Last night was a party of one.
My boyfriend warned me of this – that when I arrived to his abode in the woods, away from compact civilization, away from the hustle-and-bustle of college, of pressured interaction, of life in general – that he was going to put me on ‘the right diet’. A diet to heal my aching innards, to cease the daily wretching that follows every meal or the hours I spend curled up on the bed in pain holding my stomach in protective fashion, as if shielding it from any more onslaught from the outside world.
Eat anything you want, he said. It all ends tomorrow.
So I did. I ate all of my ‘favorite’ addictive foods – pizza, baked mushroom, pad thai, sweet iced teas…
… chocolate, shrimp and goat cheese salad with delicate strawberries soaked in syrup with candied pecans…
… soda, and my last alcoholic drink.
None of it stayed down. But I tasted it for the few moments it was in my possession, savoring it, saying my final, silent goodbyes.
I spent the night in agony, lying in a world of nausea, of a protesting stomach, screaming, “Why, WHY eat like this? Why do this to me?”
I patted it, assuring it was the last time. I hoped.
I awoke to a white world. Inches of snow piled up overnight – a symbol, perhaps? A cleansing, a new innocence? Does it know the journey that I am to embark upon?
I s-l-o-w-l-y crawl out of bed, hoping to sneak to my car and steal away the last bit of chocolate I had hidden away in my emergency brake console. I crave chocolate like one craves oxygen in their lungs. My wanting is insatiable.
However, I am stopped short. Don’t, my boyfriend says. Don’t.
He then explains the rules, all before my feet have touched the floor:
- Water before breakfast. A ton of it.
- No kitchen access.
- He decides and prepares all meals, which will gradually lead to a raw, low fat, vegan, fruitarian diet.
- Exercise daily (this was a very difficult feat for me, due to chronic fatigue).
- No sneaking non-planned, non-scheduled foods.
Smiling, he assured me of a complete life change.
Through my trepidation, I know this is best. This is what I had wanted to do for years, but had difficulty with after my move from San Diego. With a sigh, I resign myself to a glass of water and begin drinking. Deep gulps of it.
Thus, with the purest, most basic life-giving liquid that man often overlooks, I begin the first day of what I inevitably know will be an new life.
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