Anorexia the secret illness

I spent 15 plus years suffering with Anorexia, which is why in 2008 when I ran from John O’Groats to Lands End I raised money for a charity called Beat (Beat eating disorders).  I wanted to raise awareness of this very secret and awful illness that got hold of me so tight I struggled for years to try and let it go, I wanted so much to lead a normal life.  After years of battling, lots of support from my husband, family, friends and professionals, I recovered.

Anorexia has the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric disorder, from medical complications associated with the illness as well as suicide. Research has found that 20% of anorexia sufferers will die prematurely from their illness and approximately 1.6 million people in the UK suffer from an eating disorder.

Over the years I have been contacted by many people who are either suffering from an eating disorder, know a friend or family member who is but what has surprised me most of all is the amount of adults who are suffering in silence and in some cases I’m the first person they have told.  The reason for my blog is to once again try and raise awareness of this problem; especially over the festive period as we all seem to be surrounded by vast quantities of food, which for someone with an eating disorder is a nightmare.

In 2008 I wrote about how I became anorexic and how it felt.  I’m not particularly good with words, but I hope it will give you a small insight into what a frightening and secretive world it is.

At the age of 8 ½ I was sent off to Boarding School, a place I enjoyed with lots of friends, activities and sport.  I particularly loved the sports, singing, art and drama.

At school I was one of the tallest in my class which didn’t really bother me and I was never concerned about my weight in fact I don’t remember giving it much thought.

At about 14 some of the girls began to tell me that I was fat.  I ignored their comments thinking that they would get bored, but the comments and jibes continued, “fatty”, “your skirts too tight”, “have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately or are you too fat to fit in” on and on they went until eventually I looked at myself in the mirror and thought perhaps what they were saying was true.  Certainly I wasn’t skinny, neither I thought was I fat, but what would I know.

So I put myself on my first ever diet, cutting out all second helpings thinking to myself “I’ll show them I’m not fat”.  I lost a few pounds and the comments continued, so I cut out puddings – I loved my puddings but it had to be done.  A few more pounds came off but still the comments continued. “fat, fatty, tubby, fatty, fat, fat, fat …..” on and on it went.

At the beginning of the summer term a friend of mine who had always been larger than me returned having lost so much weight she looked like a different person.  I noticed that if you were a “thin”  person people seemed to like you but if you were “fat” then they thought you were nasty, that made me a nasty person as I was fat – I wanted to be a thin person, I wanted to be nice.

Over the next few months I cut my food intake drastically and the weight just dropped off.  I would go for days without food surviving on coffee or water telling myself that this was good because I would be a “nice” person, but still the comments continued coming.  If I did eat anything, however small I would make my way to the loo and stick my fingers down my throat and up it all came – PHEW empty again, but it was exhausting.

The school began to see how much weight I was losing so I was summoned to the headmistresses’ office where she read me a letter from an Old Girl I had known in my first year at the school.  She was at the time of writing the letter in a hospital in Hong Kong being fed by a drip and weighing just over 4 stone.  I couldn’t understand why the letter was being read to me, I wasn’t like that, I wasn’t thin, I was fat, everyone kept telling me so, why did she think this was relevant to me?

I was given the choice, either I ate or I would be sent home, as the school couldn’t cope with me.  So I said that for lunch I would eat an apple and an orange, this would be left for me at the canteen, that way they knew I had got it.  The apple would be peeled to within an inch of its life and the orange given away.  I would drink lots of water then make a trip to the loo and so the cycle continued.

I didn’t like the person that I was becoming, everything revolved around avoiding food.  I became an expert liar saying I had already eaten or that I would grab something later; vomiting happened on a more regular basis and to make matters worse I was now taking laxatives to make sure that there really was nothing left inside me.  On the positive side I wasn’t called fat any more, no more nasty words popped out of their mouths I must be a “nice” person.

At 16 I got glandular fever and because I so thin the school wasn’t able to look after me – I struggled to find enough energy to get out of bed and go to the loo so it was decided that I would be flown home.  A wheelchair was waiting for me at Gatwick to take me to the plane and another one in Edinburgh to take me off the plane, as I couldn’t even walk without support.  Once home I slept for a week without waking up.

