Burn Those Mo-Fo Scales

A few years ago my weight made my day, literally.

If my weight was up my mood was down and by down I mean down in the fiery pits of sooky-la-la-hell. Picture hyperventilating, tragic tears, snot everywhere, kicking stuff like a tempered two-year-old and eventually a hurt toe or two, it’s a pretty sight huh?!

On the other end of the scale (pun intended) if my weight was down I was up. Up in the clouds, high on happiness and full of confidence. Seriously though the only difference between a good and bad weigh day was a cheat meal and a decent shit.

One particular down day, of which there were many as it seemed just breathing my own farts could make me gain, my husband threatened the life of my scales. So when my tears didn’t dry up after the umpteenth time of him describing how he saw me and that the scales couldn’t rate sexy or awesome he honoured that threat by taking it to the next level.

He kidnapped my scales!

Yep, kidnapped that silver-tongued weighing machine without so much as a ransom note and he threw it powerfully over his head and directly at the driveway beneath our first floor balcony. He then pulled out his keys, threw himself frustratedly into his car, turned the ignition and proceeded to drive over them. Not satisfied with the crunch he ripped it into reverse, drive, reverse – you get what I’m saying? And then when he felt sure the scales were unusable he parked his ute on it as a final triumphant winning move.

I was devastated. Silly I know but I really was! How was I going to judge my day from now on if I didn’t know how fat or not-too-fat I was? Did I really have to wake up and just be happy? Is that what the rest of the world did?

I’ve told this husband-car-smashing-scales story before but now I’m out the other side, not completely cured but living better than I have before, I see this story differently. I also see it as a must for all women, everywhere, who choose their mood in a negative way because they listened to this mean girl machine! She is a mean girl compacted, digitalised and she doesn’t even have to speak to make you feel shit about yourself. Who are you giving your power away to?!!! If you must give your wonderful womanly power away at least make them living breathing humans! And by ‘if you must give away your power” I mean DON’T FUCKING GIVE ANYONE YOUR POWER EVER! Living, breathing or machining.

It does not matter how much you paid for those scales. It does not matter what excuses you come up with. If you weigh yourself every day or as in my case back then three times a day then you go NOW and you get that mother-fucking number thingy and throw them at the driveway and reverse, drive, reserve, drive, repeat and park on them! And no I won’t pay for your punctured tyres be smart about it ladies cover it in cardboard if you have to. If you don’t have a car, get a hammer, don’t have a hammer, get a bat – but not the perfection bat because that’s imaginary. Throw them in a bonfire if you can’t beat them to death and stand there triumphantly watching them burn! DO something significant to those little gravity defining mofos!

Was my pep talk not enough? What are you still doing here? Can’t let go? You want more?

Well, here’s ten reasons why you should amputate those fuckers from your life:

1. The scales WILL NOT tell you who you really are! That bitch will never give you the answers you are looking for! No. NOT. EVER.

2. The scales will not tell you how your genetics influence your weight/height/body shape. They will not tell you whether you are a petite dainty babe or a complete glamazon or some beautiful specimen in between. It only gives you a number. JUST A NUMBER! Like this – 67 – or this – 84 – or this – 72.47567296 – …. Numbers! NOT genetic make-up. You’ve got your Dad’s legs, your Mums waistline and apparently your Great-Aunties nose … A scale can’t calculate that whole bundle of gloriousness!

3. The scales will not tell you how funny/smart/creative you are. They can’t tell you that you have a killer backhand in tennis, that your kids/husband/dogs think your laugh is the one of the best sounds to hear ever in this world or that, if there was such a thing, you would have earned a Masters Degree in parenting/kicking arse by now.

4. The scales just stress you the fuck out … Don’t they? Then why do it to yourself? We are smarter than that. We are worth more than that! Life CANNOT be defined by that!

5. The scales cannot tell you your ‘correct’ or your ‘ideal’ weight. Why? Because it’s a stupid fucking machine! A stupid fucking machine that someone invented to make you feel bad about yourself! And they continue to do so and they win! Why let them win?!

6. The scales tell you nothing about your actual state of health. Nothing! It may give you your body fat percentage or your hydration level but can it really? It doesn’t take your blood and then calculate your cholesterol. It doesn’t evaluate the arteries in your heart, your pancreas function or tell you that you have a fatty liver. Other machines do that. Let them make you feel bad – but only to make you do something positive about it!

