#words cannot describe how much i wanted to be in a hamster cage like this when i was a kid

[obaewankenope]

TW FOR SELF HARM:. After reading your last writing I went feral over the idea of Crowley disappearing for periods of time and Az worrying about him so consider Crowley starts seeming more and more bedraggled and snippy every time they see each other, then doesn't show up to the bookstore for a few weeks. Az worries more and more until he gets hit with a train of pain and misery and realizes that Crowley is depressed and in danger. Az finds Crowley in his flat, feathers ripped out and eyes wild-

-wild, in a full blown panic attack. Crowley won’t let Az near him so he has to calm the demon down from afar. Eventually it comes out that all this is because Crowley hates what he is (demon/fallen angel) due to what Hell and Heaven have done and simply wants the pain and misery to end. He had hoped that with his ugly black feathers gone, he could find redemption or, at least, peace. ~fucker

You, you are a monster and I love it so much omg ps go and shout at iggysfanblog for this Angsty AF Fic lmao

Trigger warning: self-harm, mutilation, wing abuse, depression, suicidal ideation, suicidal apathy.

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Angelof the crooked wings

Title comes from Antiphon forthe Angels by Hildegard VonBingen

Crowley has always hated his job. Not because he’sa bad demon—sort of the job description, being bad—but because he’s not alwaysin the mood to commit Evil Acts and Evil Acts only. He’s a good Tempter and an evenbetter Thinker Upper Of Plans but being a demon didn’t give him thoseskills or make him so good at them. Neither had being an angel. They were justpart of him; Crowley. The core personality so to speak. Everything else wasjust dressings and trimmings to make him look Fancier and Mightier and Holierand Unholier depending on the uniform required for the job.

Once upon a time he’d had white wings—to the humaneye at least; they were really every colour in existence because angels wereeverything too—and he’d found them to be both beautiful and very constrictingin a confusing way. It’s an absurd feeling when one has wings capable offlight, but one Crowley feels, nonetheless. For celestial and infernal beings,feeling trapped when possessing wings is about as crazy as defying heaven andhell to preserve one little mudball full of evolved monkeys. 

Naturally then, Crowley excels at it in the sameway he excels at saving humanity; disastrously.

Read on AO3 or below:

Fallinghad been an impulsive act by Crowley; sort of a “maybe this will change thisfeeling” kind of thinking. To be fair, it had. It’d changed a lot of otherthings—turning his wings black had been an aesthetic choice to hide the faintscarring from the ten-thousand-mile free-fall and the boiling sulphur he’d onlybriefly landed in [1]—butit didn’t really change the sense of feeling penned in all the time. In heavenit had been rules and regulations and expectations and not thinking or askingquestions. In hell it was the same just with a bit more give if you could liewell. 

Crowleylies exceptionally well [2].

Before the Fall, Crowley had felt like he’d beentrapped in a hamster cage that wasn’t designed for housing a rabbit. After theFall, it’d been like he’d been re-homed in a larger space that didn’t look likea cage but was. It’d just took him a little while to find the edges. Thetrapped feeling always returned. 

When Crowley had first met Aziraphale—just anotherangel in the Garden back then—he hadn’t expected the feeling of Relief that theangel had elicited in him. His wings had revealed themselves against hiswill—something he controlled ruthlessly from then on—and the angel had shieldedhim from the First Rain. The angel felt as trapped as Crowley to the demon’ssenses but, whereas Crowley was aware of his predicament, Aziraphale seemedinnocently unaware of how trapped he was. Crowley wasn’t sure such a situationwas a blessing or a curse. Six thousand years later and Crowley still isn’tsure.

The only changes from Falling for Crowley wereillusionary  at best. His eyes were aChoice He Made Himself and not a visual sign of punishment for rebelling.Crowley hadn’t rebelled, not really. He’d just taken the last train out ofheaven and hitched a free ride to hell. Desertion. That’s it. Crowley haddeserted heaven, not rebelled against it. Completely different. So he gained a new employer who was abitter ex-employee of their parent company, it was all the same in thelong-run.

