Day 1. Appetite For Reduction

Other half: “Do you want a biscuit babe?”


Other half: “Oh shit, sorry babe. I forgot.”

Bless his heart. He means well, he’s just going to take a while to get used to the idea that I’m no longer going to be inhaling sugar like Tony Montana at the end of Scarface. We both are. *GULP*

It’s day one of my grand journey into the abyss…I mean my new approach to eating, but my body is already pulling every trick it can think of to get me to consume carbohydrates. I guess I’m much more of a carb-addict than I realised. I mean, I’m not hungry, I’ve eaten twice already today, but that’s not going to stop this evil trickster brain of mine from trying to get its fix. Part of me thinks it must be psychosomatic: the fact that I’ve made this conscious decision to begin Atkins induction could be enough to trigger my subconscious into thinking I need/want sugar more than I really do. But I swear I’ve already got the beginning of a headache coming on – a real bastard behind the eyes, like the hangovers you only start to suffer once you’re over 30; the type that take a whole day to get over. Bleurgh…this is going to be fun.

I got up at midnight, the way any normal person with a completely decimated excuse for a circadian rhythm does, took my meds and immediately started to panic.

“Do I have to eat already?”

“Oh frick…WHAT am I even supposed to eat?”

“I can’t remember anything I read about any of this low-carb thing!!”

“How many carbs are in a cigarette??”

Yeah, I started to spaz out pretty much the moment I got up. That’ll be the anxiety rearing it’s ugly head I guess. So I double checked the information leaflet that comes with my Diazepam (y’know…in case the pharmaceutical company who manufactures it, sneak a bit of the old ‘sweet stuff’ into their tablets…because reasons??) and chucked a couple of them back with my coffee.


Okay, so it wasn’t sugar, it was liquid sucralose, but for a moment there, my super-anxious, crazy brain was already imagining me falling at the first hurdle; failing before I’d even gotten out of the starting blocks. Which is just so totally me – both the likelihood of my being the master of my own misfortune, and my being insanely paranoid about bringing about said misfortune. Everything was okay though. I just put the idea of having to eat out of my mind for a few hours, grabbed my coffee and my water bottle, and settled down to get this blog sorted out ready to go live today.

Okay, so in reality I watched a two and a half hour long episode of ‘Silent Witness’, then wasted a bit more time on Pinterest (one of my time-stealing, guilty pleasures) before getting up the courage to think about food. Immediately, all those ‘low-carb breakfast’ recipes and meal suggestions I’d so meticulously researched over the past few weeks went right out the window and I just settled for a can of tuna, three slices of ham, a cherry tomato and a piece of cheese. Zero prep, zero cooking, zero effort. Just the way I like it.

And it was fine. I wasn’t hungry before I ate it, but of course I’m one of those people who once they start, it’s really hard to stop. Well normally anyway. I’m used to not eating for a long time after I get up, but when I do eat a meal, I eat a MASSIVE portion of whatever it is, stopping only when the plate is clean, regardless of how uncomfortably full I feel. Not today though. I just ate my “breakfast” and went about putting the finishing touches to this blog.

Within an hour I was getting the itchy-brained preoccupation with wanting a snack. I tried to have a word with myself:

“Are you really hungry, or are you just bored?”

“Are you maybe just thirsty?”

It was blatantly obvious though, that what my crotchety-assed self was hankering for, was of course, sugar. (Bear in mind that I’d been asleep for 16 hours and hadn’t eaten for close to 24 hours, so it’s no surprise that this carboholic was jonesing for a fix.) So I grabbed another couple of slices of ham and chugged back a glass of Pepsi Max, to try and fool my body into believing it had been served up a shot of the sweet stuff.

As if.

This hulking great carcass of mine ain’t stupid. It knows the difference between sucrose and sucralose. And it’ll be a cold day in hell before it lets me get away with some sneaky bait ‘n switch bullshit like that, without there being some nasty consequences.

Brain: “You think you’re clever, Blue? You think you can fool me with that sugar-free Pepsi Max crap? Well let’s see how well you fare with this little slice of payback.”


Dammit! There it is again, right behind the eyes. More of that headache to remind me that we ain’t in Kansas anymore. And then comes the never-ending film-reel of all the lovely, sugary crap that’s still in the house. Snickers bars? In the other half’s big bag of snacks in the front room. Salt caramel ice-cream? Right there in the freezer, buddy. Crusty bread rolls, crumpets and tortilla wraps? In the cupboard next to the fuse box.

On and on and on it goes. The constant reminder of what’s just a split-second away from me at any given moment. Temptation, screaming at me from inside my own skull. I feel like one of those heroin addicts who spend 45% of their day thinking about scoring, 50% of their day trying to score and 5% of their day actually jacking up. When did I get this way? Just how much sugar was I consuming on a daily basis? Am I really a goddamn carb-addict?

“Urgh. How long is this going to last? 3 days?”

“What if I’m one of those people who take a week to get into ketosis? Is this going to be my reality for the next 7 days?”

Oh frick. I gotta eat something else. What do I want? I mean, let’s be real, what I really want is a bar of chocolate. A ‘Cadbury’s Dairy Milk’ bar, dipped into a cup of coffee with milk and two sugars. But that ain’t happening. Not today Satan. So I settle for some roasted chicken breasts with steamed cauliflower and brocolli. Whatever. It is what it is…and what it is, is just about the only thing I can be bothered to “cook”. (Not including the potato waffles and gravy that I also had to make for the other half.)


*Sigh* I’ve never been a fan of oily foods. I rarely fry anything, I despise chicken skin and the fats on meat. I never butter my sandwiches and I cannot get my head around the idea of drizzling olive oil over a salad or pasta or anything else. Of course I eat ‘fatty’ foods, but they’re mostly things that are composed of a mixture of protein, fat & carbohydrate. Fats on their own kind of creep me out. But I know I have do it to get into ketosis. I forgot to buy coconut oil the other day, to put into my coffee, so until then I’m going to have to wing it. Best I could do was melt some butter on my veg and into my chicken, and stick another piece of cheese on the side of the plate. Meh.


It’s now coming up on 6pm. I’ll probably be up until 3am, when I’ll take some sleeping tablets and hopefully sleep for at least another 12 hours. Surely that’s gotta help pass the time until that sweet, sweet, ketosis comes and magics that insatiable hunger away? Right? I mean I know my sleep schedule is totally screwed up and it’s not even ‘home-made’ sleep (I gotta get mine ‘store-bought’ – or at the very least, prescribed). So my leptin and my ghrelin levels will be completely up the wazoo…and lets not even get started on my HGH. You only have to look at my five-foot-small oompa-loompa stature to realise that my body quit bothering to try making me grow anything other than outwards, a good 29 years ago; thanks genetics! Yeah, chances are my sleep is going to be practically useless to me metabolically, and every Rip Van Winkle coma I snooze my way through is doing nothing more than putting off all that awake time I need to endure, by sweating out every last drop of glycogen left in my muscles.

Wow, I really do sound like a junkie don’t I? Well I guess I kind of am. I’m a junk-food junkie. A sugar baby. A cane-head.


“Hi everybody. My name is Blue and I’m a carbohydrate addict.”