Growing Pains

2 days down...my mind is having as hard a time digesting the past 48 hours as my body is, the food.  Breakfast at 8, then process group, snack at 10, more process, lunch at 12, then process again.  It's all that I have left in me at 2 to walk my body, bursting at the seams, down the hallway and out the door.  So.  damn.  full.

If I had to sum up the experience so far, I would say, in a word, uncomfortable.  And not the underwear-giving-you-a-slight-wedgy kind of discomfort... the kind of discomfort as if there were colonies of ants scurrying just underneath the surface of your skin, from head to toe, desperately looking for a way out of your body and getting pissed and more frantic because they can't find one.  I literally want to scratch the skin off my body, crawl out of this shell, and run screaming for the farthest hills.  Having someone telling me what I have to eat, when I have to eat, how much time I have to eat, literally watching every bite as it enters my mouth and checking my tray to make sure every last bite is gone before I can get up and leave the dining table feels totally belittling and really, really uncomfortable.  But not quite as uncomfortable as, then, having to pee and having someone else stand just outside the open bathroom door, check in the toilet before I can flush, then watch as I wash my hands and leave to make sure I'm not puking or sneaking in a laxative.  Again...really damn uncomfortable.

I had done a little work to prepare for the mental and emotional discomfort I was anticipating upon starting the program, however I totally underestimated the physical discomfort I would feel.  My body, literally relearning how to digest again, my systems kicking into full gear after lounging back in starvation mode for so long.  The initial moments, post-meal, a dizzying reminder of just how little I've been taking in for so long... hot sweats, cramping, churning stomach, swollen, cloudy eyes, my entire abdomen bloated and inflated, prohibiting even a deep breath from getting in.  I've been sitting in those moments post-meal, closing my eyes, tears welling, body shaking, placing my hands on my belly, sending love and compassion, trying to remember that it was this same belly, the one I despise so much today, that carried my son in safety and comfort for 9 months.  I loved that belly.  I can still love it.  I can feed it, feel it grow, watch it expand and contract on the rhythm of each breath.  Breathing in, I take in what supports me...breathing out, I let go of the rest.  That's the mantra I keep repeating, over and over in my head, waiting in desperation for that moment, which everyone around me says will come, when the discomfort will subside and my recovery can begin.