From angel to demon, a simple enough transitionthat gave Crowley a little more rope with which to hang himself.

Whenever Crowley is with Aziraphale, his entirebeing is released, the trapped feeling fading away to a faint buzz rather thanthe constant klaxon sounding in his mind. Unfortunately, however, Crowley hasnever been able to just be around Aziraphale all the time.That’s why he’d come up with The Arrangement. Mutually beneficial—as it reducedtravel commitments and such—it offered Crowley the easy excuse to check in onAziraphale whenever the klaxon became Too Much. It worked fantastically enough,until 1862 when Crowley had asked the angel for holy water and set off anargument he hadn’t intended to start. Over sixty years of not seeing Aziraphalewould have been impossible for Crowley to endure had he not slept for most ofit. He’d needed the sleep to escape the klaxon that got louder and louder thelonger he didn’t see Aziraphale. But then the Blitz happened and the church andthat damned bomb and- it was like they’d never argued. It was there, of course,but it didn’t make it impossible to see each other and Crowley had dropped bythe bookshop like clockwork running on a decade chime instead of hourly. Eventhe 70s hadn’t caused more issues for them, even with the- the- what- theangel’s rebuke. Yeah…

Then it had all gone to shit when Crowley had beengiven the “honour” of delivering the End Of The World and for almost a decade,the demon had been in near constant contact with Aziraphale for an entiredecade. It had done something to him—weakened him in some inexplicable way—butit was the week before the world ended that broke him. Fightingwith Aziraphale, losing him to discorporation after threats from Hastur to killhim, facing down a wall of fire, and then his own boss—and ex-employer—didsomething that Crowley fears cannot be undone.

Something he knows cannot be undone.

Wings—now inky black by choice—itch and shiftrestlessly no matter what Crowley does. Whether he’s with Aziraphale or not,the blaring alarm of TRAPPED! TRAPPED! TRAPPED! sounds on a loop. Thesense of being caged rears its head every time a primary moves, a secondarytwitches. It’s suffocating him, leaves his heart pounding like it’s trying toescape his chest, his lungs tight and constricted by bands of steel evertightening and denying his body air.

Seeing Aziraphale makes him twitch and want to clawhis skin off, smash windows and cut into his chest and slice out his heart andjust be done with it. The urge is stronger and stronger the longer he’s aroundAziraphale after the Not End so he visits the bookshop less.

Part of it is fear, that much Crowley knows. Fearof what exactly eludes him however. Not knowing tightens the bandsacross his chest more and makes his skull feel like it’s crushing his brain asthough it was in a vice. Every time he sees his wings out of the corner of hiseye—whether they’re manifested on the physical plane or just there on theastral plane that humans aren’t really built to see or interact with—Crowleywants to hiss and swipe at them; lashing out at the one constant he’s ever hadin his life.

Hiswings may be black now but that had been an intentional choice onCrowley’s part. White was the colour of heaven. The opposite then would be forhell. White makes every colour there is, black is made of those colours; itdevours them. Perfectly fitting for a demon. But his wings are Divine and havealways been part of him; Crowley cannot remember a single moment where he didnot have them [3]. They’re a part of him thathe wants to hate because he doesn’t Belong Anywhere and they’re areminder of that fact. The once represented the Divine then Infernal and now…now they’re just There and he loathes them [4].

The first feather he tears out between moultselicits a wonderful feeling of power. It doesn’t hurt for more than amoment, feels more like a particularly sharp scratch on sensitive skin but itgrants him something Crowley hesitates to call relief. He doesn’t think there’sreally a word he can use to describe what he feels after. The second and thirdfeathers are coverts like the first, torn out after he flees the bookshop whenAziraphale gives him such an openly kind look it has Crowley’s heartpounding. It gives him just enough of a sharp slap to regain the control overhis body that slipped away. But pulling coverts is like trying to staunch anarterial wound with a tissue; it’s just Not Enough.

