I’d gained 1.2lbs, 2 weeks in a row, and having binged & purged more this last week than ever in a week before, I thought I was sure to have gained around 4lbs this week so I filled in my estimation on my weight chart… and weighed.

NO gain. NO loss.
Maintenance.
RELIEF!

This has put me in a really good mood; I was absolutely convinced that the bare minimum gain this week was 3lbs. I know I have to gain weight in order to recover, but I’ve had the worst week of my life and didn’t want it to have resulted in a huge gain from disgusting binging and purging.

This is a new week for me now, Ana is trying hard to send Mia in to punish me for going against her, its 2 against 1 and I need to find the strength to fight both of them at the same time. This is the first week of appointments and hearing from referrals along with starting my anti-depressants so this is the true start of my recovery.

I FEEL excited today.

One of the biggest challenges of recovery for many people, especially men, is gaining access to treatment.  I have spoken much about this in previous posts; however, I believe it is an extremely important issue.  Access to treatment is hindered by an immense number of things; however, one of the biggest roadblocks is simply insurance companies and stigma associated with Eating Disorders.

Many insurance companies have zero or limited coverage for eating disorders and/or mental illness.  For example, my prior insurance company gave me a grand total of 10 days inpatient care and 10 days partial-hospitalization.  Those twenty days combined would have not even have been enough to get me to a “safe weight.”  In fact, 20 days into treatment I was still fighting hard to lose more weight, hiding food in couches, and lying to my treatment team.  Twenty days was enough for me to realize how hard it was to change and not want to put the effort in.  Twenty days in treatment, for me, was insufficient to even scratch the surface of my anorexia.  Twenty days was a death sentence.

It was due to the grace of God and the hard work of my family, fiance, and friends and flexibility from Roger’s Memorial, that I was able to remain in treatment.  They fundraised money through Samaritan Cards, helped me apply for scholarships, and talked with local churches.  While they were able to obtain enough money to keep me in treatment until my professional treatment team deemed me ready to discharge we are still paying off that debt.  I truly owe my life to their hard work and appreciate them every day for the sacrifices they made for me to be sitting here writing this today.

This is why I am passionate about the FREED Act.

What is the FREED Act?  It stands for the Federal Response To Eating Disorders Act and the premise is providing insurance coverage to those who need hospitalization and treatment for their eating disorder.  There are many facets to the Act and the basic summary can be found by clicking here.  Basically the Act would mandate that any insurance company that provides coverage for physical illness would also need to provide coverage for mental illness.  It is also the beginning of ending the stigma associated with Eating Disorders.

The problem with mental illness is the stigma associated with them.  Many people choose to believe that an Eating Disorder is a choice and that one just has to “choose to eat.”  Those people could not be more wrong.  An eating disorder is a combination of triggers, childhood experiences, daily struggles, and more the form together to create the mental illness.  Research studies have indicated that after a certain point brain chemistry begins to change as well further promoting the eating disorder.

A cancer patient is never accused of choosing to have cancer.  A person with quadriplegia is never told to “just walk.”  A person with diabetes is never told “just eat the doughnut, you’ll be fine.”  

Then why am I accused that I have chosen anorexia and I need to just eat and I’ll be fine.

Those people could not be more wrong.  I did not choose anorexia.  I do not choose to struggle daily with eating.  I do not choose to have a warped body image.  I did not choose to hate myself on such a deep level that I felt disappearing was better than facing my fears and inner demons.  I did not choose it so stop accusing me.  

It is time that the world recognizes that Eating Disorders are a mental illness.  They are real and are affecting thousands more people each and every day.  The only way to over come an eating disorder is with professional treatment.  For some, outpatient treatment is sufficient.  Others are able to enter recovery with partial-hospitalization.  Others, and a growing number, need access to in-patient and residential care.  Eating disorders come in all shapes, sizes, and stages; just like every other illness.  Cancer is separated into Stage 1,2,3,4,5 based on severity.  Eating Disorders have levels to even if they are currently unrecognized.  

Now, take a stand with me.  Take a Leap with me and raise awareness of the FREED Act and fight for everyone who wants to be Free to live their life.

Follow this link to watch a video of why many people support the FREED Act.

For over a decade,

my skin, tongue, hair,

hands, face and breath

smelt of sickness.

Like I was rotting

from the inside.

My heart wasn’t

the right colour,

and it didn’t beat

a strong, steady rhythm.

It panicked and hiccupped.

It was like a rough chough

in my chest.

My veins protruded

from my forearms

and hands like frozen pipes.

My dull, ashen tone

scared most people

into thinking

I was already dead.

Back then, I would have

rather drank

a pint of moonshine

than make conversation.

I didn’t have time to think.

My thoughts were cold

at the back of my head.

Everything was one military

routine after another,

followed by abuse

and sacrifice.

I couldn’t walk around

the house without something

cracking or someone bursting into tears.

