To the start line… Again.

Well, history repeats itself. I’m back again, but this time I don’t plan to write much—just to document changes or the lack thereof for myself.

That filth known as gambling has lured me in again—gave me a win once, then several losses. Once more I let people down by not returning what I borrowed on time. Once more I took a step further down in my fall. Still, I see the stairs going even lower, which means I’m not yet at the bottom—so I’ll try to change direction and start climbing up.

Briefly, so I won’t forget later: I didn’t gamble for six months and felt great. But the issue of unpaid debts was constantly lingering in my subconscious, like the ghost of a fresh poppy seed bun in the mind of an unattractive overweight woman. I can’t recall exactly what pushed me to it, but I deposited 3,000 UAH on my friend’s birthday, and (as is usually the case with the first bet) I got lucky and turned it into about 180,000 UAH. We partied, I paid back some debts, and by the night I had lost the rest. The process was triggered—you can guess what happened next.

After losing a substantial sum, I panicked and started looking for someone to refinance me. Thank God, I didn’t find anyone. Two days later, it hit me that I needed help. I first turned to Mr. V., because I knew he was calm and reasonable, someone who would give good advice. He gave me a basic action plan, and the next day I called my parents and brother to tell them everything.

Since I was already in Kyiv, I decided to visit the Territorial Recruitment Center and go through the military medical commission. While I was there, I asked whether they needed any help, since theoretically I should be removed from the register. The interim result: I need to complete the medical commission, and then I can talk to the commissioner.

Starting from June 15, V. gave me some herbs and a minimal recovery plan for my physical condition. The core idea was to try fasting. V. has been doing this for over two years, and he looks great. And I have nothing to lose (at least in the search for feeling better), so I’ll try to follow his plan.

For the first two to three weeks, I need to transition to intermittent fasting—reducing meals to two or three per day, without snacking. I’m tracking everything on my tablet, and I can say it’s been tough so far; I’m still having three meals. But at the very least, the quality of my diet has changed—I’ve cut out sugary drinks, sweets, crackers, and chips, and started drinking more water. Speaking of water, I side with scientists who believe the body regulates its own hydration needs, so there’s no need to overload it.

The fourth day was kind of a cheat. Old friends were supposed to visit, so I prepared shashlik, but they didn’t show up because they had partied the night before and got drunk. Some friends, huh? So in the evening, I had to eat the shashlik, and I don’t know how to eat it without stuffing myself. But who am I fooling if not myself? Honestly, the whole first week was one big cheat. This wasn’t dieting. But there’s a reason for that.

Today marks day ten without smoking or alcohol. I think that’s why sticking to a diet feels especially hard. Cutting everything off at once is not the best strategy—it usually leads to a breakdown on all fronts. So I’ve managed ten days without booze and cigarettes, and now that I’m somewhat used to that, I’m starting to cut calories.

I’ve written before about my approach to dieting, but I’ll quickly remind you—I eat whatever I want, but within 2000 kcal per day (which is enough for my height and weight). Because the laws of nature can’t be canceled—look up the first law of thermodynamics. The only difference this time is I’ll try to improve quality too—focusing more on fruits and vegetables during the summer.

Tomorrow I’m checking into the Institute of Gerontology for inpatient treatment. They’ll be trying to fix the insane dosages of meds I’m on. At first, they said the earliest dates were in August. But then they saw my age and dosage, and they started scrambling to find me a bed. They did—so tomorrow I’ll be there. Something tells me I won’t be served medium-rare ribeye steaks there, so it’ll be a great opportunity to fast by force.

So, the journey begins.

Hugs to all.