7. The scales can actually hinder your efforts! How? Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the statement, and probably, like me, scoffed at it too, that “muscle weighs more than fat”…. It actually really does! So if you are exercising and eating well and your weight is not shifting (or it is going up) then could it be possible your shifting fat and building muscle? Could it!?! But no you see you’re weight has gone in the wrong direction and you throw in the towel, sit on the couch, crying into a bag of caramel popcorn and chocolate. Don’t worry I’ve done that too a billion times over!

8. The scales can’t and won’t tell you that you’re due for your period, if you ate a cheat meal last night or if you haven’t been to the toilet in a few days. It cannot tell you that you are retaining fluid or if you’ve lost centimetres off your waistline. A tape measure can, your clothes can but not that mean girl machine.

9. Weight is your gravitational pull. Your mass is your matter. But none of it matters if you’re healthy and balanced in life. Your scales will only tell you your physical earthly mass. Not the depth, the intensity or the worthiness of your mass. It cannot tell you that your laughter is contagious, your smile lights up the room like sunshine or that you look totally fucken hot right now even though the scale says a number that isn’t socially acceptable to you.

10. The scales will only confuse you, haunt you and give you reasons to whip out your perfection bat. It’s a mean girl disguised as a helpful health machine and it will take away your power – if you let it.

Who’s the one in charge of your health? 

Who’s the one in control of your body? 

Who is the only one who can change who tells who what to do?

I’ll give you a clue: it’s not the scales!

Wear it. Own it. Be it….. And by ‘it’ I mean YOU!

One love,
DRK xxx

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Seven Days

We’ve discussed this before. We’ve had this conversation. But nothing is more real about this chat then it is right now. Because over the last three weeks while we have worried about our weight, yelled impatiently at our children, huffed and puffed out at the series of frustrating road users a man I know has been counting down his days. Not his days til Christmas or days til his next holiday but the days of his life.

Three weeks ago he was told he had a month to live and while we all can’t wait to get into bed at night only to wake up the next day bleary eyed can we even come close to imagining how those nights and those mornings clicked by way too quickly for him.

Yesterday marked one week to go. 7 days or there abouts. How fucken unfair. How frustrating. How absolutely devastating. I cannot even fathom how this feels for him, for anyone dealing with this same mortality. I cannot put into words what each day drawing to an end would feel like to this man. And I can’t tell you how sad I selfishly feel.

How do you grieve the life you had, that life you have to let go? How do you do that? How the fuck do you do that! How do you sum up your life and ‘tie up loose ends’ when the biggest loose end is that you don’t want to fucken die! You want to live! You want to fall in love again and again. You want to explore the world. You want to hug every member of your family. Thank every one of your friends for every moment you’ve ever shared. Say sorry. Take your kids on a spectacular holiday. Boldly quit your job and train for your dream job.

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One week.

Seven days.

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What is really important in that moment of severely shortened time? What becomes the main focus in your life? Who would you spend your time with? How would you feel?

I don’t write this to bring on guilt for those who have just cried about a frustrating yet precious child. Not written to bring shame for the materialistic lives we lead. Not to instil fear in our own mortality. Just words written for a man I know with seven days left on his life calendar. His LIFE calendar. Just words from my heart because I feel so sad. For him. For his family. For the “what ifs”. For the challenges and unfairness of it all. For the fact he has just written his own eulogy which is not done for premeditated fun but out of a requirement to him and his final words of life. LIFE.

So I ask of you be grateful today, if even only for a moment. Be gracious over the next seven days in a compassionate way to all those on this similar and terminal journey. What we take for granted is a blessing to others. Less whinging, more hugging.

One Love,
DRK xxx

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Superwoman Reincarnated

What happens when you finally sort your mental shit out? Well not much apparently. The earth doesn’t explode into a billion delicious oreo cookie pieces. You don’t magically look any different. People don’t fall over each other to be around the new you. But blogging does become more difficult. Or perhaps just different.

My gripes, my vents, my deep personal and over shared thoughts are now silenced. I’ve dealt with them. I guess in a way they are still there, they always will be so the skeptics say but they are fainter than before and I can laugh way louder than them now. And so I do. I laugh louder. I laugh more. Which is nice and I’m proud of that.

