I faced a severe illness. It wasn't just a mild indisposition; I was profoundly bedridden and unwell for an extended period, reaching a point where I contemplated giving up on life. Unbeknownst to me then, I was slowly inching towards death, and not a single doctor could pinpoint what was ailing me. Over the last 17 years, I've been given around 17 different diagnoses for my condition, ranging from Vitamin D deficiency to Intestinal Cancer.

Describing the intestinal pain and agony I endured is beyond words. I found myself on the toilet for an astonishing 6 to 10 hours each day. Yes, you read that correctly. My sessions on the porcelain throne extended until numbness set in—starting from my feet, through my legs, hips, and lower back. This ordeal persisted for an extensive six years, becoming so ingrained that it transformed into my new normal. Interactions with friends and family gradually faded into distant memories, as they constituted the entirety of my recollections after a while.

At the age of 26 I began forgetting names of friends and family members.

I recall sitting at a family dinner, my gaze briefly fixated on two relatives (whom I knew were at least distantly related). I'm relieved they didn't catch my perplexed expression, as I likely wore the strangest look on my face. While I recognized them as my cousins and knew they were brothers, that was the extent of my memory. Their names eluded me, and even if provided with the correct names, I couldn't confidently match them to the respective individuals. Despite my heartfelt attempts to summon their names back into my awareness, I found myself utterly lost.

This moment instilled a sense of fear and contributed to a subtle erosion of my sanity. The universe I once inhabited had rules to abide by, yet my body seemed to disregard those orders. It followed no commands.

I concealed my struggle for as long as possible, driven by an odd sense of shame. I felt inadequate or not strong enough for this world, believing that hiding my illness was the path to healing. Along the dark and lonely journey, I discovered I was mistaken.

I learned that sharing is a form of healing, and there's incredible power in vulnerability, despite any contrary notions that might prevail.

Being popular doesn't equate to being right, and we're not obligated to adhere to the narrow guidelines imposed upon us. Popularity doesn't guarantee greatness, and I am more inclined to pursue what truly is great.

Fortuitously, I've always harbored a questioning nature. My soul is immensely curious, and it seems there's never enough knowledge to satiate this relentless spirit of mine—a spirit ceaselessly seeking and learning. My quest led me through the pages of thousands of books and countless hours of podcasts—yes, thousands. When confined to bed, I became adept at swiftly consuming reading material. I delved into fiction as an escape and explored alternative healing and medicine to find my way back.

Armed with diligent note-taking skills and a willingness to experiment on myself, I gradually began to heal. I started experiencing life anew, and it had nothing to do with adhering to popular beliefs or traditional medicine. Now, I am well enough to share the strategies that aided my recovery, along with personal reflections and intriguing subjects in this vast world of ours. My aim is to empower you to become your own teacher, doctor, and soul mate.

Over the course of 16 years, I've spent over $200,000. Every bit of income went into numerous blood panels, doctors' appointments, x-rays, IVs, medication, mental therapy, Chinese herbs, acupuncture, massage therapy, hyperbaric oxygen sessions, books, infrared sauna sessions, travel expenses, sensory deprivation tanks, superfoods, stool testing, parasite testing, detoxing, meditation retreats, and much more. This is my journey, and I hope my experiences can assist you.

No one deserves to suffer, especially in silence. I aspire that my story can offer some help. We're all navigating this journey together.

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Poetry