It has been about 16 years since I started to make a recovery.
If you have a secret to hiding your food or your habits ~ I probably know it, and maybe a few more besides. I have told every lie about my eating habits that I can think of and I have fooled myself into the genuine belief that the people around me were buying my shit.
I have been constantly defencive, always looking for a quick escape from questioning and concerned looks and enquiries. And I am fairly well practised at manipulating conversations from concerned friends, I have quite the ability to turn their concerns in on themselves, making them feel like they are in the wrong or making them look or feel bad.
If you read so far and you think I am a bad person, leave your judgements here, you know nothing and I have never needed anyone's approval. If it all feels familiar and you think I am in anyway going to help you continue down your path, forget it, stop reading! I'm not here to impart to you my complete former lack of wisdom I'm not going to promote this disease! BUT, if it does sound familiar, and it's any comfort at all to see the perspective of someone who has recovered, then just maybe I can offer something - some hope or comfort...... I hope. Maybe I would just like something positive to come out of my time living with this demon.
Recovery is hard, there are slips, bad days - I'm not going to sugar coat it, you won't read this and be eating a burger next week (And I'm sorry, because I know that even the thought of that makes you feel disgusted), but recovery is very much an obtainable goal.
Believe me I still have my 'quirks' for want of a better word. I can't eat in front of most people, I can't eat if I think someone is watching me, and in a busy environment, I generally make other people eat, so that I don't feel like I will be watched. I weigh myself daily and I measure my stomach weekly, and occasionally I have a nice little mini freak out if I have gained to much weight, the difference now is what I do after I have calmed down. Also, I am at a consistently healthy weight now, and have been for some time, described ~quite possibly~ as ''curvatious''. My eye's are bright, un-sunken, my skin has a 'rosy glow' to it and I have my boobs back.
How did I start my recovery? Well, to be honest - Fuck knows! It was never like ''Oh, I'm just gonna start eating today'' - It's not that simple. I was under 6 stone, very ill, I looked appalling... (although in some fucked up was, I was so proud that my collarbone was so visible, that my arms looked so skinny) I collapsed a few times or more and I was generally, a wreck. As I have said, I lied and lied about my eating, to anyone and everyone who asked, no one was in a position to help me, no one could help me. My friends couldn't have approached me, and I doubt they would have known how, we were 16/17 - kids, really. Most of you, who have had experience with this sort of illness - know that families in this circumstance are either incredibly over-bearing or they don't wish to see what is right in front of them, especially when they might consider it their own failing or downfall.They can be as skilled at not noticing as you can at hiding what you are. And when people do notice, they are kind hearted, but ignorant... so you get told you have to eat, watched, and even force fed. We've all been there, right?!
So, my point there - I had no help, no professionals involved in my recovery, not even anyone with experience to talk to or to guide me and worse of all, I didn't understand why I was how I was. Because deep down, I knew what I was doing was wrong - We all do, or we wouldn't try to hide it so much. It's hard to fix something, when you don't understand exactly where or how it is broke. What did eventually happen, is that I scared myself, pretty badly. I became so ill, so wasted - that could barely support my own measly weight, my eyes were lack-lustre, my skin sallow - constantly clammy, but always cold. I felt light-headed and dizzy all of the time, which is horrible - but when you start to back out, or collapse and you can't even remember... well, it' pretty serious - and that's when I started to get scared. For someone like me, losing that element of power over myself, and being that vulnerable, there is nothing worse. And I had started to realise that if I didn't get better, then I would die... that's when I knew I had to make a change. I have always been reckless, I have NEVER had a death wish, and my will to live, had to fight and overcome the illness I had let take me over.
it was hard though, I have never been massively close to my family, and in those years, I had friends - but I don't suppose I was that close to man people. (The true bonds and support system I now have, came much later in life. ) I didn't now how to ask for help and I didn't know who to ask... so I assumed I was alone. I didn't even have the so readily available on-line help that I would now, it was the mid/ late 90's. All I knew was that I had to learn to feed myself again, but more than that, learn to want to eat, to re-teach myself that it was okay to eat. That may sound stupid, IF you have never experienced that mindset. I remember clearly how disgusted I felt with myself when I did eat, how repulsed I was by the thought of eating (not even the thought of food, just of eating). I had to rebuild my physical tolerance of food, but I also had to mentally overcome my fear of eating.