The first primary he plucks is… a lot more painful.Wonderfully painful. He feels like he’s torn off a fingernail with no warning.The rush of feeling that burns through him in time with the hot and coldnerve-destroying flashes is fantastical. His wing snaps close to his body,tucks itself up as small and close as it can as instinct draws the injured appendageclose to him. Crowley finds that he can tolerate his wings when they’retrembling and twitching from pain and not- not whatever they usually twitchfrom. But, all too soon, the pain fades away, magic soothing the pain andturning it to a pale, ever weakening echo of the blanked-out agony it beganas. And, just like with the coverts, he pulls more and more of them astime goes on.

Aziraphalenever comments on his state though Crowley knows he notices. It’s not hard tosee really, what with the way Crowley looks like a human that hasn’t slept in amonth; skin paler than usual and a muted grey, hair lank and messy in a waythat speaks of lack of care rather than an aesthetic choice, clothing looserand worn and frayed like they’ve never been before. Crowley also knowsthe angel can see how close to his body he tucks his wings—so tightly againsthim that it looks as though he doesn’t have them anymore when he’s stood or sata certain way. But, although the angel sees it he never directly comments,Aziraphale does make pointed comments here and there: “you look like you coulduse a drink dear, I’ll make some tea; have a new type to try that apparentlyworks wonders for when you’re feeling down”, and “well this quilt is quitewarm, too warm for myself really, why don’t you have it—I know the sofa is in adraughty spot after all” and so on. Aziraphale is unlike Crowley in regard tohis wings—the angel uses them often even if they’re not visible on the physicalplane [5].

Eventually the release he experiences from pullinga feather or two here and there isn’t enough. It’s never enough. He chased thepain that each feather results in, plucking more and more from muscle and boneand tender flesh until Crowley’s wings are wrecked and destroyed by his ownhands. Even though the pain becomes constant, his magic just not enough tocontend with the aching burn that is like an undercurrent to everything, it’snot enough. He needs more. He needs-

Bones are easy to break if you know how to go aboutit. Crowley—unfortunately—does.

*            *            *            *            *            *            *            *

Aziraphalefirst notices it about a month after the world failed to end—though it hadgiven it a good go what with the Kraken, fire and brimstone, the horsemenriding and all that stuff. Since then he’s become quite used to seeing Crowleyregularly—a new fixture in the bookshop, not unlike a particularly snippystatue that happens to walk, talk, and perform minor feats of evil for the sakeof it—compared to before the whole Influencing The Antichrist plan came about.The intermittent six thousand years of meetings here and there across the worldwere—for Aziraphale—quietly enjoyable. But when Crowley had suggested theyamend their Arrangement after the antichrist was born… Aziraphale admits nowthat he’d been tempted from the get-go [6].Throughout those eleven years Aziraphale saw Crowley regularly in the Dowlingresidence—tending to young Warlock with a surprisingly gentle manner—and thetwo immortal beings had retired to a shared cottage on the grounds; a sort oflodging house for full-time workers that had been miraculously occupied by onlythe two of them [7]. After all that,Aziraphale has to admit, he’s become quite used to Crowley always being around;so much so that when the demon starts to show up less and less, Aziraphalestarts to Worry with a capital W.

Hedoesn’t do anything about it at first, mostly because he’s not certain what he cando. Crowley is, after all, quite sensitive. Although Aziraphale will never saythat to the demon’s face—he values his books too much to offend thedemon to such a degree that Crowley would ruin several in recompense for theUnwanted Compliment—it is one of the attributes of Crowley thatAziraphale finds most appealing. That this demon is capable of committing greathorrors and instead chooses to petty temptings and chicanery to annoy humansinto choosing to sin; it is a far cry from the nature of other demonsAziraphale has met [8]. Crowley would deny itwith his last breath but the demon has a softer heart than Aziraphale everwill—the angel is quite aware that it was he and not Crowley who hadaimed a weapon at a child and hadn’t hesitated to fire after all; Aziraphale ismuch more capable of being ruthless than others would first believe [9].

