Storytime

Once upon a time, a man was accused of horrific crimes by his family.  His wife left him, after telling over a hundred people of his plight, and went off with someone else.

Then he met someone else, whom he pretended to like in order to avoid being alone.  When he told her of the problems with his family, she realised she had to decide whether he was guilty or not, despite not knowing him for terribly long.  After due consideration, she decided that he was not guilty of the crimes, and despite him being very difficult, remained as his friend and helped him as best she could.

In the course of this ‘relationship’, ostensibly due to stress, he poured two pints of boiling water over her and repeatedly headbutted her shouting ‘You’re stupid, you’re stupid’ a lot.  She ended up in hospital.

Oddly, she still kept in touch after this, as he was under intense pressure at the time.  It was not until he did something similar to his sister that she realised that she had been used to rehearse the second attack.

Several years later, when as she knew, he turned out to be innocent he returned to her life.  She was trying to repair her damaged health at the time.  An on-again -off-again friendship ensued, during which he attacked her again.  He was suffering from PTSD by this time, and had poor health due to the earlier trauma.

She, in the meantime had taken care of her parents, and as her family was also abusive, did not go out.  He was the only person that she saw, since there was nobody she could trust at all.  She was so lonely, in fact, that she fell in love with a random stranger that she had met online.  Her other friends, in the meantime, had decided that she was mad to be in love with the stranger, he could not possibly be interested in her and she had always been a bit weird anyway, since she did not share their low self-esteem and yet did not appear to need other people as much as they did.

So, the man decided, he must take revenge on her.  So, he turned up at her home when she was very upset about the random stranger, and announced that he would do as he pleased and bring food that she did not want into the house.

This happened twice.  She had already asked him not to bring any more food, and he did it again.  In tears, she asked him again.  He laughed at her.

She stood in the kitchen weeping.  She knew this was another assault, but she did not know why.  He was, as usual very tense so she knew she either had to let him play out this scene or she had to physically remove him, which could prove difficult in front of her sick mother.  She also knew that she had nobody at all to talk to, and so she let him get on with it.

Over the months that followed, she often noticed his sneer as he watched her eat and grow fatter and fatter, and wondered what all this was in aid of?  He kept bringing it up, over and over again as if his behaviour was not his responsibility at all.  Because he had picked food as an issue, he imagined he could do this and insist that everything he had done was her fault.

When she finally confronted him and requested the reason why he would do these things, whether he thought her life was easy, he simply said:

I did not consider you at all.

 

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Eating David Wolfe’s hat

Eating David Wolfe’s hat

I don’t think I have an appropriate hat to eat, so I think I will have to eat Wolfe’s hat instead.

This week, as a result of the constant bitching about my mother’s diet, I re-introduced meat in the form of a cooked Scottish breakfast.  This made the NHS nurses very happy.  I was having to ensure that my mother had a full mission jar of supermix before and after it to counteract the injection, of course, but in the middle I presented them with a picture of a woman stuffing her face with a variety of animal products.

Imagine my surprise when after only three days of this, her urine test, which I now do daily, came back with a positive for a UTI.  She had been clear of these for two whole months, which is something of a feat, whilst consuming her supermix diet plus eggs and some smoked salmon to balance her electrolytes. (sorry, Wolfe, but I just don’t see the point in fish oil tablets when she could just enjoy some fish with her salt.  She gets both anyway.)

So, it seems we have a fresh and unexpected addition to the many validations I have bestowed on Wolfe over the last few years.  The tiny bit of inflammation caused by eating meat and raising her acid levels by only a small fraction was enough to suppress her immune system and bring on another infection.

Needless to say, I stopped this immediately and put her back on Supermix only.  She has now, for the first time in a decade, beaten her infection.  She had her supermix with the juice of 20 peaches yesterday, consumed the lot and is doing fine.  Clear-headed, and pissing like a fountain.

So, after many years of wrestling with low carb versus raw, I am now of the opinion that although you can get away with alkaline foods alongside your raw diet, meat is indeed the devil’s work and damages you slightly every time you consume it.  It probably won’t stop any committed meat eaters.  I should know, I was one for years before I tried being raw in the first place.

That is not to say that this is the only diet that is worth doing.  I have not yet experimented with kim-chi or fermented foods, and I am not sure I want to.  However, I think the raw ‘vegans’ (they aren’t really vegan in many cases, but it is a useful way of telling people just to give you a salad rather than try to fit you around their dinner party table) are somewhat vindicated in terms of an almost complete diet (B12 is too important to omit when you are 90)

Otherwise, I am happy to say she is doing very well.  She is having Black Forest Gateau flavour supermix today, and I am sure she will continue to enjoy whichever flavour I choose to evoke tomorrow.  Mine of course, is cucumber and spinach, and considerably less glamorous.

