WAHLS DIARY: Day 1ish 09/18/2015

I was diagnosed with MS a few weeks ago.

Since then I've been to the doctor about 12 times in less then a month. My heart testing, which happens every 5 years, happens to fall in the same period where I am suddenly being closely watched for my newly discovered autoimmune disease. Life has been.... shaky during this september month of 2015.

I was lucky enough to see a neurologist, Dr. Hrebicek, soon after my diagnosis. I drove down to Victoria for an 8:50 appointment with her. I felt moody, grumpy and angry upon entering her office in the early hours. I was stuck in a traffic jam for hours before hitting Oak Bay where I grabbed an unsatisfying coffee from a hip cafe, couldnt find an internet connection to google map the doc office and had to pay for parking when I arrived. It was the first day of school or something for all these rich little kids and again, it was a difficult situation to drive in. when I met Dr. Hrebicek she sensed my mood, and unprofessionally began to match it until we got in a verbal arguement.

Luckily we talked it out... for three hours. In the end I apologized, twice, for me negative attitude upon which our relationship began. I explained my honest truth- that I am worried, newly diagnosed and feeling as though I've been forgotten and ignored my doctors up to this point. She gave a sort of apology through action, by lending me a book to read called The Wahls Protocol. So far, this book has given me more hope and encouragement then I could for so early into my diagnosis. I've already given up diary, gluten, and sugar simply based on the knowledge I now have of what it could do to me.

Ok but lets begin!

How do you feel today? Be specific.

I woke up, deciding whether to go to yoga or mcnab farm. i chose yoga and felt goof about that. after yoga felt moody. went to buzz coffee and stayed pretty introverted. called telus and changed cell and internet details. went to docs appointment for 10.

felt emotional at docs appointment and began to cry. left and came to crace. waited for Mom. she came and we walked to the Projects. she bought me lunch and offered to pay for medical. so kind of her and my Dad to offer.

What did you do just for yourself today?

I went to yoga. i ate a salad and had a matcha latte. i listed 16 things on etsy while drinking white wine. i missed half my radio show to work on etsy. i worked on etsy after radio show.

Did you eercise today? What did you do? How did it feel?
Yes I went to a moksha yoga class at 6:30am. it felt great. I remember thinking 'i should do this every day'

For whom or what are you grateful? What matters most in your life?
I'm grateful for my parents, they help me and support me through the toughest times. i must stay strong for them. I am grateful for my friends: katie, sandy, will, alex. they were all great today.

My mission in life is to inspire as many people as i can. I want to start an MS podcast.

Today my left arm was very numb and tingy from the hours between 4-7. This was the end of the radio show and walk over to the Projects.

Stress level was.. too high for no reason.

I had a double americano for breaky, 12oz matcha latte for lunch with 'taco salad' from powerhouse
3 glasses of wine
coccaine
binged when i got home: yams, potato, cabbage, almond butter, stale tortilla chips, spicy slasa and now i feel like shit

i need more water

my bloody vagina stinks

i'm tired.

JUPITER SMUT: EPISODE 1

This show is called Jupiter Smut.

I'm Jup, and the ramblings you're about to hear are highly personal.

Personal in a way that you know all too well, in your own conversations between your mind and yourself. The thoughts you tend to forget to record, the thoughts you forget to say aloud.

The moments that stick to you like scars, or disappear, like an eyelash.

This lecture is called Doctors Appointments.

Case 12: Visual Testing

It's 10am on a Friday. You were at this Nanaimo General hospital a lot last month. You had this weird feeling you were getting to know it's hallways too well. You had this clairvoyant feeling that some day you'd get to know it's hallways too well.

You were there visiting a friend- well, more then a friend- under a sign labelled Psychiatric Care: Ground Floor. you remember the doors you had to buzz to enter, and when you'd enter you'd watch the living dead bodies you found on the other side float around you like . But those days are over now. And now, you're sitting under the sign that always intriqued you most, the sign you always noticed while you were leaving the hospital, the sign labelled: Neurology.

Dr. Fabian shifts in front of you and asks: Jalene Plamondon? Right this way.

You look into his soft brown eyes and nod. While you finish your text he mentions that the appointment is for 3 hours and no cell phones are allowed. You send off one lastmessage and enter a cold silver handled beige door. why the hell are these neutral tones so admired in these modern times? you think: the millenial aesthetic is bogus.

test 1: stare at a red square while a bunch of white and black squares move outside of it.

this looks more to you like minimalist contemperary art and you feel like you've hit the jackpot of neurological tests. the electircal currents wired to your head fire off as your eyes skip beats and within 2 minutes your done. well,  your done that test.

