I do not mean to blow my own horn here. So don't think so. I am just going to say what has been happening to me since Tuesday. So restrain from thinking I'm playing Ms KnowsItAll, cos to be at this point of knowing what I know, I have really worked hard, I have really shed an ocean of tears, I have really fought with myself almost every week trying to persuade myself to go past all the excuses and go to yet another therapy session. And this happens every week for the past 4 years and a half. Every week, when 7 in the evening arrives, and its the therapy evening, I begin to make excuses.I begin to think I have more work to do and cant leave the office in half an hour. I begin to think I would rathergo home an hour earlier and how much more beneficial this would be for me. Yet, I gather myself and go. And I am proud for it. And more than proud, I am thankful.

What I have learned with therapy is to observe myself. When I have an erge to binge, I observe myself. Like I am watching another person. When I get insane and throw a hissy fit to my husband, I observe myself at the same point. And this makes me stop before it is too late. This makes me "enjoy" the binge because I acknowledge it for what it is and it stops in one meal, so theh guilt is spared.It makes me stop at the point where my voice begins to dangerously rise and laugh and apologise to Angelos and explain to him that this was not targeted directly to him and tell him immediately why I reacted the way I did and this sends me right back in his arm and we stay like this in the sofa for hours.

But the most amazing thing is that I can do the same thing for the third time and I might think I know it by now, I might think I have understood the mechanism, I might think that I know the complications, and yet, I get myself again in unknown territory.

This is how this "should-be-familiar-by-now" detox is going. All new. All discovering.

The first time I did it, I had absolutely no food at home but the allowed stuff. For the first week, I asked Angelos to go to his mum, or my mum for dinner. I could not even see food or smell food. I was afraid that I would inhale the first loaf of bread Id see in front of me, and I am not even a bread eater.

After the first week, I begun cooking his dinner for him. Stuff he likes and I do not. Bean soup. Fish soup. A lot of fish. This happened for the first 3-4 days.

Then one day he came home and he moaned from the smells. I had begun to cook normal again. Just for him. As i went further and further from wanting to eat something else besides the rice and veggies, I begun to get back in touch with my love for cooking. Oh how I played then. I cooked new dishes, I found new exciting combination of herbs and spices, I went past the depression of first week, and played with food without the danger of eating it.

Then the second time I did the detox, I was indifferent. I would grill him a steak, would make a salad, would fry him some potatoes, and that was it. I even went to dinner out once, and ordered grilled veggies for first, grilled veggies for main. You should have seen the waitress' face...heheh

This time is all new again.

Tuesday, after the shock of the weigh in first thing in the morning, and the rationalisation about it that followed (oh 90.5 is not your real weight babe, you ate half the ocean's seafood yesterday and drank almost an entire bottle of ouzo too), I boiled my apple and I could not eat it. I thought it tasted awful. So I boiled another. Same. But I ate it.

I made my rice with brocolli and carrots, and when the time to eat it for lunch came, I despised it. I really felt like thowing up at some point. I felt the brocolli (one of my fav veggies ever) smell penetrating my whole being and it felt disgusting. But I ate it. Same with dinner. The baked veggies felt dry, like paper. The yoghurt tasted tangy. Last year the baked veggies and yoghurt were the highlight of my day!

In the meantime, all day I was thinking about food. I could smell eggs and bacon. I rarely eat eggs and bacon. Perhaps a couple of times a year, in the summer, when on holidays and having breakfast out. I was asking my team if anyone had spag bol for lunch cos I could so smell it.

Then on Wesdnesday, another awful day with lotsa stress at work, I was walking to get a taxi at 10 in the evening, thinking that Id be home around 10.45, thinking the veggies would need at least an hr to be ready (doctor's orders have me cook the food in very low temp), and thinking how I "need" a tasty dinner to cheer me up from the fucking day I had. So in the taxi,I was going mentally through all the take away catalogues we have at home, ordering things in my brain, and then, I got home, while still "ordering" food, and I went in the kitchen straigh away, with a suit and high heels, and chopped zuccinis and onions and grilled them. Still, thinking of eating pitta bread with gyros.

The highlight, however, was yesterday. All day, while working, I had a window open and read through food and cooking blogs all day. I was talking on the phone while literally drooling over luscious pictures of sweets and pies, of savory dishes with cheese, and I am not too fond of cheese either!

Then I came home, at 10 again, and cooked rice with tomato sauce, porcini mushrooms, and tuna. For me. For dinner. And as soon as it was ready, I threw it in the garbagge, I boiled myself 3 apples and had them with yoghurt.

It all is very weird. Very different like the previous two times. My therapist says I am on denial lately. On denial about my basic needs, and on denial about certain issues concerning my sexuality. I do not need him to say it. I feel and know it too! And this is reflected on the detox too. I go on all day thinking about food, thinking about cooking, making up new recipes in my head. I walk to the bus or the metro or the taxi station and try to decide what to eat. I am determined that I need to eat something to sustain me. I am ready to take a break and eat grilled meat and start the detox again the next day. I am in denial about both things actually. My need to soothe myself with food, and my need to tend to my basic needs. My basic need right now is to feel healthy. Strong. Sexy. Gorgeous. Accomplished. I have weird thoughts like... if someone, a doctor lets say, told me tomorrow I have a terminal disease and have only 3months to live, how would I feel? I tell you, I think crazy stuff. But the first thing I replied to myself was ... shit...3more months to live, I am going to die fat, I will leave this life without ever feeling that I finally did it, I finally reached my goal.

This is how this detox has been so far dear Mar!a. It plays with my head like no other time. But it is really a trip in itself. It really gets me down. It really tears all the nice wrapping, it really takes the ribbons and bows away and shows you the real package. It bears your soul in front of your very eyes. Even when on diet, the food is yummy. The choises are here. I use my herbs and spices. I make my low fat pizza. I subsitute sour cream with Fage 0% and it works. Its like eating rich. While eating lean. But the tricks and treats are there.

Now is only apples, rice, veggies. And feelings. Sadness. Emptiness. All this I am still occasionally trying to fill up with food. Childhood fears that my mom will die. Childhood guilts of me not being good enough. Hidden passion and supressed sexuality. They have all come to visit in just 3 days.

But this morning, my boiled apples tasted sweet. I could feel them going down my thoat with a warm caress. I could feel my body loving them.

No fat suit is worn because someone simply loves food. Every fat suit has a reason. In the heart. In the soul. And no fat suit will be gone for good, unless the heart and the soul heals. Unless the heart and the soul stop being in denial. Unless the heart and the soul realise that no matter how difficult and painful the process, living in denial and not dealing with the core is a lot more hurtful and damaging in the long run.

I am writting this and its 10 am. I should be in the office right now. What the heck. I felt like writting this this morning. And now, all I can think of is still douple peperroni pizza, with extra onions and cheese crust!!! Yet, I am going to eat the bloody rice for lunch. And yes, brocolli still smells like a soccer player's socks. And he has not changed them in three days!!!!