The worst part of carnivore is the adaptation. As you shift fuel sources from glucose to fat, you feel lethargic and with very little energy. Your electrolites are all over the place and then you start losing them at a wild pace. Sodium and potassium become a major concern for a few days, until your body figures out the ratios for everything.
And I say all this as someone who gets the minimal adaptation symptoms. I don’t get the headaches or cravings, or diarrhea that others get. I think it’s because I was pretty close to carnivore as a child. My mom says I used to live off meat and dairy. I think my body readapts fairly easily because of that.
The best part of carnivore of course, is everything else. The stable energy, the way you never get tired, the mental clarity, the lack of anxiety or depression, the lack of bloating or inflammation or gut issues of any kind.
The unexpected part of carnivore though, was how it changed me.
I can no longer write.
I used to write fiction daily. Thousands of words per day, obsessively, compulsively. I strung plots together with barely any effort. Now I can’t.
Because I don’t want to.
The very thought of writing fiction fills me with apathy and boredom. I see no sense in writing. The same way I do not feel anxiety or depression anymore, I no longer feel anything over writing. It no longer makes any sense for me, mentally or emotionally. I no longer care.
It’s funny when I think of how much I thought of writing as something so intrinsically me. Something that was part of me as a person. If anyone had told me just a year ago that I would not write again I would have thought of it as taking away a part of my very self. Now I see clearly that it was not. I do not even miss it. It is in no way anything vital for me and the way I clung to it an gave writing so much importance back then seems silly to me now.
I don’t even feel bad. I feel relieved. I feel free. As if I had been chained to writing and now I have been set free. I feel like there is something in me that expands and is more and more, and that thing is really me but it cannot be put into words. And even if it could, why would I want to?