The social worker came today, and asked about the dietician.  I explained that she did not know very much and that the NHS apparently believe that nutrition and medicine are separate things, which does not make it easy to explain my mother’s diet at present.  I know it is expecting a lot, but they could at least try to understand.

 

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Mindfulness and my male brain

 

Apparently the latest in marketing bullshit involves introducing stressed men to the concept of mindfulness.  Mindfulness, as it turns out, appears to be the new word for meditation, or as my friend would say ‘switching everything off and concentrating on thinking about nothing.’

Personally, when I need to make space for extended periods of military ‘regrouping,’ I make something.  Depending on how complicated the (usually emotional) issue is, it can take from two to six months to figure out.  Switching off involves creating something.

I find the idea of making nothingness a thing a bit ridiculous to be honest, I prefer a good blow-out in the form of tantrum, followed by activity of some kind.  This may seem ridiculous, since I am not really achieving anything these days, but there it is.  I apparently believe relaxation is time-wasting.  This, according to these articles, is my male brain talking, however I have never noticed a particularly negative gender divide when it came to meditation.  It is second only to yoga for people who like getting touchy feely with relative strangers.

Speaking of time-wasting, I have declined the Microsoft contract and am working on the games instead.  It took only three hours before I realised what a huge mistake I was making in terms of potentially giving up twenty hours a week to do a job comparing search engine results instead of building up Ina.  There are a couple of other companies interested, so we will see if they have something less tedious on offer.

I spent years doing terrible jobs, I have nothing to show for it apart from some pretty mediocre memories.  The only thing that has been good about my current predicament is that I have had time to do other things.

So, today I went to university and sorted out my campus passes to renew my research for the Boris book.  I resigned, in true prisoner style, and I drank a lot of supermix.  The supermix appears to have removed the giant emotional lump in my chest, which meant that I was weeping rather a lot last night.  It is as big a mystery to me as anyone why thinking about Wolfe, even briefly, causes such grief.

I imagine it is similar to a former friend, who told me that he could not grieve for his grandparents, but became hysterical over some baby mice that failed to survive two months later.  The difference in this case, is that I am grieving for my sick family, lost potential and lack of power to do anything about it as long as I am the best option for taking care of my mother. I am terrified to leave her side at the moment as we have been under such scrutiny for the last couple of months.

I also purchased some Gynostemma pentaphyllum and some rosehip, with a view to promoting some AMPK.  Since I cannot afford the extracts, we shall see if the combination helps with promoting youthful cell renewal.  Nearly bought some Griffonia seed, but I think it can wait a while as my problem appears to be low dopamine rather than low seratonin. I am quite the fan of Durk and Sandy.

 

 

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About thinking positively

I have to be honest with you, memes like this drive me insane.  Especially with that stupid name tagged at the bottom of it.

Let me tell you a story about positive thinking, and how complicated it gets.

If you particularly want the background to this story, I am sure there are plenty previous posts on it, but to cut the preamble very short:

Seven years ago I was huge, even bigger than I am now.  I was extremely ill and I have an old video somewhere of my sounding rather drunk, although I had stopped drinking several years before.  That is how damaged my liver was.

One of the old boyfriends, that I had been very fond of at 16 or so when he went off with someone else, randomly decided that he wanted to see me.  I panicked, as he had posted a picture of himself at 18 online and I assumed that like me, he looked pretty much the same apart from weight.

So, I decided to create a database of health options for losing weight and solving the health problem, still undefined, that was causing me to be exhausted, covered in psoriasis, enormous and basically struggling with my workload, which at the time, since it was just after my father, best friend, and uncle’s deaths, was considerable.

I had created an exhibit for Patrick McGoohan online, and his family had been kind enough to acknowledge it, which was basically all I had going for me at the time.

In the course of researching my database, I came across Wolfe, and as I worked on my exhibit, laughed over several of his videos.  The database then transformed into an academic treatise on how obesity became desirable to Western economies, how much you are manipulated emotionally into following standard behavioural pathways, and how to rebel with a view to a more ecologically friendly version of capitalism. Naturally I assumed that Wolfe would be interested in this.

When I went to his facebook page, I was surprised to find him actually on it.  Over the next several weeks I was warily cheered up somewhat (I won’t go into it, but he can be very entertaining in his own way) It got me through an extremely stressful situation when my family was stabbing me repeatedly in the face for looking after my mother.  Apparently if they are selfish, everyone has to be selfish.  Having been told to give up any idea of a family or future to take care of her and my father, I do not know why they then decided they wanted me dead or destroyed for actually doing it.  That is the reason for Ina Disguise.  If I had done anything under my own name it would have been destroyed by now.

