DISCLAIMER:
My story has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. My words are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.
(phew! Now that that’s out of the way, on with the show…)
LIFE IS GOOD…
When I was in my thirties, life was good. I was healthy, I was lean, I was fit, I ran marathons (2 in 1982 in the month of May), and I had money. In 1986, I met a girl, and fell in love. After dating for a year or so, we moved in together and vowed we would love, cherish, honour, respect each other, and also consciously help each other grow ‘spiritually’. As our relationship blossomed, Hien, that’s my wife (she was from Vietnam), told me all about herself. Among other things, she told me she had a degree in sociology from the University of Taiwan. That was not true. I later found out from her brother that she had two degrees from the University of Taiwan. She also told me she worked for the United Nations for a while. That was true. What she didn’t tell me though, was that she worked for the United Nations High Commissioner For Refugees and that her and 2 other ladies were awarded the ‘Nobel Peace Prize’ in 1981. I found that out when I was rummaging through some boxes in the basement one day, and while moving some stuff around, lo and behold, I found a framed copy of the ‘prize’, crammed there, under the stairs, gathering dust.
That day I realized Hien was a great gift that had been bestowed upon me. She was beautiful, she was extremely intelligent, she was fun to be with, and she was selfless. I didn’t love Hien, I adored her. In 1988, Hien gave birth to our son Joshua, and that day we vowed that we would love him, cherish him, honour him, respect him, and consciously help him grow ‘spiritually’. We did.
LIFE GETS LESS GOOD…
In 1997 I was dealt two serious ‘uppercuts’. On June 13th, my beloved Hien died of breast cancer. Then, in November, five months later, my father passed away. A few weeks later a friend drove me to the hospital because I felt I was having a heart attack. I remember being wheeled down this corridor thinking to myself “I’m gonna die”. I was wrong. After being examined, I was told I didn’t suffer a heart attack and I could go home. Curious, I asked the doctor what was wrong with me and he said he didn’t know – “Could be a number of things, have you been under stress lately?”. That was an understatement. I told him about my wife and my dad passing away, that I was raising my son by myself, and working full-time. He patted me on the shoulder, prescribed some ‘Ativan’ and my descent to hell began.
The next 10 years were, to say the least, challenging. What began as an innocent, seemingly harmless little ritual, of placing a tiny little pill under my tongue every morning, slowly increasing this to two, sometimes three little pills a day, led to two very serious problems. One, I became very addicted, not to mention, immune to the stuff, and two, my doctor told me that he couldn’t prescribe anymore because he was being investigated by the powers-that-be for over-prescribing the ‘crap’. I panicked.
LIFE GOES LIFELESS…
I’m a writer. Writing is not only what I do, it’s who I am. In 2007 I was working as a copywriter for a communications company, writing press releases for publically traded companies in the mining and oil industry. Part of my job required that I spend time chatting on the phone with clients, Presidents and CEOs of companies. It was a good job, I liked it. It was close to home, the people were nice and even though I was under a lot of stress, I managed. ‘Ativan’, my ‘consort’, my ‘chemical wife’, made sure of that. In retrospect, my relationship with ‘Ativan’ was like being married to a nymphomaniac, you know, sneaking off two or three times a day to have meaningless sex, depleting my vital lifeforce without noticing it because I was slowly becoming a lifeless zombie.
Then on a cold morning in March, I went for a walk with a colleague of mine during our morning coffee break. We’d been doing this every morning and afternoon for a couple of years now and it was something we looked forward to. We were close friends. At one point during our walk, I lost my balance. It felt like someone was pushing me to the side while I walked. My friend noticed this, and asked if I was alright. I said I was. The same thing happened when I walked home from work. Over the next week it got worse and I became worried. I popped more Ativan, hoping it would go away but it didn’t. What to do?
Every day I dragged myself to work and did my best. Things went from bad to worse and one day, while I was going over this article I’d written with one of our clients, I became so confused that I hung up on him. I remember sitting in my office, wondering if he was going to call back. A call came through, so I picked up the phone and before he could finish his sentence, which went something like “I think we got cut o..”, I hung up, again. The next call was from my boss, and before day’s end, I was terminated. I cleaned my office, went home, curled up on the sofa and drifted into the bizarre.