Next your head, neck, shoulders, lower back,  knees, behind your knees, ankles and your hips are wired up to an unfriendly machinery that zaps an electrical shock into you at level 12 out of 88 levels. it feels like a sharp, mean, fucking mean needle shooting into that exposed vein in your wrist you were alwyas cautious of people touching.

you eyes involuntrily well up and when he asks if you're all right you choke out a "i'm fine, this is my own psychological bullshit" cry cry cry baby cry.

He starts talking about how hes taking a vacation. Yes, thats right, a vacation, to Victoria to help his church and his chicken farming parents run a christian garage sale. Yawn. You stop crying and you look at this man, and the story begins to formulate. you visualize this man on his 15 minute lunch breaks, logging onto myfreecams and stroking his penis to sexy blonde russian women being unintelligable. you notice this thought and render yourself vague for a lack of words to express this thought you've began....

two hours later the tests are finished. your listing vintage items online with your Mom drinking hot cane sugar sweetened beverages in a naturally well lit loft. your at a radio show writing a facebook event for this very show. you're exposing your thoughts yo an inriguing crowd of beautifully, exposed, humans. You, folks, are all beautifully intriguing humans. AND! if you we're listening close to any of this. to all of this, you're invisted to ask personal questions after the show. AND NOW! Acoustic live music by the loves of your lives. Goodnight, from Jupiter Smut, your chaotic dose of

This message brought to you by Lucidity.

This isn't an easy conversation to have.
I'm not sure I will ever be able to convey these words is a succinct form.

All I ask is that you take the time to read these words from top to bottom in entirety.
After that you can do what you will with it.
Keep it as a momento Burn it.

So here I am, in the 22nd century,
typing to you my thoughts from a black and silver keyboard made up of 109 keys,
which technically equals 1 (1+9+0 = 1Ø = 1)
which technically equals the lifepath of of a number 1
which is a natural born leader
which maybe the inventors of the keyboard were trying to convey but thats beside the point.
As is, the fact that the number 108 is a sacred number of Buddhism a
s portrayed on malas and other religious hoodoo.

I stray.

We went camping and you came with.
I drove you in my car and we listened to Johnny Cash. 
You said I had good taste in music and we shared a love of avocados. 
That night we bonded and laughed and drank.
You introduced me to brass monkeys and slept by my side next to the fire.
In the morning I did my usual routine of waking early. It felt good to wake up with you by my side.
I was surprised to find you awake when I returned from my morning dip.
We cleaned the site around and I left for town. 

Shortly after I returned home I found a message from you online.
You asked if I had your cellphone in my car.
I mentioned you'd made it home before the others.
I did have your cellphone, and said you could come grab it any time.

Soon you were at my bedroom door and we were alone. I felt lucky. 

We drove to the beach and listened to Silver Jews in the car.
I told you I knew a spot on the Res beach.
We crossed the train tracks.
We wandered the forest paths.
We couldn't find the beach.
I suggested we pitch a chill in a hobo grove. I threw a blanket down and we relaxed.

Your fingers found the banjo and I wrote some words in a journal.
We recited past poems and lyrics to one another.
I initiated a game of truth or dare. 
Eventually it circled round to my turn again. 
I asked "Truth or dare?"
"Truth"
"What's on your mind right now?"
"I really want to kiss you."

I smile a big eye crinkle smile and lean in close. 
Our lips, our hands, our hearts, run wild. 

The scene is a white tarp slung from the trees,
a tie dye tank top,
an empty bottle of fireball
and a mexican blanket.
I'm too dazed to notice the dozens of bloody scratches the blackberry brambles left on my legs on the hike in.
I look at you and think it's safe to call you a Salty Dog. 
This is foreshadowing. 

The following week we hang out a lot more.
I invite you into my room, into my house, into my life.
You say you're leaving for Quadra next week.
I believe you.
A dramatic week rolls by.
I support you through your 3 year relationship break up.
I believe the things you tell me about your relationship, your plans, your life.
At the end of the week, you push the leaving date back another week.
I check with my roommates and we all agree that it's cool for you to stay.
But then things start to change.

The behavioural issues increase.
I notice your lack of sleep.
Not once do you go to bed before me.
Often, if at all, you crawl into bed early in the morning.
Sometimes you wake up with me, and seem energetic but scattered.

You laugh a maniacal laugh.
You lose things
and break things
and use things
without asking.
The house looks like a mess, and I remind you daily to respect our space.