Stupidly, I put together a film offering quite an extensive critique of him and Durianriders, using the footage of my transformation thus far, with three months of research into 801010 and the superfood approach thrown in.  Unlike Harley, I am well aware why different people have different nutritional requirements, and unlike Wolfe, I just do it for a laugh.

He blocked me, and the rest is history.  I was broken hearted, although I did not quite understand why at the time, and it was probably three years later before another ex came to visit bearing cake.

I am still of the opinion that if there was a person I should have been with it would have been Wolfe.  I staked my remaining six boyfriends on it, and it is not a source of regret.  Too bad, how sad.

The reason I am writing all this down is because of this notion of ‘positive thinking.’  I was sufficiently positive to take care of myself briefly, because I thought that I deserved better from life.  I did not.  When I determined that I did not, there followed a titanic struggle to decide if I really wanted to be healthy and extremely lonely on a permanent basis.

It isn’t as if anything in my life went the way I wanted it to.  I was obsessed with work, and my parents’ illness, alongside the economy and my inability to appear mouldable enough for your average (very average) employer, rendered that a non-starter after my education.  I wanted children, and I failed to meet anyone because I have not had a social life since 2003.  I wanted to use my education to write a great book, and in the course of my musings on Wolfe, I determined that nobody would be at all interested in reading it unless I had an established name, or offered sufficient entertainment.

So, the struggle became a case of – if I think positively, I am stupidly in love with someone I never really want to meet and I stay healthy on that basis but nothing actually changes.  If I allow myself to be broken by this, I do a lot of sewing, give up writing anything weighty and either way I carry on taking care of my mother.  I was running out of time to have children anyway, and I never see anyone, so it was not as if anything was likely to change.

However, being in love is not useful.  It uses up a lot of capacity which is more helpful for doing other things.  If you allow it to run its normal course, there should be a period of hatred, and I was not at all interested in hatred.  I blow hot and cold as a matter of course, and that course has not altered.

Anyway, as you can see by the website I took option 2 and developed Ina.  Apparently she is fairly stylish.  Nothing that I wanted to happen is going to happen in my life, and this is regardless of meeting anyone or changing my perception of anything.  All that remains is the small things, and perhaps that is just as well.

I am sure that some people would say I have achieved a lot over the last four years in terms of self-development, and I am sure that is the case.  My friends would tell you that I have always had a masterplan of some sort that I am working towards.  I get side tracked a lot (an example being the computers to Gambia project) but I always finish things eventually.  Is it useful?  Probably not.  The book I would have written when I met Wolfe would have been, but considering that it was a labour of love, it would have been a waste of my time as even the one person I wanted to read and use it would not have done so.  Had I been thinking positively, I would have wasted years of my time on maintaining my health in order to have a longer period of extreme poverty in later life, and for what? Trying to impress yet another unimpressable boy?  What on earth is useful about that?

So, I have to say, I am not a fan of endless positivity.  Had I taken the positive route I may well have been beautiful by now, but there would have been nobody here to look at it, and I don’t spend a lot of time looking in the mirror.  I would also have been stark raving bonkers to remain in love with somebody that repeatedly blocked me even for asking a question about his charity.  As it was I pursued that line of thought for far too long, although Wolfe has had some small benefit out of that.

I am unusually clued up about why people respond to him the way they do. I took a variety of lines of investigation into the emotional triggers they are experiencing.  Apart from the fact he has made a niche subject extremely entertaining and courted as much controversy as possible to attract more attention to it, which personally I regard as a stroke of genius, some of his speaking techniques have led to considerable leakage in his commercial catchment, besides the errors that everyone makes on a similar trajectory.

So, although nobody is interested in this knowledge apart from me, I have got to the end of that line of enquiry.  I am left wondering why I would spend 8 or 9 years bothering to sort this mystery out.  I am still rather entranced by the methodology, but I didn’t have the time for this really. It gave me something to think about apart from the horror of finding out my family were quite so vicious, and it got me through a difficult time because of the sheer distraction of weeping about something else.

In terms of myself, I still don’t rate myself highly enough, and thinking positively is not something that is likely to help.  Positivity involves hope, and hope is not useful when it has already gone.

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Ina Disguise Advice Line

Lessons in life from the Ina Disguise Advice Line

Romance

When someone swears they have ‘made a mistake’  by doing whatever they did to hurt you, ignore it.  They did it because they aren’t as into you as you assumed and they are lying because they fear being alone.

You should leave immediately unless your relationship had problems before you did it which required some sort of evening up of the score.  In the event that you are running your relationship on a points system, you probably aren’t mature enough to be in one, or the person you are with is equally silly.