Although Aziraphale doesn’t understand the appeal,he is aware that Crowley likes to sleep. Something about the lack ofconsciousness appeals to the demon just as much as drinking does—althoughAziraphale isn’t sure it’s for the same reasons. Aziraphale likes a drinkhimself—he doesn’t experience hangovers like humans, nor does his body start toshut down after too much alcohol as is the case for humans so mortifyingbehaviour is his only deterrent—but he knows Crowley uses alcohol todull his feelings. Considering how much kinder Crowley is than he should be fora demon, Aziraphale can at least comprehend why alcohol is such an appealingthing to the demon. Over the centuries, the angel has come across many a humanwho have lost themselves in their vices, trying to escape whatever haunts themin their waking hours. It is saddening to think that Crowley is like thosehumans with tortured souls.

Thedemon admitted to him once that he’d drank himself unconscious after receivinga commendation for the Spanish Inquisition [10].So it’s no surprise that Aziraphale is reasonably concerned that Crowley hasdrank himself into a stupor for some reason and that’s why he hasn’t been bythe bookshop [11]. He resolves to visit thedemon’s flat after closing the bookshop tonight—that he had never visitedbefore they averted Armageddon and he’d been homeless—and check up on Crowley.In a purely platonically friendly way of course.

However, when the wave of pain slams into him ashe’s sorting books on shelves that didn’t exist before Armageddon wascancelled, Aziraphale realises he should have acted much, much sooner.

Aziraphale is in the bookshop one moment and halfwayacross London in the next, appearing with a soft rustle of feathers in a darkflat he’s been in only once before. The pain washes through him, runs along hiswings and all the way down to the tips of his alulas, primaries and secondariesbefore it peters out in the coverts. He ignores it, rushing through the flattoward the sound of high-pitched, muffled keening that tears into the angelmore viciously than any pain ever has. The sight that greets him as he shovesthe bedroom door aside—possibly causing permanent damage to the hinges, notthat he particularly cares at that moment—is enough to stop Aziraphalein his tracks.

The sight- it would turn the stomachs of even themost soulless of demons.

There are few things that demons and angelsconsider to be sacred but wings are one of them. No angel touches anotherangel’s wings without permission. No demon harms another demon’s wings withoutpunishment. Between the two groups, injuries to wings are some of the mostserious taboo acts either side can commit in battle. Aziraphale has seen hardlymore than a dozen cases where wings have been harmed—and all of those wereduring the Rebellion led by Samael. Only She has every caused permanent harm tothe wings of her creations—the Fallen Ones—but even that harm pales incomparison to what Aziraphale sees now.

Like a bird, the wings of a Divine or Infernalcreature are delicate, designed for flight and do not take kindly tobeing injured. Although they’re delicate they can withstand a lot ofabuse—courtesy of them not being entirely physical or astral but a mixture ofthe two which enables a lot of leeway when it comes to injuries; also magic,but that’s a whole other explanation—but they do have their limits as towhat can and cannot be repaired without Divine Assistance.

Aziraphale fears that this is beyond even theDivine.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cries out, voice soft andpained and bleeding worry. “Goodness Crowley, what happened?” 

The angel approaches the demon quickly, reachingout to gently touch him but freezes when Crowley’s entire body twitches andflinches away from him.

“Don- Don’t touch me,” Crowley weakly croaks, anarm blindly flinging itself out from his curled-up form in the corner of theroom, nails black with blood, hands stained and Aziraphale’s heart feels likeit’s breaking in two. “Don’t—please don’t.”

“Okay Crowley, okay,” Aziraphale assures the demon,carefully lowering himself onto his haunches as close to the demon as Crowleywill allow him. “Wh- what happened—if you don’t mind my asking?”

The demon chokes out a laughand it’s seven different kinds of wrong because it sounds so, so broken. Ithurts Aziraphale just to hear. “H- had a bit- bit of- well, I had a bad day,angel.”

Bad day is… well it’s anunderstatement to say the least. Aziraphale stares at the demon that’s hidingin the corner of his own bedroom, blood and feathers everywhere, and the angelwants to just Wish It All Away. The pain he can feel emanating from Crowley in palpablewaves. The suffering that underlies the pain. The blood and feathers andsalty tears Crowley has shed without consent.

