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The first time my mum dragged me against my will to the GP to see why I was losing so much weight, to “knock some sense into me”, I was told that I “probably had an eating disorder”, but unfortunately I was “not thin enough to receive help”…
I think I was about 14 years old when my eating disorder started, but I think I’ve always had disordered traits as a young child.
Everything is a learning curve, especially in recovery, when it can feel like you are literally learning to live again.
When you’ve had an eating disorder for so long, you become numb to the feeling of not eating. The fear that food will harm you is entrenched into your mind, so you just don’t allow yourself to enjoy food.
When I was at the lowest point of my life, about ten years ago, I said to myself ‘It can’t get any worse.’ It was that bad. However, I realised that this was a positive statement. If it can’t get any worse, that means it can only get better.
Completing my A levels was hard. I soon became obsessed with revision and control, not feeling like I had ever done enough or was enough.
Going to my GP in March of last year was something that I knew I had to do. Don’t get me wrong, I was so scared and nervous about how I would tell someone I didn’t know that I was struggling with eating and coping with social occasions which involved food.
It’s been fourteen years. Ten of which have been filled with numerous psychological treatments at four different eating disorder services. Now it’s time. Time to finally say goodbye to you.
'No more, thank you'As she piles my plate high'Mum, I’m not hungry'That’s my favourite lie
For a long time, I struggled to accept help because I didn’t believe I deserved it. I didn’t agree with my diagnosis and I thought I was attention seeking. When I finally started attending therapy, I felt like an imposter.
For me, that first step was admitting I had a problem. For months, my friends, my family, and my colleagues all voiced concerns over my appearance and my condition, which of course I duly ignored.
I guess the turning point for my recovery came after a long battle with my identity. Who am I if I’m not what anorexia tells me I am?