Compensating for someone else’s mistakes is not possible. (I made this mistake a lot)

You are better off alone than unhappy with someone that doesn’t genuinely like you.

Your status, whether financial or social, is not relevant to whether you deserve affection or not.  Equally you should not assume that you are shooting for the moon by hitting on someone you like, whether they are God’s gift to whichever gender or not.  (They usually aren’t)

The ‘one’ is merely the person that happened to be at the same point in their life as you.  If you aren’t sure, the answer is no and you should move on as fast as possible.

People are complex, and they age at different rates.  Just because you are/not a party animal, it does not make you any younger or older than people who prefer to do more productive things with their time.  Some of the most jaded people I have come across believed they could retain their youth by being irresponsible.

Do not listen to people who say that you ‘need’ other people.  You don’t.

Do not listen to songs which tell you not to give up.  You probably should.  Having said that, culturally we are being told to dispose of people far too easily in order to maintain the economy via people changing houses/partners/jobs.  It is up to you how you choose to live your life, not a pop song or the needs of an increasingly desperate political economy.

If you are fortunate enough to meet a reasonably serious person who cares about you at an early age, go for it.  Nobody genuinely worries if you have a failed relationship or two behind you.

Employment

It is likely that you will have to change jobs a number of times in the course of your life.  That terribly important bit of banking admin or whatever that you landed may well be totally irrelevant in two years of you getting the job.  I have lost count of the number of jobs that I did not get that no longer existed/turned out to be scammers/ended up employing someone too dumb to see through whatever they were doing badly.  Sometimes being rejected is a good thing.

A huge number of jobs, particularly in offices, do not want motivated people who care about the job.  They simply want you to say yes in order to pay your bills.  It is up to you how you respond to this, but you will preserve your mental health if you accept a less well paid job and find your own method of making a living outwith that job.  The best paying job I was ever in involved mind-numbing inefficiency and a lot of travel, meaning that you could not pursue anything of your own.  I will never forget the look on the regular staff’s faces when I told them I was just doing it to pay for more wool, nor will I forget the weeping when the contract ended because they thought their lives were over.  Never invest too much in one job in this day and age.

Stabbing other people in the back is considered a good way of climbing the corporate ladder. Again it is up to you if you wish to do this, but I can tell you you will feel a lot better about yourself if you do not care about becoming the best cheat in the company in the first place.

Socialising with other staff members is over-rated.  It is best to retain some mystery and avoid bonking people at work.

Family

Anyone who tells you that you must never confront your family in case you fall out with them is trying to smother you.  Family, in my experience, is the most dangerous place in the world.

If you want to have children, do it regardless of the state of your finances/relationship.  You have a limited time to create your tribe and may not be free to do it later.

Children, whilst they are better at making cups of tea than cats, are not necessarily going to be nice to you when you get old.  Be very careful about the values you give your little go-getters, because they will very quickly learn to take rather than give.

Parents are people, and should not be taken any more seriously than that.  Yes there are rules when you are young, but by the time you hit 17 or so, you should really be trying to think for yourself.

Travel

Travel is interesting.  I did a lot of it when I was younger.  Bear in mind however, that even the next town is different from yours.  There is nothing sadder than someone boasting about going around the world whilst knowing nothing about their own country.

Snobbery

A great amount of bullying/social structuring is done on the basis that people assume superiority over others.  In the event that you buy into this, you are extremely foolish.  I have been persecuted by people who assumed that I was ‘better’ than them on numerous occasions which has caused me to avoid people altogether.  It is not fun to be around people with a superiority or inferiority complex and it serves absolutely no useful purpose.

Education

You should never stop learning.  Learning is really what keeps you young and open-minded.  At my advanced age, I still find myself gravitating towards people less than half my age because they do not assume status or knowledge that they do not genuinely have.  If you stop role-playing, you will learn a lot more and be a more useful person generally.  Being useful is more rewarding than being rich.

Ego

People will make all sorts of assumptions about how they perceive you throughout your life.  It is best to ignore them.  My greatest mistake was reacting to people telling me what they thought I was.  Don’t end up like me.  You are the most important person in your life.  If anybody wants to challenge that, remove them.

 

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Practicality and a bit of Depression

The last four months has seen me persuading the eleventh doctor that I had asked about my mother’s leg to put her into hospital for a much-needed urgent scan, persuading a consultant to scan her because they had decided not to bother after an intestinal bleed, persuading the GP that she did not need four medications and re-formulating her diet to ensure that she would not require further interference, which at this point means that anyone prescribing to her is likely to put her at risk.