This turns into a manic depressive episode a week later.
The house is a complete disaster.
All the food and beverages I just bought are absent from the fridge.
A handful of stringed instruments in the house have broken strings.
The beloved house record player speaker has been blown.
A windows shattered.
The table is stained in black ink.
The shower head is broken.
The watering can is missing.
My own roommates are avoiding our house because of what I've brought in.

I try to work that week but can't remove you from my thought patterns.
I'm worried about my roommates.
I'm worried about me. I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.
You have blood and ink running down your arms and legs as you carve "tattoos" into your skin.
I try to calm you by speaking gently and slow.
You talk a mile a minute- upset, rambling, swearing, manic.
You say you love me and hate me in the same sentence.
You say I'm ruining your life.
You don't apologize for the messages you've sent me.
I try to get a word in and you flip out.
I'm actually quite frightened of you.
I pack your things into bags and haul them to my car.
You say you're going to replace one 6-pack of cider from the weeks worth you've been stealing.
You have no money.
You are a pathalogical liar.
You are not the Kyle I met.
I'm not sure if I ever really met Kyle.

The house has had enough of you.
R asks you to leave the house and not return for a month.
I explain to R that you're displaying manic bipolar tendencies based on my past experiences and
nothing he says can get you to hear him.
You agree you'll stay away.
The next morning you wake up by jumping through my bedroom window.
To this day I hate sleeping in that room.
I tell you to leave, you're not supposed to be in the house, and that i'll meet you on the porch.
You not wearing any pants or shoes and running around in your underwear.
Your feet are falling apart.

That night you come to me, crying.
Remember that time I washed your sore feet?
Dabbed them dry with a towel and kissed your forehead?
You came into my bed that night weeping.
You told me it was the first time you had ever felt safe.
I held you in my arms and wiped tears from your eyes.
I held you and kissed you.
I tried to remove some of your pain.

You continued to act out.
You said "I am a God. I am Buddha. I am an enlightened being. I have powers."
You said your knife could cut you and you wouldn't bleed.
You rambled on and on about your "medicines".

The next morning you were driven to the hospital.
After 6 hours of accessing you, you were omitted to the psychward. 
Rich and Max wouldn't talk about you to me for days.
10 days went by before any of us felt it was safe for me to contact you.

You drove up to my house on Sunday looking sharp and dressed in all black.
You had spectacles and we embraced.
I smoked cigarettes and met you at your parents.
You were sane, normal, off drugs and on meds.
I visited you in the ward and brought you burgers.
You drew me a picture.
Later, the bed of a dead bird.

I went to Saskatoon and we talked on the phone each day.
You spoke to me of your plans:
You going to buy a car
You going to get your license
You going to go to Quadra
You going to go to Vancouver
You're finishing your album
Your selling you computer
You fixing all the things you broke and lost at Crace
You're doing to upgrade classes
You're going to Harvard
You're going to be a quantum physicist
You're going to art school at Emily Carr
You're going to start working at firehouse
You're going to work for Akeel
You're selling medicine
You're working for the hospital, they want your medicine
You're going trainhopping
You're moving into a condo by the oxy
You're moving into Daves
You're camping out in Dave's yard
You're not doing drugs anymore
You tried some drugs today but it's not what I think

YOU'RE BI-FUCKING POLAR. It's ok. Many clever people over the years have been. But at least they had the decency to admit this to other and themselves. You, you're in denial.

Finally they released you and the phone conversations became fewer and farer.
The last time we spoke you hung up on me.
Because I am an adult woman with her shit together.
I'm a catch.
I deserve someone who can paint a wall.
Someone who doesn't steal from me and lie to me.
Someone who has dreams and goals and a job.
Someone who treats me out to a meal for a change.
Who is romantic.
Who holds doors open for me.
Who calls me beautiful and smart and really means it.

I cared about you Kyle, I was willing to give up a lot to take a chance with you.
But if there's one thing I've learned from people it's that you can't change people.
You've ruined a lot of friendships and trust with this reckless behaviour.
Until you can stop trying to hide from yourself you will be unable to see.
Everyone said I was making a bad move and now I agree.

Kyle, this isn't working.
Check in if you ever get your shit together but I'm pretty sure it'll be too late.
I wish you clarity and peace of mind.
May you be healed from this demon inside you.

You and your disorders.

Awoke to chirping cricket ring tone.

Hello you say, your voice sounds like plexiglass.

I just woke up, we both just woke up. Our conversation continues an hour later.

