it was working well for my moods. But was giving me headaches. The last two days I’ve had a really intense migraine.  Last night I tried a small dose of magnesium glycinate and no headache.  I’ll try a bit higher of a dose tonight.

Another reason I wanted the carnivore way of eating to make all the difference is fat loss.  The weight I’ve gained over a short period of time could also be taking its toll on my heart as well. But I won’t lie, as much as I want to lose weight for health, I also want to lose it to look better.

I miss the clothes I used to wear. I have saved them all in bins and I am determined to get into them again.

I’ve never been skinny. I’ve also always had a bigger lower body. But to give an idea of what I’m talking about, in 2009 I weighed 140. I’m 5’6″ so it’s average I suppose although I think I look better at 130.  (As long as it’s fat that’s coming off and not muscle.)

Through 2010 and 2012 I fluctuated between that 140 and 155.  After the break up of the affair I was involved in, I stayed the same for a while because I was still social in my fog.  Even though I was drinking a lot, smoking plenty of dope and eating food in restaurants, I still played disc golf. So I was getting exercise. I think the socializing helped too.

But then my father got sick and my family began to beat me up more than ever. And even though I stopped drinking and smoking pot, I also stopped seeing friends and stopped playing disc golf. I didn’t cook either and ate a lot of take out. Because B didn’t give me much thought either. Whether he thought I was eating at my father’s I don’t know. But then he never asked either.  This was still at a time I trusted him to use the stove so…

When my father died, I took to one chair or another and sat around eating junk food and take out watching TV or YouTube videos. I was still walking one dog a week so I was at least still walking over there to see her.  I’d been without a car for about three or four years. I drove my father’s car as long as they needed me. But as soon as he died, my sister insisted on putting it back into the estate…this even though they knew I was without a car.

My brother walked away with my father’s extravagant computer system and sister took his bed.

I fed my depression. I used junk to comfort myself and escape the reality of not being loved. Of realizing that I never was loved.

And I ballooned up eventually to 220. And at the moment I sit at about 210-215. I’m fat, I’m unhealthy. I have uterine fibroids and I’ve never been this big.

So yeah, although I know I am not loved or valued by my family, I’d like to find a way to value myself enough to be healthy. And to me that is much more than about weight loss. But weighing 215 pounds is not healthy. Not for me in my 5 foot 6 frame.  (Actually I’m 5 foot 5 and a half if you want to be absolutely exact.)

That was an emotional post to write, especially when getting to the part about my father’s car and how she took it back when it could’ve been signed over to me.  If the roles had been reversed and I was POA and executor and my sister was without a car when I had a decent one myself, I would not have hesitated to make sure she got the car.

So now, I am going to take some supplements and then go buy some carbs. It still stands that my digestive system has a difficult time with them. Not long ago I had some white rice with a meal. But I’m going to get some different stuff. Like quinoa, lentils, maybe some scallions, cauliflower and maybe some broccoli.  I’ll start small incorporating them into my protein meals and see what happens.

I’ll also keep taking supplements including HCl and digestive enzymes.  Maybe I can build my digestive system back up. Because to be honest I do think that eating from every food group is the right way for me.

PS. I’m not proof reading before posting because I want to get outta here. The health food store will already be crowded. Ugh…Saturday before Labor Day.