REAL-Living With Autoimmune

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As I sit here trying to think how to begin this next book, I ask myself, is this really worth writing? Will it help? What will it bring to the table for you? Will it be interesting enough for you to keep reading? Maybe, maybe not, but deep down I know I have to write it, because for some reason I am still here. Here. As in on this earth. Really, I am no different than any other person that suffers with chronic illness, depression, anxiety, autoimmune diseases. I’m not. My account is no dissimilar than those that have suffered and moved on from this world, but in writing it perhaps I can reach one soul that needs to learn that they aren’t alone. You really aren’t alone. We are many.. Trust me. You can pull up blogs and articles about folks with virtually the same situations as you and I and see that we are not alone, but even though reading their story and hearing their mantra to keep pushing, keep fighting, keep trying doesn’t help much does it? I know for me it doesn’t. I read blog after blog about people still fighting to survive the debilitating diseases that we have and how they are coping, what they are doing to manage and while it’s inspiring, it doesn’t bring me out of my depression. In fact, if anything it makes me worse. So writing this book, I’m not going to sugar coat anything. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that things will get better if you just change your MEDs, your attitude, etc.. I’m going to delve into it with you and let you know that I know just how you feel and that no amount of inspiration from someone who is fighting to survive makes your pain go away. I get it. I’m right there with you.

This book is my story, my words, my life. The one book I put out years ago only gave a brief glimpse into how this mess started and honestly, I was so jacked up on medication while writing it, it is filled with grammatical errors. It’s horrid. I never went back to fix it because frankly, I don’t want to. It showed where I was mentally at that time and I was on this mission that I was going to get information and research out there for folks looking for answers. I did a really bad job of it, but I tried my best. Like I said, I was in the state of mind and medication that wasn’t working (but, I thought they were) and I wrote it for my kids to read someday. So here I am four years later, dragging it all up again, but I don’t have that mission to help people fix their diseases. In fact, I can’t help anyone do that and this book isn’t about that anyway. It’s about the realness of these diseases and what they have done to me as a person and my life. So, if you are looking for a self-help book on autoimmune disease, don’t even think about buying this book as this will not be that for you. However, if you are looking to read about someone’s else’s issues and what has happened in their life, then read on. It’s interesting, I can promise you that.

My Inspiration: Monsters


Monsters scare me. I’m on the wrong side of my 20s and they still do. All I have are nightmares (with the rare exception of that one time with Prince Harry…)

As an adult, monsters don’t present themselves like the gifs you see above. Instead, one monster is my rapist. One is my father who abused me for 15 years. The rest are Islamic terrorists (I’m a New Yorker- 9/11- don’t fuck with me). Also, the ocean. The ocean is one big monster. That came after Hurricane Sandy. And, oh, I must not forget my multiple sclerosis/scleroderma/other autoimmune diseases that will progress in time. Now that I’m thinking about it, time is a monster.

I’m a trauma poet. And the monsters I listed above traumatized me. They fucked me up… Pills, pills, pills. Tears, tears, tears. Blades, blades, blades. Hopeless. No light. With a self-hatred so strong it’s blinding to…

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