He wants to just Make ItBetter but Aziraphale knows that some things cannot simply be Wished Well.

“Well then, bad daysare—well—they’re bad, as the phrase suggests,” Aziraphale says, longing toreach out and at least touch Crowley on the arm but he doesn’t. Not whenCrowley seems to barely handle his presence in the room. “But bad days doend, dear.”

Crowley’s head rises alittle from where it’s sort of tucked between knees and covered with armsadorned with torn sleeves. “What- what about bad millennia, angel? When do thoseend?”

The demon shifts and hissesin pain and Aziraphale doesn’t think, he doesn’t hesitate; he reaches out andcurls a hand around Crowley’s arm, feeling the moment the demon freezes at thecontact.

“I don’t know when thoseend, Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly, carefully, and he doesn’t remove hishand from Crowley’s arm even though he can feel the muscles twitching beneathhis fingers. He doesn’t back down because Crowley needs him now and there isNothing that will stop Aziraphale from doing what needs to be done for hisdemon.

Yes. His demon.

It’s about time Aziraphaleadmitted it to himself. Crowley is as much his as Aziraphale is Crowley’s.

“But I do know these pastsix thousand years have been a lot more tolerable when you’ve been beside me.”It’s a confession and an offering to the demon and Aziraphale feels like thescales have been tipped, the balance upset, because it’s him offeringthe reassurances and the temptings to Crowley.

But Aziraphale has alwaystempted Crowley, in his own way. He just hadn’t really noticed before.

“Whenever you weren’taround, I’d hide in my books so I could try and ignore the feeling in my chestthat clawed at me because you weren’t there to quieten it,” Aziraphalewhispers. “I felt such relief that night I saw you in the church even as Iworried over your safety because that- that ache faded away the moment I sawyou.”

The angel leans close to thedemon, resting his head on Crowley’s arm, his forehead touching torn cloth andheated skin. It draws a sound from Crowley that is so very broken in adifferent way to the keening of before. “I cannot imagine how it felt to- to nolonger know I was alive, to think I was dead,” Aziraphale continues and Crowleytrembles beneath his hand and head at the words. “To be so lost and alone andnot care anymore because- because your reason was gone. But Crowley—”Aziraphale lifts his head—noting absently that Crowley’s sunglasses weremissing—and looks the demon in the eye “—please don’t let me find out. Please.”

“I- I’m... I’m just so... tired,angel,” Crowley admits. “I’m tired of it all. I just- make it stop,” he begs,hands coming up and gripping at Aziraphale. “You used to make it stop.”The demon’s head falls forward, drops down against Aziraphale’s chest. “Pleasemake it stop.”

When angels cry the cosmoscry with them. Some angels affect the cosmos more than others. Archangels havebeen known to cause floods and water to form on planets where there once was nowater. Aziraphale has seldom cried in his life even though he has wished to attimes. Now- now Aziraphale cries [12].

The sky outside darkens andthunderclouds amass quicker than they have ever amassed. The BBC weather willcomment on how surprising it is for a thunderstorm to occur with so littlewarning but it’s just entering into September and the weather is always strangearound the end of summer. No human will know that the weather is the result ofa principality crying in pain and anguish for one who is Fallen and broken inways he has never before realised.

Aziraphale pulls Crowleyclose, carefully wrapping his arms around the demon in as gentle a way aspossible, avoiding the injuries he doesn’t quite know if he can Heal. He willtry regardless and put every ounce of will and love—it is love that he feels,why deny it now?—that Aziraphale has and He Will Heal The Fallen Angel.

Even if it ruins him to doso.

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[1] It was still long enough to cause somesignificant damage to his body and wings but his core strength had remainedlargely untouched. A few cracks and gouges that he’d carefully repaired overthe years; nothing serious.

[2] So well, in fact, that he’s capable of lying to himself aboutImportant Things for eons.

[3] All six of them, in fact.