WELCOME TO HELL…
The next four months were hellish. Although my mind was numb, I felt pain… lots of physical pain. I remember the warm sunny days, the warm breeze wafting through the screen door, the smell of the trees and flowers luring me, mother nature desperately trying to pull me out of this nightmare I was living. Nothing… I felt nothing! I was in another world now, another dimension; and I’d better get used to it.
One day I sat down and wrote a poem entitled: “The Breeze That Lives All Things”. To this day I cannot explain why or how I did it. Actually, in two weeks, amid the physical pain and the zombie-like meaninglessness state I was in, I wrote fifty-two poems, which would later became a book of transcendental poetry entitled – “Diary of A Pen Warrior”-
While I was writing and vegetating, I noticed that I was also becoming somewhat of a hypochondriac. As a result I underwent an endoscopy, a colonoscopy, had every possible blood test done, including blood-cholesterol, blood-sugar, and a urine analysis. I had every organ in my body checked, using very sophisticated ‘ultrasound’ equipment. I had my ears, nose & throat checked. Nothing! …They found nothing except I had a bit of high blood pressure.
One day I called my brother Rick and when he asked me how I was, I lost it. I broke down, crying and screaming uncontrollably. Keep in mind that he knew nothing of this. My son knew nothing of this. I didn’t want anyone to know. The next day, being the wonderful brother that he is, he flew out to take care of me for a few days. Everyone should have a brother like my brother Ricky. I have another brother, Gerry, but I’ll get to him later.
After that breakdown, I related the event to my physician, and that’s when he suggested I see a psychiatrist.
COCKTAIL HOUR…
Here, I’ll be brief. Within minutes of seeing me, my psychiatrist said: “Mr. Gildart, you’re suffering from Major Clinical Depression”. A year or so later I was sent to The University of British Columbia’s Mood Disorder Clinic, and there, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II disorder. A while after that I became manic and depressed very quickly so I was sent back to the mood disorder clinic and re-assessed. Now, I was told I was suffering from Bipolar type 1 with rapid cycling. What to do?
Here’s what I did. Over the next 16 years, I swallowed anywhere from 1 to 14 pills a day. It all began innocently on that fateful evening in early December 1997, when I slipped a tiny Ativan pill under my tongue. Eventually I was introduced to Ativan’s sisters, Lithium, Paxil, Divalproex (Epivol), Welbutrin, Clonazopam, to name a few. Like a kid on a first date, I fell under their spell. Why, you ask? I did it in this vain attempt to quell the effects of these horrifying disorders. I’ve always considered myself a pretty capable person, but damn if I could break this spell I was under. So here I was stuck in this hell, afraid to go outside, afraid of loud noises and bright lights, afraid to breathe, my friends stopped calling, and on and on… Not funny.
Not only was I sick, but now I was also stuck with all the side effects of these horrid medications – Nausea, shaking violently, headaches, weight gain (over 100 lbs.), lack of sleep, heart palpitations, constipation, diarrhea, and on and on… Definitely not funny.
GERRY, HOLLY & Q96 TO THE RESCUE…
In January of this year, my brother Gerry called. He told me he had joined this network marketing company that was selling an assortment of coffees with ‘Ganoderma Lucidum’, better known as ‘Reishi mushroom’, in them. He was very excited because he felt that maybe, just maybe, this coffee could be good for me, since the reishi mushroom is touted as being an excellent food to ‘ease the mind’. Anyway at one point in the conversation he asked me if I would be well enough to get involved with this company. In my excitement I said yes, so he went ahead and signed me up, paid for my product ($400 +) and off we went. Not long into the venture, I noticed that when I talked to people about the opportunity, or got the least bit excited, this would trigger a manic episode in my brain. I remember feeling guilty, ashamed, and afraid to tell Gerry about this.
Then one day Gerry phoned me, and told me he’d just gotten off the phone with someone he had met at a convention in Las Vegas, a lady by the name of Holly Walen. Apparently, she was a ‘networker’ and he’d simply touched base with her to tell her about his new venture. That’s when she told him about this product she was involved with called Q96. He suggested I should get in touch with her and find out more. I did.
The moment I met Holly, I liked her. I could tell she was passionate about Q96, and I was desperate. To make a long story short, I told her I wanted some but I couldn’t get any until the end of the month because I was broke. Right away she said she’d send me a bottle and I said she didn’t have to do that, I could wait until the end of the month, but she insisted. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and added that I would send her the money as soon as I received my disability check. She said not to worry, that I should buy an extra bottle if I wanted to, and give it to someone who needed it, “pay it forward” as she put it. I did. Thank you Holly for your kind generosity, you saved my life.
