I don't think fasting is for me. After 20 hours off without anything followed by a wholesome, veg-heavy meal, my stomach has been incredibly unsettled. I suppose it hasn't been helped by a heavy Saturday night which I knew would be heavy. Plus rubbish food and wine. And drugs. Urgh.
I woke up this morning feeling more refreshed and with a clearer mind - no alcohol, drugs or shitty food for a good while. And no more fasting. I'm going to eat sensibly and at sensible times. It was silly of me thinking this would be the way to losing weight. I will loose weight by cutting out the indulgent weekends and evening binges on sugary/salty foods. I don't want to live like this. My body deserves more respect.
I've been treating it like a garbage bag whilst consuming myself with my new relationship. But now it's becoming something I want to fully commit to, I know I need to nip a few bad habits in the bud, otherwise things will get out of control. The thing is, I'm not getting any younger. Once upon a time, I could get away with eating one meal a day and drinking heavily on a Friday night. These days, it takes me a good week to fully recover from, which usually includes caving into 'mouth pleasure' because I'm so burnt out.
Alcohol is a depressant too, and I've been very aware of this. I do want to drink again of course because for the most part, I enjoy it. But not to the same extend as I have been. The hangovers don't feel worth it anymore.
Yesterday I read about a young, talented musician who took his own life at 28. It felt significant to me because he had so much going for him, and yet it still wasn't enough to keep him on the planet. I recently discovered his work and felt a connection to it that I haven't felt for a long time, I was hoping to see him perform one day. It made me feel sad and sorry for his family and the fans like me who were looking forward to everything else he had to give. I felt a pang inside me that empathised, the pungent memory of feeling rock bottom resurfaced, the terrible feeling of believing you're so awfully isolated and alone. Tears swelled behind my eyes as I remember the mornings waking up taking comfort in knowing where the bleach was. It was so real. Absolutely the closest I've ever been to it. But somehow I didn't give in to it. But he did. He must have felt so incredibly overwhelmed and I feel so sad that he didn't feel able to reach out for help. Maybe he did but it wasn't the right sort of help, who knows. But bless him and may he rest in peace.
After all I do to my body, I am still here. I am still alive. Why do I feel the need to punish myself? Who knows what might happen, but I want to be the best version of myself for whatever might come my way.
As a society we don't talk about suicide enough. Conversations about mental health are improving but it's still taboo, it is still shunned. Am I ready to have difficult discussions about depression and eating disorders, no not at all. But I'm ready to listen and to try.
Today is another day. A new day. It all starts here.
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