I frequent the downtown high rise balcony of the $2500 airbnb rental my folks have for the month of July in my home town. The views decent. The sky is a bit hazy with forest fire gloom. Mother cooks me a perfect egg the way she always does before we head out for the day.

I play the communiy radio station 90.5 cfcr and it's all jazz.

I'm in value village, combing my fingers through dirty used clothing and distinguishing smells. I find my dream pair of boots and cover the $25 price tag with a $5 tag. I find you a hat that says Salty Dog.

More good finds. We roll home. I scramble together and march up the broadway bridge to meet Pat for dinner at Sushiro. Dans fiance serves us. I photograph the bears on the walls. Pat gets the bill.

We go back to her abode and walk Diego. I drink more.

Back on Broadway I make chit chat with the locals. It gets heavy but I stay light. I am carrying a 14 foot screw over my left shoulder. This is not a metaphor.

Kid calls. I sit in the parking lot outside the liquor store and a dude hands me a cigarette as he hops into the shop. I ask for a cider. He comes out with Kokanee. I tell him I'm kokanee Kate from the Yukon and loved through the gold rush. He gives me one sip. Kid tells me he loves when I say Yuss. I tell him he is one of my people. I wander East. I don't know which address I'm looking for. Kid calls again. This time we finally have a juicy one. We get into the brunt of it all. It's around 45 minutes.

I go party with the skater boys. I take the initiative to order pizza at 3 am and we pig out. Then I pass out alone in the grass in the backyard. They offer the couch but I say I enjoy being outside more. In the morning around 6am i walk home with the giant screw slung over my shoulder. i walk to the beach where a circle of hoodrats is burning out their night fire. The female clerk with green hair from the liquor store the night before is sitting around the fire. we acknowledge eachother. They call me a hippie. i walk down the beach, strip into my underwear and jump in the river. i lie, wet, on my clothes in the sand. eventually i think it's time to go back to the highrise and eat breakfast, so i do. the kid calls. he out of the hospital now. this worries me. i act casual.

he calls this morning to tell me he's buying a car. i explain he has no license, and licensing a car is expensive. his ears are mesh.

i spend the next few days researching bipolar disorder and it's potential cures.

APRIL 14th and all I want to say is fuck

Once there were two adults and they gave birth.
They created a child. She had long hair and wore it in knots.
She liked to catch bugs and watch their ways.
Caterpillars turned to butterflies. Lady bugs were placed in yellow cosmopolitan ice cream pail by the dozens. She knows now that the tall oaks the lady bugs lived in must have been infested with aphids.
She grew with the years, innocence preserved her smile.
She became a teen, felt self-conscious, dated boys. Fingered girls.
Lines began to form on her face. Her smile had since faded.
Her teeth began to clench and she read sex columns in magazines called Cosmopolitan and Seventeen. Her skin broke out in rashes and she drank so much she passed out. She doesn't remember the first time she had sex. She doesn't recall her first kiss.
She became an age that allowed her to avoid religion.
She grew up and blew away.
She got roommates


It's mid-April.
Was it just yesterday you told your best friend that you don't like yourself?
In a dark Lebanese restaurant under geometric shadow light you ask:

"Am I fucked? How is it that I haven't dated anyone in 5 years?"

"Why do you think that is?"

You take a long sip from your cool water and rub your forehead into your fingertips,

"I don't fucking know. I'm not happy with myself. I don't like myself physically. I've never said this aloud to anyone before."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Good questions Freud. And like, I'm 27 years old..."

"26."

"Almost 27 years old. And i'm making fucking $13 an hour. This is exactly how i never wanted to turn out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's Tuesday night.

I arrive home to an empty house, a rare occurrence that hasn't happened since I moved in. I go to my usual suspects:

First list making. Catch up on emails and open a book in the solitude.

It doesn't take long before two bodies come home.

A female and a male voice.

The music gets turned on, the shower starts and the voices are behind the washroom door.

My two roommates are having a shower together. You know, the two roommates with significant others. I open my door. I do yoga on my floor. I sit at my computer in the living room. I make tea.
Is this really happening?

They come out of the washroom in towels.

"Have a nice shower?" I inquire.

Katie comes close to my computer and reads my writings.

"You smell like a drunk slut."

They ask how my day was.

"Do you two always shower together?"

They stammer yes with wide smiles busting out their corsets and say I should join next time.

"Does Will know?" I ask.

They both say nothing.

"Would you like it if Will and I showered together?"

Silence.

I blow off their fucking movie night they try to lure me into.

I'd rather be alone.

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