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I believe that I was born with an
eating disorder. I always used food to abuse myself and then when I
was diagnosed with diabetes at 13, things got even worse. I have
been in nine different psychiatric hospitals and through two eating
disorder programmes twice. I have been on loads of medications to
keep my mind and body working or semi-working. I’ve even attempted
suicide a few times. I remember so many nights begging God to keep
me from waking up the next morning!
By the time I was 15, it was obvious
that I had a problem. I’d stopped eating and taking my insulin. I
went to skin and bone very quickly. I was told to eat even when I
didn’t want to – I felt totally out of control. To me, thinness
meant control. It was my one priority in life. To try and lose
weight, I was taking laxatives, blacking out and getting weak
tingling sensations because of my body’s constantly low blood-sugar
levels. The laxatives were soon supplemented with Prozac,
tranquillisers and any other medication deemed necessary to make me
appear outwardly normal.
I was walking around like a zombie, drugged out of my mind. No one
was interested in what was going on in my head. No one understood
the absolutely insurmountable anger that used to sweep over me. They
all thought that I was just unstable and wanted to be left alone
when all I really wanted was for someone to hug me and tell me they
understood the hell I was enduring.
An eating distress acts like a virus. It lies dormant for a long
time, eating at your mind like a virus infiltrating your cells and
eventually it personifies itself. This is the ‘crisis point.’ This
is when the rational mind breaks down. The eating disorder becomes
apparent and the body shrinks creating a wasted and destroyed human
frame. You emerge a shell of the person that you were once
recognised.
You’re now in the hands of a clumsy-evil child, like the bully that
tries to break you with words in the playground. Sometime later,
depending on how long you tolerate the bully, you will fall apart to
such an extent that you realise you desperately need to build the
blocks of your person. But the blocks that have been scattered far
and wide making the task all the more difficult.
I’m in the process of putting together those blocks. Sometimes the
cement does not set. Bricks sometimes fall to the ground. Other
times the bricklaying is simple, less strenuous. However, the only
person that can build this wall is me. It pisses me off sometimes
because I can see how I want the wall to turn out and it isn’t easy.
Hiring a builder is the equivalent of seeking the quick fix.
Hospitalisation and medications are the real life quick-fixes and 9
times out of 10 these prove fatal. I know that from experience.
Now that I am getting better I want to help other people. Recovery
isn’t possible- it’s definite! You just have to take it one day at a
time, live for today, and then you can work on tomorrow.
Recovering, Age 24
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