the voices in my head.

When I was a teenager, they called this anorexia. If only I’d been in with the healthy crowd back then! We could have saved a fortune on treatment centers and shrinks. Ha.
This is day 7 of the fast, day 2 of water fast. If it was good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for me. I’m a little scared that I’ll see a bush burning or hear from God some other way, and then have to like, join a church or something. What would my poor family think? Well, I suppose they’d think I’d gone crazy from hunger, and they’d hook me up with some KFC, STAT. Which, right now, sounds pretty good. God, are you there? Answer me! I’m hungry!

I would be hungrier and less inclined to go on, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m sitting here typing with almost all my fingers, at 5:16 a.m. If you have been following this story, you know that in the early morning, wiping my ass is a challenge, and simple things like typing with two hands and feeding a changing a baby (which I just did, into a cloth diaper with snaps mind you) are impossible. I mean on occasion I’ve worked the bottle and the snaps on the diaper and picked up the baby, all using my wrists and forearms and screaming in pain when something touched or attempted to bend my fingers. But this. This is a whole new world, and I’m scared it’s a fluke and encouraged that it might not be and excited to find out. Even if at 10 am I’m crippled again, this reprieve was nice.

And so I commit to water. It’s you and me, water, until I’m toxic no more!
I just hope water is all it takes to run this out of my system; I hope it’s enough to buy me some time with my old friend food without kicking me back into shuffling 90-year old woman status as soon as I start eating again.
And most of all, I hope for some spiritual clarity. I don’t expect to talk to God, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t long for some kind of … connection.