All the voices in my head began this evening. The angry voices, the tantrum voices, the defeatist voices, the voices speaking out against change. All those voices were winning. I began to feel like giving up before I began. I started imaging what I would eat to sabotage my attempt at being healthier and living again. So I began searching for my inspiration and reminded myself of my prior experience.

Date:   8/22/2005 3:01:38 AM ( 19 y ago)

Sunday, August 20, 2005 @ 12:38 AM

All the voices in my head began this evening. The angry voices, the tantrum voices, the defeatist voices, the voices speaking out against change. All those voices were winning. I began to feel like giving up before I began. I started imaging what I would eat to sabotage my attempt at being healthier and living again. So I began searching for my inspiration and reminded myself of my prior experience.

I successfully completed a 20 day lemonade fast one year ago. I lost 30 pounds, stopped snoring, rose at 6:00 AM without an alarm, worked out 6 days a week, did martial arts 6 days a week, felt wonderful-hopeful-light-awake, and in control.

Tonight as I sit here cross legged, my knee's are screaming at me to extend my legs, my lower back is begging me to remove my jeans (at least unbutton them) and lay down, and my feet want desperately to be rubbed--I am hopeful. I am ready.

My last meal was peanut butter bread with honey, an apple, and a glass of soy milk. The half eaten jar of chocolate mint cookies from Trader Joe's will be thrown away along with the rest of my soda. I pulled from my cupboard a box of laxative tea, grade B maple syrup, and placed one lemon next to them both (this to set my intention for tomorrow).

What I want from this fast is to distance myself from food, lose 60 (of 90) pounds, heal my body from constant aches and pains, and regain my focus on living--really living this life.

I met a man on a plane recently. He was writing numbers in a journal. I asked him what that was about. He said he kept a record of his life according the number of days lived. He gave each day of his life a serial number. He told me we are all lucky to live 40.000 days.

I was listening to the radio. I was disagreeing with everything this father said about his lost soldier. Then he said, "it is not cliché to say you are sorry for my loss. Words are what separate us, words are what makes us special, words are all we have and I appreciate the words you have shared with me."

i don't want to waste anymore of my days being fat, feeling less than, looking down, wearing the same clothes over and over because I can't afford to keep buying bigger and bigger sizes, thinking about food all day long, eating, eating, eating.

Instead I want to write. I want to share my stories, real and imagined. I want to put my words down on paper for my children, for you, for me--because words are all I have.

I am hoping to cleanse not only my body, but my mind and spirit as well.



 

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