Here have a 9 minute laugh on me…

I never thought I’d ever be able to say this but when I occasionally weigh myself these days I feel … Nothing. Nothing at all. Not even when I had to weigh myself at the hospital on Sunday in front of a complete stranger and in fact the worst kind of stranger – a woman stranger. This would have given me sweaty palms and high blood pressure if I had of been standing there as the old me. I would have begun to make excuses about having fallen off the wagon recently, having had a big night of pizza loving the night before, or the best and most used excuse of all time – having five kids! This particular excuse has always been used as a distraction and it’s worked every time. Ok so it was a little bit of an excuse too but that’s got to wearing thin considering my youngest is nearly 2.5! It definitely distracts people momentarily though as I apparently look way too young to have five kids. Not sure how I’m supposed to look – haggard or whore-ish perhaps?

Anyway…..

I proudly stood there on the scales with this complete female stranger hovering beside me, a nurse who ‘The New Me’ knew had seen much worse in her career like blood and guts and things stuck up peoples anal passages. Things way more exciting than the numbers the scale was about to announce. Finally the numbers stopped going up (and up and up) and I noticed I weighed +3kg more than I have EVER done before. I didn’t even get the chance to freak out before ‘The New Me’ rationalised this weight gain instantly clarifying that my body was wearing shoes, socks, jeans, singlet, bra, top, jumper and a puffer vest, yes a puffer vest! That’s a fair bit of extra kaygees right there. Best of all though, I didn’t feel ashamed of me or that number. I didn’t go home and cry. I didn’t go home and start a new diet – aka starvation-slash-binge-slash-newest-fad-diet-slash-starvation-again. I didn’t go home and look in the mirror so I could personally curse the ugly, fat reflection staring back at me. No. No I didn’t. I took my sick not-so-little baby home with my healthy and able body. I held him the entire five hours I was there in the hospital ED and I did that with my strong capable arms. I kissed his head. I wiped his tears. I lifted him in and out of his car seat and I carried him up our 9 stairs to get home. I cuddled him. I loved him. And not once did I think about that number again that day.

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I love this about ‘The New Me’. I love that there is more liberation in my head. There’s more room for things to float freely. To be able to feel the real stuff without the added anxieties that a compacted thought system can make you feel. There’s more space to rationalise, to breathe, to just be in and enjoy the moment. Even if it’s a shitty moment. A moment where you worry about your sick kid. But let me break this down for you too – I am not a miracle. I am not magically cured and now living the perfect life in the perfect body of the perfect wife/mother/woman. My kids still drive me crazy and I am still known for yelling like a banshee. I argue with my non-perfect husband, I cry at silly ads on TV and wouldn’t you know it I bleed just like every human on this Earth. But now I don’t care what others think of me. I don’t care if they notice my spare tyre once carefully hidden beneath my top. I don’t care if they hate freckles, my nose stud, my tattoos. I don’t care if they like me or if they don’t. I only care about being me.

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With my new found freedom of mind and with all that extra air in there I didn’t think I could blog again. I’m not sure how I can go from sharing all this crazy head stuff to not having anything mental left to share. I could use this blog to vent about my messy, noisy children, my frustrating yet totally loved husband, my treadmillish routined life BUT I think I’m going to offer more of myself to you than that. I’m feeling naughty and not afraid of the possibilities. I’m feeling brave! And I’m scared where this empty wild head leaves my blogging now but I know I will find my new groove, I can feel it feathering away inside me – like an internal tickle but not like an anal itch. It’s exciting, frightening and frustrating. It may take some time and we are all well aware of my patience (yep – zilch, nada, zip) but I’m one of the lucky ones who has time. So be patient my little super heroes, my fans, my followers, my friends and in the words of The Terminator, I’ll be back! And better than ever too!

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One love,
DRK xxx

Go On – Cure Me!

Over the past 18 months I’ve had various “diagnosis” and I use inverted commas because I am still not sure I believe I actually have these illnesses and I do still believe I can ‘cure’ all of them. This, I’m sure, will have the medical practitioners rolling their eyes at my bold statement while the naturalists are no doubt applauding me – a standing ovation I’d say – chanting that to live natures way is the only way and I would but here lies part of the problem I’m “allergic” to most of the raw fruits and vegetables we commonly use to heal ourselves. Yes, laugh. Seriously it’s ok if you do. This “syndrome” is one I’m sure most teenage boys would love to have. I am, however, 100% sure that my 10+ years of dieting/bingeing and my nasty internal dialogue has done this damage to me. Essentially I have poisoned myself.

