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Week 5: Cake

I can’t take it anymore, so I eat cake. How many months can I go with diarrhea at night, diarrhea during the day, without finally going crazy? I’ve fantasized enough about suicide that I’m bored with the exercise. I’d destroy my children, so I suffer.

‘How many days can I wipe shit off my underwear, off the toilet, off my thighs? Looking out at the darkened window at night. Nightgown soaked against my skin. The electric heater warms the room – my one small luxury. That and the extra soft toilet paper. I seem to replace the roll over twice a day.

I know a week’s gone by when the trashcan’s full of soiled pads and empty toilet paper rolls. Another low energy day passes. Will I hobble to the teapot with a hemmorhoid or will I walk with ease?

I look at the messy kitchen, the piles of books in the livingroom, the girls’ room, the disaster. I have enough energy to do little but when the choice is 1) making lunch 2) taking a bath 3) lying down or 4) clean just enough to exhaust myself but not enough to make a visable difference, I usually pick #3 just so I can shut my eyes against it all.

I go outside into the sunshine and try to imagine myself well.

It doesn’t work, so I eat cake. I made it on a good day – I know I should eat less or none at all, but I’m going to have diarrhea anyway. I might as well have some temporary happiness. I just don’t have the willpower anymore – after months of blended chicken soup, yogurt and avacado, I want cake. Or at least this is as far of the slip I allow myself – what I really want would stretch out to the moon.

What do you do when you stop believing you’ll ever be well? Wellness was so brief, and even then I feared falling again into this pit. Now it was so long ago, when I believed after surgery that all I had to do was the SCDiet and forever I’d be well. I could live under its parameters, since I made candy, cake, and crackers. I lived on luscious fruit.

I can’t even reminisce about that time. I’ve become so cynical, I’m wondering what I’ll try next if the hookworms don’t work. I knew it would take forever – but I didn’t know I’d get arthritis. I just so want to be well.

I’m not, so I eat cake.

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