This accurately displays how I felt yesterday afternoon and evening. My cravings for food and cigarettes had completely joined forces to turn me into a monstrously irritable cunt. (Sorry ladies, I tried to find another word that was as effective in describing my mood and behavior but it doesn’t exist.)
Soon I realized that I was slowly transforming into one of the poodles that I had threatened to rip in half. I was going from terrier (terror?) to poodle in 3.5. It was apparent that something had to give - either the fast or the cigarettes. I caved and went with the cigarettes knowing that it would immediately ease one of the cravings and allow me to continue with the fast. If I had dropped the fast I would have still been craving a cigarette.
Sure, I felt guilty but I also felt one hundred times better. I decided that I could stick with the fast - that I’d go to bed early and wake up early feeling alive and one with the world. I was positive! I was looking at the fast, not as a challenge, but as an enlightening experience. It was almost peace-of-mind - everything was going to be sunshine and rainbows and unicorn shit.
And then I slept. And had the nightmare to end all nightmares. I can’t even go into detail because it was that fucking disturbing. Trust me, I debated - there’s so much twisted humor to be shared - but I can’t bring myself to relive the, well, nightmare.
Anyway, once I awoke, I found myself feeling less alive and more like this:
Maybe it was a result of the detoxing. Maybe it was the nightmare. Maybe it was some combination of factors. It didn’t matter. The fact remained that I felt like shit and looked like what would happen if you melted Peter Griffin’s face.
But, I was determined. I drank my glass of water. I got ready for work. I grabbed my juice and left for the bus, still feeling like Sloth. No, not a sloth. Sloth, from the Goonies. I arrived at work, very concerned that I was getting a cold or the flu. Yet I was still feeling determined to do what I had to do to make it to Saturday.
That is until I consulted my friend Makenzie, who was also embarking on this fast with me. She wasn’t feeling wonderful but she didn’t feel shitty like me. Regardless, we both felt that it was nearing time to start getting back on solid foods again. I didn’t feel particularly healthy so I was ready to accept the change.
We both decided that we were going to finish out the third day and then start slowly incorporating solid foods again tomorrow, starting with solid fruits and vegetables. For me, salad, since the vegetable juices taste like what must come out of a baboon’s ass after a night of drinking Jagermeister.
I’m not disappointed for ending the fast before Saturday - in fact, I’m proud of myself for making it as far as I did given my physical and mental condition. There were many positive things that came from doing it - I no longer crave many of the processed foods that I once adored. I’m committed to continuing to eat healthier and more consciously, which was really my biggest reason for doing the fast. I no longer feel like the gianormous fat ass that I never really was, which is fantastic. And on that note, I’m now determined to begin working out so that I can feel comfortable without a shirt in public. Because as it stands now, I look like a tall E.T.
In case you were wondering what that might look like.
As the night draws to a close, I find myself not feeling ill but not feeling hungry either. Part of me feels that I may be able to continue another day but another part of me seems to know that I should start eating again. Regardless, I now know that when I do start eating again it’s going to be a slow process. The thought of eating many foods is unappealing. This could end up being a big perk.
EDIT: (Upon reflection, I decidedly do not have the body of an 85 year old transexual.)