The Death most thought I’d met

was there. She was just

waiting round the corner,

filing her nails to points.

But as my organs started

to show through

my tissue paper thin skin,

and people’s happiness

folded in on my arrival,

I realised I was sick of being

something you’d rather turn away from,

than someone you’d walk towards and get to know.

Death can have my bones

one winter, when I am old,

and have lived a healthy life.

When I am ready.

I left her,

my thin, stooped,

bow-legged companion.

She tried to chase me,

but couldn’t go the distance.

She’s still there,

walking the threshold

where the woods

meet the moors.

And now

I eat wensleydale,

studded with candied orange

and cranberries.

I drink milk

that hasn’t been stripped.

I flavour it with sugar,

cinnamon, saffron, ginger.

I ease my hands

over my body,

casually

touching myself.

I have all the soul

and body

that I need now.

I’m not going hungry anymore.

Criticism. We’re subject to it 24/7. Unfortunately, more often than not, it’s negative rather than constructive. I’d like to think that after nearly fifteen years of ‘putting written stuff out there’ so to speak, that I’ve grown pretty resilient to unconstructive criticism and hugely receptive towards the other one. I’d also like to think that I’m pretty good at dishing out helpful criticism when it’s required. When I was studying for my BA in Creative Writing, delivering constructive criticism to our classmates was one of the most useful things that we were instructed to do on a regular basis. It honestly has the potential to pick people up and set them off again, rather than leave them slumped in the dust of their once precious creations.

The first book that I had published was called Anorexia: A Stranger in the Family, based on my own experiences with Anorexia Nervosa. (Well, that’s not strictly true. The first book I had published was when I was sixteen, and it was called Sticks and Stones, however the company who took me on board turned out to be charlatans…but that’s another story.)

I started to write Anorexia when I was fifteen and in a psychiatric unit for adolescents called the Newberry Centre in Middlesbrough, and by the time I was eighteen it was published. I had made my dream of becoming a published author come true, and I had got to that point through my own hard work and perseverance. ( I was at college five days a week and working weekends, yet I still found the time to be able to write a book and find a publisher for it…I didn’t have a social life, I should mention, but again, this should be the topic for a different post.)

However, during this time of business, I still wasn’t completely recovered. My life remained to be controlled by food, exercise and perfectionism. As a result, things suffered, such as  my ability to concentrate for long periods of time, and, therefore, so did the overall quality of my writing.

When I read people’s reviews of my book today, I can shrug off negative comments, I agree with the majority of them anyway, though I do think that anyone with enough sense would have been able to tell that I clearly wasn’t well during the writing and publication of the book. Anyway, it was written mainly as a cathartic experience. It was only when I realised that my writing could help others that I decided to create a book. Maybe if my mind wasn’t consumed with thoughts of food and such my writing would have been better, more profound and less repetitive and simple.

I’m at a stage in my life now where, yes, some particularly nasty comments might sting for a few seconds, but I fall back onto the knowledge that my mind is healthy and my body is in good physical shape. As a result, writing well is my main priority, as I have always wanted it to be. Today, I can say that I am a good writer and truly believe it.

I used to feel as if I had to prove myself to these reviewers, but now I feel more relaxed. I hope that some of the people who have felt unsatisfied with my earlier work seek out my newer stuff, like my poetry, and discover how my ‘voice’ has developed since the time when I was little more than a ghost.

How I used to look…this is when I was in recovery.

How I look today…

If you are interested in finding out more about my experiences with anorexia, follow this link to a fantastic article by the Irish Independent.  http://www.independent.ie/health/health-advice/anorexia-was-my-best-friend-and-it-nearly-tore-me-and-my-family-apart-73621.html

Contributed by Guest Blogger Martha Moseley

For almost twelve years I lived with a mask on my face. It was a dangerous mask, a deceiving mask, a mask that was so convincing that I myself was almost unaware that it was a mask and not my true self. However, I made a decision 331 days ago (as of November 3, 2011) to take off the mask for the last time, not only to take it off but to never put it on again. That mask’s name is Anorexia Nervosa and 331 days ago I made a commitment to myself to never be a victim to my sickness and to fight it until I beat it.

You see for almost twelve years I lived in secret, battling an illness that not even my closest friends and family knew I faced. It consumed me, my thoughts, my behaviors, my actions. Every minute was spent focusing around ED (my eating disorder). ED was my best friend, my comforter, my confidant, my supporter. But, ED was really none of those things because deep down ED was a liar and he was destroying each day a little bit more. I lost more than I could count to ED: time, money, friends, grades, family, and health. And losing all of led to a lack of joy and beauty that my life. And ultimately it led to a lack of abundant life that ED stole from me.

I spent years trying to fight ED alone, thinking I could beat him without anyone else knowing. When that didn’t work I came back to him. Because unlike every other person and situation, ED was who I could control or so I thought. Once again though, I was lied to because the more I believed I could control him, the more he controlled me and eventually controlled my whole life. Even a year and half ago I thought admitting to others that ED was a part of my life was enough. It wasn’t, you see, I could admit to a few that ED was in my life but deep down I wasn’t going to let him go. I wanted him to stay with me. I was terrified of not having him in my life.