We have always followed a policy of ‘the less medications the better’ as my parents were brought up pre-antibiotics, when two of our family doctors were also trained homeopaths who in their later careers still avoided prescribing antibiotics.

Our lives are no longer private.  From a peaceful existence in which we made our own decisions and managed despite the lack of help from so-called-professionals, we are now at the mercy of people who did a course a couple of decades ago and think they know how we should live.  It is frankly a miracle that my mother made it to 90, I am considered so incompetent.

In any case, I can no longer sew in the same room as her, for fear of being accused of making a mess or neglecting her by not standing over her bed.  I cannot leave the room when the nurses appear to give her a five minute injection.  If anything changes overnight I am responsible for it, and if anything improves I am obviously nothing to do with it.  As you can imagine this is intensely annoying.

In the meantime, the longest meeting in history is still being held about my mother.  The system is such that ten people that do not know my mother and who could care even less sit and try to make decisions based upon no relevant information.  I have to tolerate endless visits from people I do not wish to see, and if I try to input any relevant information it is to be used against me, as per the policies of the social work department.  It is not helpful, and it is not very pleasant.

So, as you can imagine, I cannot get much work done at the moment, and since my mother is at risk, I have had to take on some more conventional work in case I end up having to pay for the house.  I am behind with some administrative tasks due to threats made by the ‘professionals’ and I cannot really do anything without someone else knowing about it, which I object to.

Taking care of other people involves giving up control over your life in order to improve somebody else’s.  When you are able to make some decisions this is tolerable, but when these decisions are put in the hands of a random stranger, life becomes less bearable.  I have managed to prevent some of the worst implications of the intrusion into our life, but inevitably something has to suffer.

Particularly with sewing and textile work there is no point in even starting if you are in any way stressed.  Since she came home I have been unable to get to the studio, as I am now keeping it firmly locked, unable to work with chemicals, in case it affects her, and unable to sew because I am so tense that nothing will sculpt correctly.  So, I have taken a sub-contract with Microsoft which does not involve the same level of dexterity.  This is depressing in the extreme, as it means that all future project completions are on hold.

I can only hope that the misery of having to do this will spur me on to finish the games and get them out.  As all the work I did on my own health is now effectively being used on my mother I cannot really afford to keep working on me.  I am very tired, to the point of sleeping if I lie down at all, and I am experiencing headaches and sore limbs because I no longer have any freedom at all.  The room I used to sit in and sew with my mother is now devoted to medical equipment, and so you really want to avoid it if you can.

Even this has been used as a weapon, they tried to insist that I put the furniture back in it before the equipment arrived.  They prevented me from getting her out of bed, and every time any progress is mentioned, somebody has a negative comment to make about it.  Depressing in the extreme.

As my birthday is coming up it is time to take stock, and as such I find I have not done as much as I wanted to do this year.  There are at least three books on hold, two games, the collection for Boris, and the courses I was doing in an effort to create something much bigger for Wolfe.  Nothing is as it should be.

So, my conclusion is to work for a few months, put some money aside to render us a bit safer, and if I am still well enough after that I will recommence what I was doing.  Who knows, perhaps being bored out of my mind doing a job I don’t want to fund our lives despite the interference of a bunch of bitching strangers will spur me on to achieve more in terms of the courses.  Who cares about my health anyway?  After my mother dies nobody.  Nobody considers the loss of control involved in caring for other people, and nobody points it out.  It is a blame game, in which the carer always finishes last.

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David Wolfe ‘Woo’ versus the NHS Dietitican


So, let me get something straight before I start, since readers now are obviously not the same people who were reading me before.

I owe Wolfe a favour.  I owed Wolfe a favour before we even spoke.  After I got a seemingly rare glimpse of a real person, he decided I was a threat to him and so we have established that Wolfe and I do not get on.  If you take a look at the other pages on the site, you will see I have devoted my recent artwork development phase to Wolfe, simply to get his name on about fifty more sites in the course of advertising my books and artwork.  So, I have sort of returned my favour, although Wolfe certainly didn’t make me feel particularly valuable as I did it.  So, despite the favour being my mother and I being alive, as such being a pretty big favour, I feel I have sort of worked a bit to pay it off.

Since I have never paid him a penny for anything, I am sure Wolfe will feel that this is debatable, but fuck it.  I may not have finished the blockbuster due to general self-doubt, caused in no small part to Wolfe being a paranoid dick, but I have done what I can with the emotional baggage available to me.