I am writing this post – one that will be relatable to almost no one and after the Belle Gibson saga it’ll hardly be believable in the eyes of many – cheers Belle – but I’m still writing it and for two reasons: one) to maybe get a message out to people to start eating to survive and thrive and to stop torturing our internal system with diets, shakes, pills and poisonous potions and two) I’d love to find someone out there like me, find someone who has cured themselves, someone who lives successfully with these “syndromes”. And YES there will be MANY more inverted commas throughout this lengthy post…  

So … let me break these “diagnosis” down…

Diagnosis #1: Irritable Bowel Syndrome. 

Symptoms: stomach cramps, diarrhoea/constipation, bloating, feeling of still needing to go after you already went – we are talking bowel movements here for those of you who are unsure where I am going with that.

Treatment: the FODMAP diet which is essentially avoiding onion, garlic, lots of fruits and vegetables, grains etc – here’s the list which is too extensive for me to waste important word count on … http://www.ibsdiets.org/fodmap-diet/fodmap-food-list/


Diagnosis #2: Oral Allergy Syndrome this name makes my girlfriends laugh and laugh and laugh… If you have a dirty mind you will get the hysterics of ORAL allergy syndrome if not keep reading…

Symptoms: instant itchy mouth, swollen tongue and lips, scratchy throat, itchy inner ears, and a short time later for the real bad reactions – stomach cramps.

Treatment: avoid all fruit and vegetables that I react to which include but is not limited to avocado, watermelon, green beans, carrots, rockmelon, kiwi fruit, celery, capsicum and so on. Cooking them can sometimes help too.


Diagnosis #3 came in a bundle of three after an endoscopy: gastropathy, severe GERD and Barrett’s.

Symptoms: chest pain to make you think you’re having a heart attack and nausea. They’re the only two symptoms I had/have. No indigestion or heartburn.

Treatment: 40mg Nexium for two months then reduce it to 20mg and also, yep you guessed it, more dietary restrictions. Avoid coffee, chocolate, spicy food, tomatoes, alcohol and sleep upright at a 30 degree angle.

On top of these “syndromes” I am also sensitive to milk and whey powders (think weight loss shakes), allergic to certain grasses and soy … I also get the most incredible ovulation pains that take me out for a good 12-24hour period once a month and speaking of periods well actually let’s not go there and instead just say I’d have a hysterectomy if it wasn’t so extreme! Continuing on I have bursitis in my left knee and my left shoulder and intermittently have back and/or neck pain. Am I making your ears bleed yet?! Trust me my poor husband, Mum and friends must be over it – another reason to over share with you – allow that probably accounts for 50% of my followers 🙂

What I am feeling from all these things is that I’m internally toxic. Inflamed. Unbalanced.

The “avoid” food list of all these “diagnosis” combined are mind boggling! There is so much I have to stay away from and most of them are things that I’d put on my favourite list if I made one … Coffee, spicy food, avocado, chocolate and being a 1/2 Italian stallion means I’m accoustomed to having tomato based meals, pasta, and bread. I also love a good salad but on eating salad every day for two weeks some time ago, pushing past the itches and swelling, in a bid to lose weight I ended up with sinusitis. Hell that hurt! Another OAS effect when overexposed to the pollens/proteins (?) your allergic too. 

I can’t say I’ve given much of the avoid list up simply because I don’t know then what I should eat – looks like a water detox for me. It’s confusing. I do avoid the OAS foods most of the time only because it’s an instant physically reaction which drives me crazy whereas the other food restrictions are internalised, silently killing me (dramatic much? I must of just channelled Belle Gibson) and aren’t physically apparent until and hour or so later when I’m in agony. 

I love all food, I’m not a fussy eater, hence the reason I have gained 10kg in 18 months and I’m confused by it – not the 10kg gain but confused by the whole food thing in general. What to eat, how to make it delicious and nutritious. How to cure what I already have. You know I’d love to get up in the morning and just eat. Without thinking about what I can or can’t, should or shouldn’t or what I will regret later on in my day. 

So this is where my superheroes come in, aka you! If you’ve read this entire post then I pat you on the back and I also owe you an ear massage after all my unloading. If you have found anything that has worked for you, naturally, give it a shout out here! Give it a shameless plug if you have a product you 100% believe in. And by all means share with people who may have the same problems – I’d love to know there is someone, anyone, out there, relatable!

