The first day of my BluePrint Cleanse was fine; I'd cut out coffee for a few days before, and didn't feel weird or have any headaches. The novelty of trying the different bottles of brightly colored liquids was entertaining, and I have to confess: I actually love spinach and celery based juices. So even the most intense "flavor" of BPC - the Green Juice - still tasted good to me, unlike some other reviewers who have had a hard time stomaching it. And at first, not having to plan my own meals or cook was surprisingly relaxing. 

By the second morning, I was feeling a little hungry, and by the afternoon, my productivity level had plummeted to "worthless." The pangs of hunger I'd had in the morning were gone, but I could barely concentrate on my writing, and I felt listless. By dinner, I watched my boyfriend eat his meal while I sat at the table surrounded by plastic bottles. He seemed bemused; I felt catatonic. "Just one more day," I told myself while I eyed his exotic, solid food. "You're almost there." 

The third day was a Saturday and I had to go to Long Island to help prep for an engagement party being thrown at my parents' house on Sunday. I woke up feeling weird - lightheaded and just not myself - and made sure not to stand too close to the platform edge while I waited for the train. By the time I got home, 30 minutes later, I felt completely spaced out. And here's where my detox declension really began.

My parents were being my parents - married for 40 years and kibitzing over some detail regarding the furniture arrangement in the family room for the party. Yet after only 3 minutes of being home, I started to fall apart emotionally. "Please, I just got here - stop fighting!" 

I was acting like an 8-year-old. And then I actually started to cry.

My parents looked totally bewildered, until my father's face went from confusion to clarity; he'd remembered that I was doing a cleanse. He looked relieved, and somewhat disgusted. "Eat something," were his wise and simple words. Did I take his advice? No. I just felt more bereft.

At this point, I'm sure someone from the World of Cleanses would likely tell me that I was going through some emotional purge, but I know what I was experiencing: a nutritional deficit. Having my diet consist of what must have been at least 80% carbohydrates (with the exception of a cashew milk drink at the end of the day, which, by the way, tasted extremely agave-y syrupy and sweet) and very little fat and protein was clearly what was making me feel shaky, both emotionally and physically. Caveat: Perhaps I'm more hypoglycemic than most, but I'd argue that consisting on mostly-carbs is pretty unhealthy, actually, for everyone. But I digress. 

The important point is when I first started crying, well, that's probably when I should have listened to my father and stopped. But in the honor of detox integrity, and in the name of being a guinea pig for my curious readers, I persevered. 

Cue to a second crying jag, not much later in the day than the first, and even more embarrassing due to the increased number of witnesses. I honestly ran (well, jogged; I had no energy, remember?) upstairs to my old bedroom and wept over an incident that involved a glass breaking in the kitchen and my sister telling me to not put my bare foot down, lest I get cut. 

(Did I mention I have a truly wonderful relationship with my family? Honestly, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year, and I regularly choose to hang out with my parents and siblings, all of whom live or work in the city. But again I digress. What I'm trying to say is that the BPC was making me feel INSANE.)

After an emotionally exhausting day, I spared my family any further histrionics and went to bed early where I downloaded the Frank Bruni book Born Round on my Kindle. I have no idea why I chose this book except that maybe since I wasn't allowed to eat solid food, I wanted to at least read about it. The thing is, Bruni's book is less about the tremendous meals he got to eat as the food critic for The New York Times, and mostly about his life prior - one that centered around his seriously dysfunctional relationship with eating. 

The apex of the book comes when Bruni moves to Italy and is finally liberated from a cycle of bingeing-and-abstaining by enjoying food - any food he likes - in moderation. The irony of my reading choice didn't escape me, and I was so gripped by his tale that I devoured his memoir in one sitting. "I'll feel better tomorrow," I thought, "when I can finally eat real food. And I'll never do anything like this again."

The thing is, the next day I did eat real food, but I didn't feel better - I felt worse. I tried to ease back into solids by having whole foods and making "clean" choices, just as the BPC advises in its online guide. Yet over the past few days, I'd never felt more awful than I did on that Sunday; I felt like I had a wretched, undeserved hangover. 

Out of curiosity, I weighed myself and found, unsurprisingly, that I'd lost 4 lbs. Of course it was water weight; it all came back about 5 days later. And no, I didn't go crazy indulging in unhealthy food choices now that my cleanse had finished. But I could see how getting involved in "detoxing" regularly could encourage the kind of cycle Bruni was trapped in for so long; water weight is easy to lose and gain, and the BPC can definitely, I think, create a false-panacea for feeling "lighter" in 72 hours. 

Even worse than the 4 days of emotional instability and low energy I had, however, was the unfortunate way the BPC impacted my digestive tract. Due to not eating solids, drinking copious liquids, and other factors in the plan, you end up using the bathroom quite a bit - initially. Sadly, by doing so, you can also end up flushing out much of the good bacteria that lives in our GI tract and aids with everyday functions. Let's just say I wasn't back to my "everyday functioning" for quite some time. At least a week. The BPC site recommends colonics and laxative teas for this kind situation during the cleanse, but quite frankly, and I am clearly being frank here, I think the former is a crock. And the latter is just addressing the symptoms, not the problem.

I realize all this sounds incredibly harsh. And as I point out in my previous post, I know a few people who have enjoyed the BPC; this is obviously just an account of my personal experience. Plenty of more positive reviews can be read about all over the web and over on Yelp. Still, it makes me kind of sad that so many women - and men, too - are spending a fortune to drink juices for days on end. A 3-day cleanse is $195 if you live in New York City, but I can think of plenty of better ways to spend that money. 

In fact, my advice for those looking to do something healthy for themselves? Spend some cash on a 4 night vacation in Tulum, where you can book yourself into a beachfront cabana at Zahara for way less than one day on BPC (super basic huts start at $35/night on December weekends; 1 day on BPC - $75). 

Go swimming every day, ride a bike to a swimming hole, try a yoga class. Skip the nachos and eat fresh seafood, fruits and vegetables (all amazing in Tulum), and only eat until you're full. Don't drink too much. 

No tears - or detox prepping - involved.