Having said all that, here is a typical article from a rational person about Wolfe:

Don’t Cry Wolfe: New Age Con-Artistry and Anti-Intellectualism

 

Feel free to read this, and the follow up before you continue with today’s post.  It is the usual superficial understanding of what Wolfe does, whether it is witting or unwitting on his part.  Yes, he is driven, yes, he likes money, yes, he has the toughest shell I have ever come across but here’s the thing – if Wolfe was not spectacular, obsessed and an ardent follower of the Jim Rohn school of shameless self-promotion, I would never have heard of him.  I and thousands of others would never have had the confidence to spend several hundred hours researching nutrition, and I am sure I am not the only person who would have suffered as a result.

No, life isn’t perfect and yes, natural health is an expensive habit to get into.

However, if you rely on science, conventional medicine and labels to tell you what is and is not good for you you are likely to have a shorter and more miserable life.

This week, I was sent an NHS qualified dietician to tell me that I was not feeding my mother properly.  You can see in the previous posts what has just happened with my mother.  She was sent home to me dying, on the basis that she would be here for a few weeks and then be taken off to be sedated to death under the NHS ‘Liverpool’ care plan.  She had lost contact with her legs, her organs were shutting down, her white cell count was on the decline.  She was not in a good way.

The Social Work Department have made a point of not understanding that it is her unconventional diet that has reversed this, to the point that she is now functioning better than she has in years, on a nutrition plan which was devised partly from my dear friend Wolfe, and partly from my own interest in herbalism and nutrition via wherever I can get relevant information.  So, she has Ayuverdic, Chinese medicine, Middle Eastern, and bodybuilder’s approaches in her mix.  She is now able to communicate with her legs, she has formed muscle where there was merely teabag skin and bone, and she can do sit ups.

Because the district nursing service and social work department have never come across a 90 year old getting well, it has taken two months even to get the services I do want.  I have finally scored a physiotherapist to inspect my work and hopefully enhance it in a couple of days time.  The dietitian however, was sent to stop me feeding my mother properly.

I am told that old people eat mince and potatoes. My family apparently believe that my mother eats this.  As a former Michelin level chef, my mother has not been fed crap like this at home for two decades, even as she sneered at me for being a raw foodist.

“Your diet is unconventional.”  the dietician tried.

“So what?  How many 90 year olds have you come across that get 7-8 portions of fruit and vegetables per day as a nutritional bottom line?”

“None.  Have you tried peanut butter?”

“Peanuts are legumes, and are acidic.  Furthermore they encourage fungal infections.  She gets three different nuts in her drink every day.  Did you know that one Brazil nut contains your entire daily requirement of Selenium?  Do you know how important Selenium is?”

She looked blank.

“I also have a very high grade B12 supplement which she takes under her tongue.”

“All old people have a B12 deficiency, we don’t bother about that.”

WTF  The NHS does not bother about B12 deficiency?  I also had the GP ask me where the carbohydrates were in a drink consisting of Superfoods, fruit, vegetables and honey.  What the actual fuck are they teaching these people?

“You do know that the stuff they tell you, that dairy products are for calcium and meat is for iron and protein is all shite don’t you?”  I tried “I was anaemic and covered in psoriasis until I tried upping things to ten a day?”

She looked blank again.

“Besides which, my mother is neither vegan nor vegetarian.  Her diet is based on raw food principles because that is the better diet. What are you finding unconventional about this?”

Much as I would like to say that veganism suits everyone, generations of meat eating has made the Scottish person more capable of functioning best at about 80 percent, with a bit of fish on top of your raw diet.  This, I had imagined, would render my mother safe from the bullshitters that the NHS apparently employ.

“Where does she get her protein?”  At last a sensible question.

“Apart from the eggs and fish, she has chia, hemp protein, pea protein, spirulina, linseeds, ground flax in case she cannot crack the linseeds, pumpkin seeds, three kinds of nuts per day.  I am also tweaking her amino acids and hormone levels this week in an effort to encourage her to absorb more protein, since you are still hassling me.”

“Your mother likes cake.”  she finally tried, after whispering to my mother in an effort to force a confession that indeed, she would rather be over medicated and murdered by the NHS than eat properly.  Having ascertained that my mother does indeed hate mince, and lentil soup, she was reduced to accusing me of failing to feed her sufficient cake.

“Her drinks taste of cake every day, they are quite sweet you know.”

“Oh, do they taste different?”

So, the educated dietician had apparently assumed that a drink made from fruit would taste like a juicy fruit chewing gum, apparently.  Such is the level of salad dodging in the UK.

After an hour of this bullshit, she gave up and told me that she could find nothing wrong with my mother’s diet, but that she was not allowed by the NHS to say so.