Go on! Cure me! 

One Love,

DRK xxx

Belle F#€ken Gibson

I’ve just watched the interview with Belle Gibson on 60 Minutes and I have to say that someone has drained me of my blood, put it over a fire pit and boiled it before giving it back.

Yes I am angry in every faucet of angry! I’m angry that she was paid for the interview. I’m angry that she wore that fucken hideous pink jumper, I’m angry that people are defending her and putting her under the mental health banner but most of all I’m angry that she STILL couldn’t tell the truth. There was no simple answer of yes or no. No simple “oh I’m 23 or am I 26?” She can’t even remember how old she is coz she’s lied about it too much!
She is a conman, or woman in this case. She doesn’t have a mental illness besides being a fucking lame arse fucktard! She is someone who has profited from sick people, from people who trusted her, who related to her, felt connected to her …. only to find out it was all lies! Belle Gibson lied and she continued to do so through the whole interview!

I don’t believe in Belle Gibsons words but I do believe there are healing qualities in food. I believe that we all can lead a much better life through whole foods BUT she has now tarnished that for so many people AND people who really need to benefit from healthy living! She is a scammer. A liar. A cheat. A high neck pink jumper wearing monster!

My brother died from brain cancer. My friend is currently combat fighting brain cancer. Little children I fundraiser for are kicking the arse of cancer. The story “her story” of cancer, heart problems, surgeries, strokes are all fabricated stories to get vulnerable people, people who are actually going through these things, to buy her shit in all shapes and forms! 

Shame on you Belle Gibson. Shame on you for not stepping up to the opportunity for truth telling. Shame on you for not putting on your big girl knickers and owning up to your shit, your lying shitty shit. Shame on you for not giving those you stole from, those whose trust you slaughtered, a real, decent and heartfelt apology! 

  
I can’t apologise on her behalf (and I don’t want to) but I will say this to those who have been burnt by BG … 

Feed your body love and pure ingredients. Nutrition is important to your wellbeing, to everyone’s wellbeing. But life is also for living. So laugh with those you love. Enjoy the slice of sunshine on a winters day. Be spontaneous and dance in the rain but most of all forgive BG for her stupidity and let it go. Let her go. The sooner we all let her go the better. The sooner we let her go the less she will profit from her self-made stories. Don’t let her profit from anymore of her lies and don’t let her own anymore moments in your precious life.

 
Life is wonderfully short. We have so much to do with so little time.  Fill it with good stuff….


One love

DRK xxx 

Rewriting Your Story

I’ve been talking to a “professional” lately and in the two hours I have spent with her (yes just two hours) I have connected more dots in my lifes’ story and crazy life cycles than I have ever connected before and now things are actually making sense. My vision is clear and now that I have the ability to step outside and look in from a very different viewpoint I can accept things for what they truly are. This different viewpoint changes “my story” completely. Things that I thought mattered, things that I thought defined me are well … different, they still matter somewhat, they have still shaped me but the depth in which they is no longer plausible.

Granted parts of my past have been less than ideal, yours may have too, and it’s true a lot of that shittiness was because of the choices I made as an immature child. An immature child craving attention. But I’ve realised there were a few traumatic things that were not entirely my choice. Those situations were not a choice made by a mature woman but of a 14 year old child. Never-the-less I have repented for 20+ years. I have spent this massive portion of my life feeling guilty, bad, not good enough and ashamed of myself. Embarrassed and unable to move forward in my life out of fear for the repercussions of my past. Fearing that my choices would come back to haunt me in my future. I now know that I have hindered my future by living in the shadow of my past. My fears have stopped me from truly being in the present – often or ever! My fears have also lead me to be in situations and with people who reflect these negative feelings about myself.

These people talk over me, interrupt me and are hardly ever really there with me. It’s like I’m not even talking sometimes. Sometimes it seems as if they are sitting in an empty room and not in a chair right beside me. They have their own opinions and mine, if different, are shut down time and time again, completely invalid and unimportant. They can give advice but can’t take it and I continually have to pat their ego. But I’m done stroking it.