The first meal I had, was something like a quart pint of vegetable soup - half mixed with more water too... I started at it for about half an hour, before finally getting the nerve to start, and I was so scared, that I just downed it ... and vomited almost straight away... I'm not sure now how much of that vomiting was a mental reaction to the whole experience. I freak about vomiting when it's involuntary - and that's what happened then, I freaked so bad I managed to talk myself out of trying to eat again for about a day and a half... recovery isn't pretty, but the main point of this is that - freak though I did, vomit though I did, I still knew I had to try again, and I did. Having a clear goal and persistence is key. And if you want to get well, you need to have and to utilise these things. And trust me when I tell you this, I know how persistent you are in the way you hide the things you do, the way you lie to the people around you.... so use that, be persistent enough to face that first meal...and then the next one.
It took me week's of watered down soup, lots of time in the bathroom afterwards too, although with each passing week, I was vomiting less and less. The sense of shame I felt at eating was still there, but I learnt to push through it - to slowly convince myself that I shouldn't feel ashamed of eating, or repulsed by the thought of food. At some point my quart pint became almost a half, although still watered, and at a later point still, I was managing it twice a day, some days. I still weighed myself quite obsessively, that is something I learnt to control (somewhat), much later - but as I gained weight, I fought with myself almost daily to tell myself that it was actually okay. That I needed too, and that it was a healthy thing. It was an incredibly slow weight gain, the first stone probably took over 2 months... and there were time's I'd freak and make myself ill again, but as a general rule, I did pretty well. Seeing myself fill out again was hard, but seeing my skin look better, my eyes brighter - no irrational in the world could argue that was a bad thing. The headaches I was suffering became less, the dizziness I was experiencing lessened and I stopped having 'blackouts'. Of course I didn't eat soup for the whole of my recovery - at some point I upgraded to more solid food stuffs. I read package information about EVERYTHING, I checked the fat content / calorie content etc: of it all, but I ate more substantial food. It took a lot more than a year before I ate cheese (if you know me, you know I LOVE cheese) or chocolate and I still felt guilty about it. I had a small bag of malteesers and they lasted about 4 days. But the fact is that I ate the whole bag, I enjoyed them and I didn't make myself sick after... or do any of the other dumb-ass things I used to do.
Here it is, 16 years later - I weigh 10stone. I weigh myself, daily and I panic if I gain more than half a stone, but that's okay, because 10 is perfectly acceptable. And what's more - I can choose to diet or 'cut down' or whatever and I know when to stop. I also have the ability to rationalize why I may have gained the extra weight.
I'm very particular about my food, but that's because I like to know what I am eating - not because I am obsessed with losing weight. I eat chocolate, but in moderation. I exercise - but not 'til I hurt myself. I have caused myself a small amount of physical damage exercising to excess in the past, I now take greater care not to exceed my limits.
My periods took a couple of years to become more regular. My skin is healthy, my vital organs and immune system are strong, although I have no idea how, to be honest...
The point is, if you met me now, you would have no idea. The point is I recovered.... I beat the disease.
The most important point is, if you want to - whoever you are... you can beat it, too. You can, if you want to, you can have more help than I ever did. And I hope that some of this helps you - I hope this gives you the courage to try, to persist, to fight to live.
Or maybe to understand a little how to help or support someone going through it, if you are the outside viewer.
Whatever - I just hope this helps someone.
It's one of the hardest things I have ever had to write, but I wanted to get it out. And I wanted it to do some good.
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