As Wolfe says, medicine that you put in your mouth or on your skin is food, just as eating deep-fried candy bars fails to heal you, medicine does not always do what it says on the tin. The consultant from the hospital who prescribed my mother a pro-inflammatory antacid to counteract the effects of an acid promoting injection to clear her clot, knowing full well that this would require a painkiller and precede a death spiral, did so on the assumption that people just cannot be bothered taking care of their loved ones.

Sadly, this is true in the case of my disgusting family, and so I tell them as little as possible.  I can see that the NHS is set up for unmotivated, stupid people who do not want to invest money in health, but I am not one of those people and I refuse to become one of them.

Thanks to the tireless work of the so-called-scammer Wolfe, I am entirely happy to take the NHS on on the basis of their minimal understanding of how the body works when given the correct nutrition.  If he wasn’t the exuberant, scatty, shameless self-promoter that he is.  I would not have this confidence and ironically I would not have taken my own knowledge seriously.

I am, after all, just a little fat woman on a permanent quest to avoid death.  How do I compete with someone who has been trained for years to dispense crap medication and terminate members of the public who live too long according to public health policy?

 

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Mother’s diet, the saga continues

Mother’s drink incorporates over 80 superfood and wholefood ingredients from all over the world. It includes ingredients to improve mental performance, efficient energy use, the construction of proteins to improve her skin, hair and veins. It is antacid, alkaline and anti-inflammatory. It is designed to use blood to repair using the body’s own defences, and therefore contains a very high level and range of antioxidants. It is very expensive for me to produce.

It is the result of years of observing and testing the ingredients on myself. It is extremely safe and is regularly checked against her medication to make sure it does not clash with her current medication. It incorporates traditional ingredients from all over the world related to the brain in addition to a worthy boost in macro and micronutrients. She is currently getting around 1500 calories per day, and smooth transit is assured via a detox mechanism contained in the drink to dispose of unpleasant elements contained in anyone who has ever been on a ‘normal’ diet.

It replaces Ensure, a disgusting plastic food which the NHS has on contract, which supplies 250 calories from a mixture of salt, sugar and 24 vitamins and minerals (inclusive)

It is also sufficiently powerful to replace the double dose of Omeprazole, a drug which was leaching magnesium, causing pain,confusion and hallucinations. It has also saved her from unnecessary painkillers, which would have hastened her end.

Further, there is no need for the double dose of laxative which accompanied the 500 calories of Ensure supplied to allegedly sustain my mother from the hospital.

As my mother’s appetite recovers, she sometimes wants ice cream, which is supplied from the freezer in the form of a Cornetto, eggs, brioche or trout. She only wants to do this every second day, but this is OK because her nutritional needs are more than being met by taking three of her drinks per day. She is also getting around 8 portions of fruit and vegetables in her drinks, and I have discussed all of this with the dietician who called three weeks after her return from hospital on the off-chance that she was still alive. She was very happy with what I had to say. Likewise the doctor was extremely impressed with her blood test results.

If you don’t like or understand it, I frankly don’t care. She does, and she is doing very well on it.

In the event that you still have a problem, I suggest that you find a senior consultant nutritionist and ask them if they can come up with something remotely comparable that a 90 year old will readily tolerate. When they say no, feel free to drop dead of whatever unspeakable disease your ‘normal’ diet gave you.

 

I have made this sign for my kitchen, they are still trying to say there is something wrong with it.  Her oedema is gone and she is now able to stand up.

Sigh

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The Spineless Sadist

The Spineless Sadist

Not all sadists are intrinsically dominant, cruel, and vicious like the tyrannical and enforcing subtypes. Some are deeply insecure, even cowardly. Spineless sadists are a combination of the avoidant and sadistic personalities; their private world is peopled by aggressive and powerful enemies. Attack can only be forestalled by creating an image of strength, a sense of mutual ensured destruction. For spineless sadists, aggressive hostility is a counterphobic act, designed to master their own inner fearfulness, while sending a message of strength to the public that they will not be intimidated. Displays of courage serve to divert and impress the audience with a façade of potency that says, “I will not be pushed around.” Neither naturally mean-spirited nor intrinsically violent, the spineless sadist caricatures the swaggering tough-guy or petty tyrant. Having been repeatedly subject to physical brutality and intimidation, these individuals have learned to employ aggression instrumentally against others who seem threatening and abusive. Fearful of real danger, they strike first, hoping to induce a measure of fearfulness that forestalls further antagonisms. Many spineless sadists join groups that search for a shared scapegoat, a people or ethnic population set aside by the majority culture as a receptacle for hate and prejudice.

ALPFmedical on the sadistic personality

 

This is where your endless investigation of the world comes in handy.  If someone is trying to frighten you for no apparent reason, you have tools to deal with it.

