Well, the worst is over. It simply got to the point that no matter what I ate, it didn't taste that great. The salt, the GMO fried corn, the drug-quality sugars ... eventually, like when I used to drink too much, I just couldn't get the thrill back.
So back then, I quit drinking alcohol altogether. A simple, though not necessarily easy, choice. But I can't stop eating altogether. I donated all my coffee supplies, including the special mug that fit my lips smoothly, to the thrift shop. I had my herbal-mate tea blend, a large apple, and another day so packed that clients were coming in as the last ones were leaving: no time to grab even a lettuce leaf.
So of course, after a long session whereby a client's sickeningly-perfumed deodorant kept me in headache-state for over two hours, I was way too tired and grouchy to cope with raw food. I had one more glut at the Mexican restaurant, and deliberately avoided going for dessert on top of it, which I sorely wanted because I'd gotten used to it again.
Now, that is actually fairly revolutionary! The GOAD was trying hard to remind me that I'd just stuffed myself with cooked fats and pesticides, so what's a little sugar on top of it? And for an instant, she made sense; yeah, why not? Then I remembered that I'd purged my beloved coffee paraphernalia because java had become a trigger to attract the damned GOAD ... the whole point of that was to break the associations of coffee:cooked food:must-end-with-sugar.
So for the first time in a week, I just went on home and chewed on olives and cashews. I must say that there were several times during this bleak week that I felt like this experiment is hopeless and why am I torturing myself like this? The worry and guilt over backlashing is going to make me way more sick than a couple of corn chips -- even a LOT of corn ships!
Because I hate feeling like crap, that's why. So, as the Japanese say, fall down seven times, get up eight times. I'm on fall about 932, but here goes get-up number 933. Sigh.