[4] They are a stain on him. A mark. Aconstant, unending reminder. Like scar tissue he can’t not see in the mirrorevery day, that he always feels and Knows is there.

[5]  Aziraphale has a habit of unconsciously drawing his wings aroundhimself on the astral plane when engrossed in a book or focused on somethingrequiring his attention. The angel draws those wings close when he’s disturbedand although humans do not see them they feel an unexplained Spiritual Breezewhen the wings move when Aziraphale is startled. It’s quite endearing even ifit makes Crowley’s skin crawl at the casual use of his wings by the angel.

[6] Of course, fear of punishment by heavenand hell—mostly hell with Crowley—had made him wary and it had taken Crowleyframing the amendment in a manner that befitted Thwarting Evil for Aziraphaleto finally agree, but the idea of sharing responsibility with Crowley forsomething… it had greatly appealed to the angel. Greatly.

[7]  They had spent most of their time initially comparingnotes on what they were Teaching young Warlock in order to try and make himneutral at least before their discussions had branched off into more friendlytopics and evenings were spent in a sort of enjoyable companionship neither hadexperienced before. Of course, in hindsight, the poor boy would likely needsome intensive therapy considering he wasn’t the subject of a divine prophecyand thus didn’t quite grasp some of the things Aziraphale or Crowley taughthim. Humans were frighteningly limited in that regard—but it made themwonderful at the same time; at least humans pushed their limits whilstangels and demons sort of wallowed within their constraints.

[8]  Witnessing Crowley sneak children aboard Noah’s shipjust as the flood began cemented in Aziraphale’s heart that the demon is farkinder than any other demon and does not commit Evil because he is evil but rather because it’s his job.If given the freedom to choose, Aziraphale is certain Crowley would performmiracles and temptings as and when he pleases. The Arrangement solidified thatbelief and after the world didn’t end, Aziraphale has watched and waited forCrowley to broach the subject himself. But the demon has remained quiet on thematter.

[9] He choose, however, to be nice andkind.

[10]  Crowley had been in the right place at the right time to receivepraise but the demon had simply been enjoying the sights. Infernal luck and allthat however had seen him credited with someone truly evil.

[11]  Even this is desperate thinking by the angel—something Aziraphalewell knows. He thinks it regardless, willfully ignorant and hopeful that he’sright when he knows full well he is not.

[12] As a cherubim, Aziraphale’s power is slightlyless than that of a saraph and archangel such as Gabriel in all things saveanything to do with his duties as a principality. Crowley hasn’t cried except theday he lost Aziraphale and on that day it rained for hours in London.

[suchawonderfullife]

Day 11-13: Maintaining the light through the darkness. The limbic system, brain dysfunction, colour & music therapy.

That gorgeous photo above is a piece of art in the patients lounge. There’s something about it, so inspiring and uplifting. I loved it so much I bought an unframed version off amazon to take home. I purchased some other art I also found uplifting or which brought me joy, to help change the atmosphere of my home and signify a new beginning in my healing journey. As mentioned in my previous post about the four quadrants of healing, the Dr that gave this talk emphasised the importance of being in a positive environment, as well as changing your environment if you’ve lived in the same space whilst being sick. As I cannot change the position of my furniture or even purchase new furniture, I thought art was a really good start in bringing change and more positive vibes. 

The books in the second photo are one’s my Dr has kindly leant me. I’ve read the first 6 chapters of “Letting Go” and I have to say it is brilliant. The author has a series of books which all connect to mindfulness and raising your consciousness. It’s all stuff I find incredibly interesting anyway, so reading it is easy. Due to my liver being my worst affected organ and as I’ve explained, I experience anger and other negative emotions that I find hard to let go. I’m good at internalising my emotional pain. I also take on the worries of others (being an empath) and I do not cope well with stress. This book will help me work through a lot of that and train my mind to better deal with emotional turmoil and any resentment, bitterness, guilt, anger, or hatred I may be harbouring. The third book “wired for healing”, I have only read the Introduction. But my Dr has explained to me how the limbic system is so badly affected for those that are chronically ill and how it plays such a pivotal and vital role in recovery. So again, I would highly recommend this book on learning about EMDR-DNRS limbic system retraining techniques. 