While I was waiting for my product, Holly and I kept in touch. I googled Q96 and found a wealth of information which I passed on to Gerry. One day Holly messaged me and asked how I was. “Not so good”, I replied, and she wrote: “I sent the bottle, help is on the way”… I remember pacing the floor shortly after that, whispering to myself: “help is on the way… help is on the way… help is on the way”, then I lost it and wept like Niagara Falls.
Meanwhile, Gerry was doing his own research and the more he read, the more he got excited. I told him the product was on the way and that I had positioned myself in Holly’s network (it was free to register at the time). So, without hesitation, Gerry signed up under me. Here’s what’s funny. After spending close to $2200.00 on coffee, my brother tells me this: “You know Ronnie, after reading, and listening, and watching all these videos on Autumn and Tony Stephan, I never realized how sick you are…and you wanna know what else? I’m finding it hard to do the coffee business. It’s like I’m so drawn to these people and to this product. I know I can help a lot of people with this.” In that moment I realized two things. One, my brother loves me, and two, he’s genuinely interested in my wellbeing. This meant the world to me.
On January 23rd, at 12:46pm PST, I swallowed 2 capsules of Q96. On January 25th, I get a package delivered to my door. It’s Autumn Stringam’s book ‘A Promise of Hope,’ another gift from Gerry. I read it in two sittings, couldn’t put it down. Autumn, Tony & family, I’m so sorry for your loss. Tony, know today that your wife didn’t die in vain. I’m sure that she’s looking down on you and saying: “good work Tony, good work…”
Here are a few miracles that happened to me since I started using this amazing formula.
- Not afraid to go to the grocery store because fluorescent lighting confuses me.
- Not afraid to go for a walk because I feel like I won’t be able to make my way back.
- Not afraid to take a shower because I feel like I’m going to fall every time I hear running water.
- Not afraid to go to bed because I know I won’t be able to fall asleep. I SLEEP LIKE A BABY! For those of you who have a hard time getting to sleep, you understand why I write this in CAPS.
I could go on and on, but you get the picture. Oh, one last thing. A couple of weeks ago I noticed a lot of anger welling up in me. I mean extreme anger! So much anger in fact that I phoned Micronutrients to ask if that was normal. For those of you who don’t know who Micronutrients is, they’re the company that amassed all the data on people using this product over the last fourteen years. Anyway, I told the girl about all this anger, and she said: “don’t worry Mr. Gildart, you’re just getting your feelings back.” I was floored! She then asked what meds I was on, and made some recommendations, which I followed to the letter. After I hung up I said out loud: “I’M GETTING MY FEELINGS BACK!” I wept, again. Feeling anger never felt so good.
HELP IS ON THE WAY!
Today is Friday, March 15th, 2013. It’s a grey day outside, but this is Vancouver, and our winters are wet and grey. I went for a walk earlier, and whistled a tune as I walked. I made a mental note of this because this is a first in a long, long time.
Sixteen days ago, on February 27th, I took my last hit of Clonazopam. I’ve been med-free since. Am I firing on all cylinders? I’d be lying to you if I said yes. Nevertheless, I can tell you this. After a month and 3 weeks, I no longer suffer from Major Clinical Depression. I no longer suffer from Bipolar 1 with rapid cycling. IT’S OVER!
I am suffering though, with severe withdrawals from prescribed medications. It comes in waves, big and small. Nobody said it was going to be easy. Was Q96 a cure? No. Q96 simply feeds my body and my brain. This is what Q96 does best.
I can’t wait to share this product with more people. I can’t wait to play the “I don’t know’ game. The ‘I don’t know game?’ you ask – What’s that? – Simple. Here let’s give it a try… “So Ron, can Q96 cure my son of ADHD?” – “Well Bill, I don’t know, all I know is this. I used to suffer from major clinical depression and bipolar disorder , type 1, with rapid cycling, took anywhere from 1 to 14 pills a day for 16 years, and now I’m not taking any meds and I feel fine. The only thing I did and do now is take Q96, so you do the math… And you know what Bill? If you feed your body and brain Q96, I know you’re going to benefit and love this stuff!” (Silence… the first one to talk loses)
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