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The Plea of your Stomach...

Updated: Feb 12, 2023

Dear vessel (human) -

Guess what? I am meant to be the size of your fist. Or you can double that if I am full. While I can stretch up to 40 times my size if I have to, I don't like it.

Nor do I like the acids you throw down. While you were probably taught I am meant to be acidic to digest food, that is not quite right.

I am acidic BECAUSE it is the only way I can digest what you feel I need to make you feel better. Tht is called habit and addiction but that is another story. The simple point is, the more acids you eat, the more you need ANT(i)acids!

What are these acids?





Processed foods



Fizzy and sweet drinks

I am INCREDIBLE. It may interest you to know that while I can accommodate just about anything you do to me, masking my cries for help is NOT helping things. I do not like sharing my spot with my neighbours, your heart and intestines - which are now also many times the size God intended them to be. We need our own space, it's too cramped in here!

Why haven't you worked it out yet? Your eyes and habits are not my friends. Your addictions are causing me to suffer. When your food choices leave me, the few nutrients you consume then go into your blood and lymph which try then to help you grow and be healthy. MOST of it just goes into your intestines and sits there, putrefying - because like me, your intestines do not recognise that mass as food.

Why do you not notice that when you drink pure water, eat fresh organic food or eat smaller portions that WE feel better? Why do you continue to cover up bad habit with medications that make US feel worse even if your brain is tricked into thinking otherwise?

Just a fair warning: If you continue to abuse us, we will eventually give up. Your time is near.

You ignored us when you were a child.

You abused us in your teenage years.

As an adult I doubt you even know we exist.

There is no fanfare when we...



We just do.Those poisons irritate us so badly that we try and encapsulate the irritations - which eventually kill you. Yes, those 'tumours' you develop are not a disease; they are my last-ditch attempt to plead with you. Yet you do not listen. You go to see someone who will give you excuses, redirect your attention anywhere else than back to me.

I am a kind of go-between for my neighbour, your heart. He told me he is about to go to sleep for good. He can't take it any more. He is also only meant to be the size of a large fist but is at least twice the size and is covered in awful yellow fat and can't beat hard enough any more to clear himself enough to do his job. He is too weak. His workload is doubled, or even tripled in size.

And you still expect him to keep going.

So here I am, putting in one last request. It is not too late. You know what I NEED is more important than what you WANT.

But finally, I do make this promise. Put the right things into me and I will have a word with all my buddies. We work together you see; if I am sick, they are sick.

YOU are sick.

Feed me right, stop stuffing me until you feel sick (which incidentally, does not equate to 'full') and I promise to turn your life around!

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