The second book “the book of awakening,” I am yet to read but it sounds like something that woud resonate with me. I am incredibly grateful to have been given such an abundance of information to help my entire body heal to its greatest ability. It just goes to show how much information is out there that we are yet to learn. 

Aside from that great stuff, my body has hit struggle town again. I wasn’t doing well on Monday. So we started colour therapy. I wore special glasses that completely covered my eyes and only showed certain colours . Each colour targets a different organ/body system as well as working on different emotions. For example: Yellow- digestion, Blue- expression, thyroid and Red- adrenals, liver. I can’t remember what blue, green, purple or orange are for. So whilst I looked at these colours, one at a time, sometimes 2 colours blended together, he did other things on my body and gave me remedies on the spot. He said that my body is toxic to the colour blue. Meaning I have far too much of it in my system. Blue being the colour for expression, he said that I simply express myself far TOO much, which is funny because most patients are quite deficient in this colour and it’s evident if you meet me in person that I am quite extroverted.

The next day (Tuesday), I was feeling great! I was back to my old self, chatting away to people, super happy and experiencing minimal symptoms. So we worked on my brain. He got me to stand up and do some basic exercises that showed the left side of my body is lacking connection to my brain (the movements were more difficult or not as fluid as the right side). Therefore, my brain’s ability to communicate to the left side of my body is not good and both sides of my brain struggle to communicate with each other. He said this is why it can be difficult to spit out words or remember something as one side of the brain is needing to find the appropriate information from the other side of the brain and they are not working together efficiently. (something like that anyway)

After doing these tests, (one of them was to do with balance and balancing on my left foot I would fall straight away, on my right I wouldn’t last very long), he got me to take these tablets and chew them up. They tasted disgusting. My friend who just finished treatment there likened the taste of these tablets to a hamster cage. It really did taste like that. But once I’d taken them, within 30 seconds, my ability to balance and do all exercises he had previously given me, had improved by 80%. He explained that this specific tablet (it had a scientific name) targeted a certain part of the brain and for some reason improved these symptoms. But neuroscientists and Dr’s cannot pin-point exactly why this specific concoction improves this function in the brain so dramatically, it just does. 

My Dr drew a diagram on his computer to explain the parts of my brain that don’t function correctly and why (but I cannot remember enough information to put it into words). What it means though, is that I have to do brain exercises twice a day to restore this function. Very basic things, but I am finding them difficult. My eyes strain and the front of my head hurts like I’m getting a headache, even though I’m only holding these positions for 10 seconds at a time. I got my partner to do them as well and he felt no strain or pain, so it must be due to these deficiencies in my brain function, like a muscle that hasn’t been exercised for a long time. I also have to do these small hand and arm movements, as fast as possible. Watching how fast my Dr could do it and how fast I could do it, I could tell the connection between my brain and limbs, was lacking as I was far slower and literally could not go faster no matter how hard I tried. 

I went home feeling good and happy. Progress is being made, I’m learning more and working on so many different aspects of my body that will all come together to catapult my healing. I started to get real tired an hour after being home though. Usually after 4-6 hours of detox therapies, I have to nap for an hour before dinner. Then I’m fine to function, watch tv, potter around the house before bed etc. This night was different. I slept on and off for 3 hours on the couch and could not wake myself up. I was incredibly lethargic and exhausted. I was also very irritable, certain noises that don’t usually set me off would feel like a hammer hitting my brain and I was quite snappy with my partner. 

Then when I went to bed I became wired and couldn’t fall asleep until late. Waking up today and having had 6 hours sleep, I thought I felt OK. My mood was a little flat, I told my partner how I was finding treatment was taking a toll on me emotionally now. It feels a little like groundhog day, coming in and doing the same detox therapies over and over (even though they always change your schedule and you don’t do them in the same order). I guess my mindset was just a little negative (which is not normal for me). So off I went to treatment, telling myself to just get through the day and then I only have 2 more days left until the weekend, where I will get to rest. 