Today I felt different. Today I had a voice. I had broad and strong shoulders, my head was held high and I nodded to the world that yes indeed I was ready to move forward with my life. I am ready to surround myself in real joy and faith. Faith in myself. Faith in my actual creative talents. I’m ready to support my personal desires for the future and more importantly actually be in the present moments which ultimately leads to my inner happiness and calm. Yay! Calm sounds awesome!! I am not afraid to release my “real self” for the world to see. I’m not afraid of what they may think of me. I am a good person. I know that now.


I am not who I was when I was 14 (15, 16,  and so on and so forth). I am not that young girl out there making mistakes, hurting those around her, in particular her parents, the people who brought her into this world. I am not the terrible sister of a dying boy. I am not an ugly freckled face girl who had a crush on someone who thought they were better than her. I am not the single mother of three divorcee, the failure, the family embarrassment. I am not the friend who will continually try hard for your friendship/love/attention. I am walking away with my head held high, almost guilt free, leaving the past in the past.


I have spent years/decades, suffering for my “sins” but before my life is over, before my opportunity passes I am sticking my middle finger up (as I may often do in times like these) and I am saying: “Fuck you fear, regrets and guilt”, “YOU are all holding me back and I choose to move forward like a true champion. One motherfucking step at a time!” I choose to keep these wheels rolling and to keep moving forward. To keep my smile glistening while my head is held high. I choose to heal, forgive and do better.

We all get that choice.

Every day is a new beginning. Tell those “passengers” in your brain to politely shut the fuck up. You don’t need them to bring you down telling you how useless/unloved/terrible/fat/ugly you are. Who are they and what right do they have to define you? You have a choice to quieten them. Not by talking over them or by enrolling in an argument with them, not even by performing a magic vanishing trick on them. You need to begin the quietening simply by ignoring them. By making a conscious choice to keep moving forward regardless of how much they heckle you. The more steps you take, the more positive moves you make the closer you will get to a smooth and quiet ride. And don’t we all deserve that?

One love

DRK xxx

Time Traveller

Today I received a message from myself. A message from the 26th April 2013 version of me. It popped up on my iPhone. It popped up on my Mac. I sent myself a clear message – clear to me because I knew exactly what I had intended for it to mean on it’s arrival today. It was designed in 2013 to activate me today in 2015. It said ….

“Today it clicked”

What the??? Seriously! On this day 2 years ago I decided to set up a calendar event to remind me, convince me that all it takes is one click. One click and whola you are thin. You are successful. You have time and money up your sleeves. One click and you are magically happy, your house is clean and your kids listen to you. Lets be honest though – in all its simplicity that click was really directed at my weight.

What was I doing two years ago that made me come up with this marvellous idea? At what point did I actually think a message from my past self would actually work? My future self maybe but my past self really?? It does, however, show me that two years ago and today are just the same because I’m still as focused now as I was then on the same stuff. What is that quote about insanity …”The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” The simple fact is that I am not willing to work for it. Any of it. I’m lazy.

  

What clicked today was my guilt. Which clicks a lot. Guilt that I didn’t get my kids out of bed to go to the ANZAC dawn service yesterday morning because I was worried my youngest would cause a scene when there was supposed to be silence. Guilty because I sat on the couch for most of the morning, eating on and off but mainly on. Guilty because I saw a person who makes me hate myself and so I came home and ate chocolate. Guilty because I am sitting here typing rather than snuggling with my baby on the couch – but I think the couch has had enough of me today. Guilt because I am still the same as I was in 2013 and even earlier, much earlier than that. Guilt because I sit here whinging when so many others have it worse.

  

Today it clicked just how much I beat myself up still after all this time. Beat myself up because I live in my head – yes we’ve have had this discussion recently! Today it clicked that maybe I don’t really want to change if I haven’t already. Or maybe what’s holding me back is stronger than the result I am chasing or I’m allowing that to be the truth. Like captive Elephants who, from an early age, have a single rope strapped to their ankle. Then as they grow into over a 3000kg creature they still believe that this single rope can hold them back. With the largest brain of any land animal elephants are conditioned to believe this to be true yet they have the capacity, the strength and the brain power to move forward! They just believe they can’t.

 

Why do I live like this. Chained up to beliefs that hold me back. I want to be free!

  

So today I did what any smart land animal would do – I deleted my click. I deleted that fucker right off my calendar of events. This isn’t a magic show. It’s fucken life. I am not David Copperfield and that “magic” is all about illusion anyway! I’m still working on this…. This is far from over!

One love

DRK xxx