I survived school and left home but the cycle continued.  I was sent to doctors, shrinks but until I was ready for help no one would be able to help me.  My life revolved around trying to avoid situations where I had to eat and if I did eat it would be ejected from my body whether through vomiting or laxatives or both.  At this stage I was taking 35 laxatives a day, you can imagine the damage it was doing to me.

The outside world never saw the person I kept hidden away, they saw a bouncy, bubbly person, always game for a laugh and was the life and soul of the party, I was finally a “Nice” person, people liked me.  No longer was I called fat, they would now say I was too thin, but this I didn’t understand because when I looked in the mirror all I could see was a fat person looking back.  I could see all the fat covering my body, loads of it hidden under the skin, wobbly bits, lumpy bits it was revolting how could they say I was thin?

In 1984 I married an amazing man, who knew I had a problem with food but didn’t understand it, why should he even I didn’t understand it.  3 months after our wedding I discovered I was pregnant.  One part of me was ecstatic as I was told I might never have children but the other half was terrified, this was my biggest nightmare I was going to get fat, there would be no choice.

For the first time in years I came off my laxatives I remember throwing them down the sink and virtually stopped throwing up.  I watched in disgust as my body changed shape, boobs became bigger, my waist disappeared clothes got tighter and I was fighting so hard not to do something about it, my first priority was to my baby, she had to be safe.

Once the bump became a proper bump and I looked pregnant I didn’t seem to mind as I wasn’t fat I was pregnant – very different so relaxed and enjoyed the remainder of my pregnancy.  However afterwards everything started again.

Finally when my second child was about 18 months old I knew that I had to sort myself out, not for me but for my children; it was the one of the toughest things I have done.  I remember sitting in front of my doctor not knowing what to say or how to say that I needed help, no words came out of my mouth, they seemed to be stuck,  the tears rolled down my cheeks as I tried to find a way to say PLEASE HELP ME OR I MIGHT DIE

4 months later I began treatment at St. George’s hospital as an outpatient because I had two children, usually I would have been admitted to hospital.  Sadly it wasn’t successful as the weight kept dropping so they decided that the only cause of action for me was to be taken into hospital.

I went and looked round the unit where I was to be sent and was shocked at what I saw.  At this stage I knew that I was ill but I wasn’t in the same league as these people, how could I be?  The first part of the treatment meant being kept in a room by yourself (bars were on the window to prevent you throwing food out) and if you needed the loo you were put in a wheel chair).  Only when you had reached your target weight and kept it on for a few weeks were you allowed out into the main section.  I met a girl who was in one of these rooms she had reached her target weight and was now trying to maintain it.  As we were chatting I said that she was still so thin; I was far thinner than she was.

Going into hospital wasn’t the right choice for me, not with two small children; instead I spent just over a year having alternative treatment.  There were a lot of tears, tantrums, set backs and battles but in the end I got there, my anorexia wasn’t going to kill me I wanted to live.

I’m not sure I have told my story very well, but perhaps it might help you understand a little bit how it feels.  It’s a mental illness which goes way beyond the food, that’s just a way of being able to control things that are out of our control.  I now understand what caused my anorexia, it wasn’t the name calling that was just a catalyst that started the ball rolling, the real cause for the time being will remain private.

Having reached the grand old age of 50 I reckon I’ve had an amazing life, I wouldn’t change things as everything that has happened to me has made me the person I am today.  Am I cured from my anorexia, yes I think so.  I have always said it never totally goes away but I now know how to deal with it.  The fat person in the mirror makes an appearance every so often but I know she’s not real and can tell her to go away and leave me alone.

If there is anyone reading this who knows of someone with an eating disorder that may need help please take a look the Beat website, it’s fantastic and offers help to both the sufferer,  their family and friends.

http://www.b-eat.co.uk/

I would like to wish you all a very Happy Christmas

Set Out each Day,

Believe in your Dreams.

Know without a doubt

That you were

MADE FOR AMAZING THINGS