The Way Out A raw and honest account of one man's journey through chronic illness, trauma, and the search for true healing.
It's a harsh realization: you pull through life with chronic illness, trying to survive day by day, but you are not living.
My "TED-worthy" story that got me into all major news outlets in Israel a while back was a promising one. A young man, on his way to becoming a doctor, fell ill, succumbing to illness, only to find himself fighting an uphill battle against healthcare, like an armorless Don Quixote poking against a hospital wall.
He was also a hero, a martyr, and a victim of this evil life. He had an "incident" in his army service while saving the lives of others as a medic, defending his country. No word about mental health, no PTSD in this lexicon, only an injury leading to a mysterious illness taking almost a decade of his young life.
He was so empowered by the end of his journey that he not only diagnosed and rehabilitated himself but also taught himself to walk and talk when he was almost 28. Using this inertia, he helped empower others sharing their bedridden fate and even extended beyond the chronically ill community to empower others to leave their comfort zones, confront their fears, be more resilient, and thrive. He founded startups and NGOs, spoke on the world stage, wrote books, and was always doing.
This was a beautiful and compelling story, but it wasn't the whole story.
Let's rewrite it using the facts of the matter: he joined the army at 18 since he had to, stupidly tried to fit in, and waived his medical right to have a desk job, only to find himself on the battlefield a few short months later. While doing so, he was so self-canceling that he spent his short and precious vacations from the army as a volunteer medic at the Israeli branch of the Red Cross, only to encounter more death, destruction, and trauma. His body failed him; he got gaslighted, ignored, and neglected. Only a year after being honorably discharged to a society that saw it as the utmost dishonor, he tried to prove himself by using his remaining health to join a civil service by the Red Cross, and finally succumbed to trauma that had led to a massive autoimmune reaction and devastated his body.
He spent years in bed, gaslighted, ignored, and abused until finally, he was sick of his sickness. He took responsibility for his life and found a way out. But since he didn't change his core behavior, he kept finding himself relapsing, only to resurface and drown again.
In my first book, "Revolution from my Bed," I told my story. It was a sad one with a glimpse of hope. The book ended with the notion of "I am better now, so I can tell you how to do it too." But it was a lie. I failed at home. I didn't make it. I managed to poke a hole between the world of the sick and the world of the living, only for it to be forcefully closed again by the winds of life. This lack of deep roots in a centered, wellness-focused, mindful mindset and actions made this wind feel like a light breeze, not throwing me back to a few months in bed every time.
This was not a life. And I, as this young man, didn't want to live my life like this anymore.
Not to prove anything, not to show I was sick so society would finally believe me, use my illness as a cover and excuse, and make poor life choices while glimmering on rare occasions for a bit, inspiring some people, making some positive noise, and... you've guessed it, relapsing again.
I wanted out. I'd had enough. I was sick of my sickness. Rock bottom had a special lair for me, and I was so deep, I was crawling out. I was looking for a way out.
And I did believe there was one. Not to maintain illness, but to get rid of it, to have it be controlled by me and not the other way around.
To live life to the fullest. To be present.
To stop having 24/7 pain, anxiety, and countless symptoms. To not be afraid the next minute would be my last.
I would dedicate the following 52 weeks to my true and hopefully final healing. I would dive deeper into my trauma and treat it, try to wean off my meds, learn how to be mindful, breathe better, eat better, sleep better, and most importantly, hold a healthy mindset that would keep me healthy for a long time.
I was proud of my contribution to patient empowerment, to the conversation around invisible illnesses, broken health IT and tech, safety, health, and education, but I was not fulfilled. Not because of achievements, but due to the fact that I was not there.
I was showing my face once in a while, only to disappear again into the abyss of my sickbed. I wanted to get home the second I left. I couldn't enjoy friendships or activities. I could barely work. And mainly, I was not happy.
My body was aching; my soul was shattered by the horrors I'd seen and witnessed. I was spending my days avoiding my triggers, which meant I was avoiding the life that might bring them with it.
I needed a way out. Would you join me on my journey?