I arrived at 9am and did Bemer (8 minutes), then sauna (30 minutes). I was feeling fine until 15 minutes into sauna. I suddenly felt toxic, unwell and like I was heading towards passing out. I was chatting to a girl in there and trying hard to persevere. Usually I can do 30 minutes easy and have sometimes stayed in longer because I was too busy talking to the others in there. At 20 minutes I commented to the girl I was in there with that I was feeling really unwell. I tried to change positions and distract myself by continuing our conversation about our pets back home and their funny antics. But at 25 minutes my body was really giving up and I was worried I was about to pass out or lose it or something. So I got out, got dressed and went back down stairs. 

I ate some chocolate from my bag, thinking maybe I was low on sugar, went back to the therapy desk and was informed I could start ST8 (30 minutes). I stood there for a moment and said to the therapy assistants “I can’t do this. I feel really unwell and I’m worried ST8 will make me worse.” They empathised and told me to take a break if I wanted. So I sat on one of the couches and was trying to work out what was going on. It’s really difficult to describe, I felt halfway to passing out, halfway to throwing up, like the inner core of my brain was freaking out, neurologically I was frayed. Something was just “wrong” and I didn’t want to make it worse. I started crying and I don’t know if it was from my brain malfunctioning, or from a sense of panic because I didn’t know what was wrong with my body. 

My partner talked to the staff and they asked my Dr if he could change my appointment to earlier. I couldn’t see how I could wait 3 hours to see him. Luckily he changed his appointments within 10 minutes and saw me next (how nice is that!). SItting in his office I was weepy, tears rolling down my face and my voice shaking. I haven’t cried in his office yet so I guess I’d done well to hold out until week 3. I explained all my symptoms from the night before until now and he got me up on the table. 

Basically, 2 of my supplements were reacting badly with each other in my body. You cannot predict this, as it’s about my bodies chemistry and ability to interpret the frequencies of the treatments and then putting multiples together can increase the chance of a reaction. My thyroid supplement was going haywire next to my liver supplement. So he had to do some things to my body so that that reaction would not occur. My kidneys are also now struggling. So he created a new tincture to support my kidneys and it tastes just as bad, if not worse than my liver support concoction. 

Whilst lying on the table I felt a sense of relief and I felt safe. I knew I was in safe hands with my Dr and whatever was wrong with my body, he would be able to alleviate it. He gave me all different remedies on the spot, through the testing he was doing on me. The more he gave me the better I felt. When I first got up on that table I felt like I was lost, something was wrong with my brain and I was no longer “present.” I just felt toxic, ill and scared. My personality started to return and we started cracking jokes again. Then the toxic feeling passed and I felt calm and ok. 

To help calm my body and put it back into some sort of equilibrium, we did music therapy. He explained that sounds have a frequency and certain frequencies have the ability to heal different parts of the body. There is a specific musician who has created healing music by getting the sounds up to specific frequencies. So I had headphones on as he changed the song every few minutes. It was music I had never heard before, but I’d liken it to things you’d hear in a hippie shop, while you’re getting a massage or on hold (so no singing, just instruments). Some of the songs made me feel upbeat and happy, others relaxed, one song I felt like I was going to cry. 

That might sound weird, or like a load of crap, but he gave me information to explain it all properly and I’m explaining it in a very basic way, as best as I can remember. I never give the entire picture or description because I simply can’t remember and lack the vocabulary of explaining the correct terminology (because I’m not a doctor lol).

My Dr did a lot of things on me today and said basically the sauna tipped my body over the edge and it just needs a break. It’s doing a lot, he likened it to running a marathon everyday. So all my therapies were cancelled for the rest of the day and I don’t start until 1245pm tomorrow, where I will only do about half of the detox therapies. I don’t get charged per day, I get charged per therapy, so missing out on therapies will not waste my money. I’m really glad they do it that way. 

I hope my body picks back up and I come through the end of the week strong!