Then you can get on with the rest of your life, rather than blaming yourself for shit that isn’t your fault.  He is also married, by the way.  Rather her than me. He just destroyed my prospects because he is married and a practised liar, by all accounts.

Sick Freak

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The NHS, Social Work and Nutrition

The NHS, Social Work and Nutrition

Well, my experience so far with the drama surrounding my mother’s apparently revolutionary diet has been very poor.

The assigned social worker, after I spent some time explaining to her how the diet worked, went behind my back to yet another set of nurses to try to generate some ‘concerns’ about my mother’s diet, which has so far.

  • caused her to re-engage with the TV for the first time in over a year,
  • her oedema, which she had had for five years is now gone,
  • a pressure sore which the NHS had told me would take over 8 months to clear up has now vanished,
  • and her GP has gushed over her blood test results as her white cell count has improved markedly in a very short space of time.
  • She is well on the way to being able to stand up from being unable to move at all

My mother is getting well, and the social work department DOES NOT LIKE IT AT ALL, and is trying to engage the NHS in fighting off this dangerous nutritional revolution.

On leaving hospital, she was prescribed 2 bottles of Ensure, a double dose of laxative and a double dose of antacid, which was listed as causing inflammation (how any drug company managed to combine the qualities of antacid with pro-inflammation is a mystery – but it was clearly intended to cause sufficient pain to necessitate a painkiller, which I fought off as my mother has dementia)

So, today I looked up the nutritional properties of Ensure, as I am pig-sick of explaining the very well thought out diet to stupid people who presumably imagine that a plastic bottle with a label constitutes responsibility, whereas a freshly prepared, highly technical wholefood diet is sheer infamy.

Ensure, and you can check out more details from the livestrong website, consists of sugar, salt and a few vitamin chemicals.  In its basic form it supplies 250 calories per 8oz bottle, all of them bad calories from bad sources such as soy, sugar and anything non natural and cheap that they can get their hands on.  Potential side effects include constipation, diahorrea and heart palpitations.  It is not a good food, and no responsible person would give it to anybody.  The NHS has a contract for it, and if you wish to stop using it, you are likely to have a fight on your hands. They were giving her 500 calories a day and expecting her to die, she now gets 1500 from me and is likely to live.

I was already in the bad books as I had dropped the antacid, which was causing pain and confusion, and had replaced all of the above with Supermix, which I make at home from a plethora of natural ingredients and herbs which I spent years researching when I was a raw foodist.

Now, after explaining my mother’s diet at length to at least five different disapproving people, and after they have seen that she is gaining weight, an improved colour and regaining functionality, the social work department are agitating so-called professionals from the NHS in condemning my mother’s diet which consists of Supermix, 2-3 avocados, coconut cream, and another five or six portions of fruit and vegetables.  Now that she has been doing this for a month, she is also regaining her appetite, and so she has a solid meal every day or so.  Because I have alkalised her system, and because her diet is inherently easy to digest and pass, anti-inflammatory and antacid, she can now have one meal of almost anything when she wants it.  Most of the time, however, she prefers supermix, which also contains a full spectrum of antioxidant therapy as part of the one-stop solution.

Apparently nutritional training in the NHS is so poor, that my explanations are not enough for these people.  They have a salary, and therefore I am to consider them experts, even though they do not give a damn about my mother and had written her off as dying.

I apologised to the social worker for my mother’s wellness yesterday, and became quite irate at the system which apparently dictates that I am to be interrogated on an indefinite basis because they are too frightened to admit that the NHS is not good at everything.  Personally, the only thing I rely on the NHS for is scanning, surgery and a small number of medications.  Doctors are not all-knowing, nor are they particularly responsible and unless the social work department go out and find someone who has not been taught the holy bible of relying on substandard chemical based products to solve every problem, they are unlikely to get everything right.

Sadly, it may turn out that all my efforts are in vain, as the social work department are keen to get my mother incarcerated in a place who will supply her with all the chemicals they can pay for.  They are gradually trying to insinuate themselves into my life in an effort to discredit me to achieve this, so all I can really do is carry on healing her and try to ignore what they are doing.  They have now started to ingratiate themselves with my thieving family.

I said to the very young social worker this week that as I was the crutch that my mother leans on, and my siblings were the pickpockets waiting to pick over the carrion, their system seems a bit stupid and corrupt.  I was assured that they need to get reports from a bunch of people who do not know or care about my mother in place of the evidence in front of them – that I do not want their help and my mother is getting well.

It is remarkable that people in rented accommodation and small houses struggle to get a social worker at all, and I, because my mother has a very nice house that I have taken great care of, am under gestapo levels of scrutiny simply for making her well. When I pointed it out to the social worker, he seemed to think it was funny.

 

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