Living with anorexia Part Two
True life: Recovery takes a new way of thinking and a new found self-love.
Read Part One.
When my mum found out that my periods had stopped, she took me to our doctor. After a series of medical questions, he asked me to step on the weighing scale. You could tell the shock from his face; I weighed just 37 kilos. I too was in disbelief. I thought I weighed twice that. I was sent to an eating disorder clinic, where I was informed by a specialist that if I continued the way I did, I did not have long to live. He gave me two choices: to eat or get admitted to the clinic. I was in shock and thought to myself “You can die from this!” I was referred to a dietician who made a special diet plan and each month I had to come in to get weighed. I was put on a fattening diet and I was disgusted. When I looked at the muffin in front of me, I thought to myself, “I can't believe I'm eating this when I've worked so hard to get to where I am”. It was like my mind was saying one thing while my hands were saying another.
For every weighing session, I wore layers of sweaters and tights and big boots, thinking that this might give the illusion that I gained more weight than I really did. It still was not enough and I was afraid that the next stop would be the clinic. I didn't believe that I was extremely underweight and thought my friends and family were overreacting. It was not until I tried on a pair of underwear in a changing room that I saw what everyone was seeing. I saw the body of a 12-year old boy. My ribs were protruding, my once 32C breasts had shrunken to the state of small lumps and my arms were like sticks. I looked at this stranger in the mirror and I asked myself: “Is this me?”
Overcoming anorexia was the most strenuous time of my life. It took two years for my weight to be in the normal range again, and three more years to openly talk about it. This is my cold war. It took its time, but in the end I was winning. I managed to shut up my brat sister long enough to have a slice of cake without guilt. Then I got comments on how well I looked with a few extra pounds and something automatically switched within me that made me think “Stop eating!” It was a repeating cycle of opposite actions.
For me, there is no ‘The End’; there are just good and bad days. On a good day, I feel confident and comfortable in my own skin. On a bad day, I feel ugly, greedy and weak whenever I am full. On a bad day, I hear that small voice that is looking over my shoulder and wagging her finger at me for eating crisps. That voice is never fully gone. I was a smart, intelligent, funny and talented young girl and I wasted a whole year of my life counting calories. That makes no sense, but back then my life was so consumed by the huge need to control and that need, ironically, was the only thing that made sense to me.
There you have my confessions. I've been to hell back and forth and do not wish to return. Beating anorexia is never about just eating a lot of chocolate bars and that would be the end of it. It never is; to recover from it, it requires a shift away from a distortion of reality.
It takes a new way of thinking and a new found self-love, instead of self loathing. I have come a long way, but I still have a bit to go. I can have really bad days, but I will never go back to my past habits, because I am happier with what I see in the mirror now, than what I saw five years ago.
By: Anonymous
Bodywhys is an organisation that provides information, support and advice to those with eating disorders and their families.
Contact Bodywhys on:
Helpline: 1890 200 444
Admin Tel: 01 2834963
Email support: alex@bodywhys.ie
This article is part of the SpunOut.ie true life stories section – a space for young people to share their experiences of tough times and encourage others to seek help. This story is just one person's experience and it may be different for you. Remember that no matter what you are going through, there is help and support available. See the Find help section for more information: http://www.spunout.ie/help/
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