However, that was life with ED, but 331 days ago I took a leap of faith…a leap of faith that there was a world outside of ED…a better world…a brighter world. The road hasn’t been easy, in fact it’s not always all roses and sunshine, but it is worth it. It is SO WORTH IT! Because what I learned is that there is a beautiful world outside of ED, a world where my life is not held captive and I have freedom for the first time EVER.

Sure ED likes to put his two cents in every now and again but what I discovered is the more I decide to commit to fighting ED the quieter his voice gets. And one day…one day soon…ED’s voice will become unrecognizable, even mute, because one day soon… I’ll win this fight, and in that belief I have more faith than I have ever had with ED. And that beauty and joy that my life lacked before, well my life is immensely full of it now and always will be.

I couldn’t make this journey on the road to recovery alone. And I have been blessed to have the best support team that I could ever imagine, including Doctors, Therapists, Nutritionist, Psychiatrist, and the most supportive and amazing team of caring individuals any one could ever be blessed with. So if you are struggling with an ED in your life, don’t be afraid to speak up and DON’T DO IT ALONE. There is a world of immense beauty and joy that awaits you and I want you to see and I believe YOU are worth fighting for!

About Martha (looking healthy and happy)

Lori with intern Martha Moseley

Martha is a senior at TCU, majoring in English with a minor in Women’s Studies, an anorexia survivor and is passionate about helping to educate college students
about the risks of eating disorder. Through her own struggle she has learned how difficult eating disorders
can be and is dedicated to help others fight this illness. After she graduates Martha intends to pursue non-profit work and continue to help others with this brokenness.In her spare time, Martha enjoys her RUF ministry, nannying for the most amazing kids, crafting anything on pintrest, writing letters, and enjoying coffee and conversation with what she considers the world’s best friends and family.

To get help and find encouragement for yourself or your daughter or son, visit our online community where you can attend bi-monthly eating disorder support calls, special classes and get more resources you need to help yourself and your family.

©2012

Almost overnight, I started to notice my body and loathe it. My feet were too fat. My belly suck out. My thighs were humongous. They weren’t, I was ‘normal’ for my age, but rationality didn’t get a look in.

Swimming became something I started to dread. I would run from my locker and haul myself into the water, not getting out at the end of lesson until all of my classmates had retreated back to the changing rooms. As soon as swimming lessons petered out, I stopped going swimming altogether. I didn’t swim for years, until we went on our first family holiday to Tenerife. By then I was anorexic and dangerously thin. My swimming suit hung off me, but fuck, did I milk the Lido. I would swim until my parents would scream that my lips and skin had turned blue. Even then I’d ignore them and pummel through the water. When I’d get out, the first thing I’d do was wrap my legs and stomach in a towel, one that ending below my ankles. Walking was difficult. My legs were weak and could hardly support my body. But I determinedly put one shaky foot in front of the other, to keep up appearances. Collapsing onto the concrete was strictly forbidden.

More family holidays followed, but my paranoia only increased. Soon I wouldn’t even bother putting my costume on.

A couple of years ago, I appeared in a shoot for the magazine ‘Easy Living.’ The feature was called ‘Why I Dare To Bare,’ and featured woman who had been through hell and back with their bodies, and how they now felt confident to show it off to the world. But I didn’t. I wasn’t confident wearing a swim suit – at all. I was still ill and hadn’t been near a pool for almost a decade. But that didn’t matter to them. I just had to smile and pretend.

I’m twenty six years old now and I’m well. I can put butter on my bread. I can miss a day at the gym. I can wear sleeveless tops. I can stay in bed until noon and not feel guilty. I feel ready to get back in the pool. I have control over my body again and I want to sculpt it. Not in a dangerous, obsessive way. In a healthy, regulated way. I’m planning on buying a new swimsuit next week, and afterwards, I’ll celebrate.

I’ve been doing some research into the benefits of swimming to help me get back to the pool.  Unsurprisingly, there are loads.

• It tones the whole body
• It strengthens the heart and lungs
• It’s excellent for weight control
• 30 minutes of swimming is equal to 45 minutes of activity on land
• It produces 90% less stress on your joints than other exercise
• It’s perfect for de-stressing

So, wish me luck. I’ll keep you updated on my progress. Hey, maybe I’ll get back to Wet N Wild one of these days, though I’ve heard it’s now a grimy haven for Chavs. Maybe not then.

One of my recent posts talks about how I ‘graduated’ from therapy a couple of days ago.  This does not mean that I am cured or ready to take on the world without a care.  I still struggle with the same things that I struggled with before; however, I am better equipped at handling the situations.  Since I wrote my graduation post I have received many comments about how people are so proud of me and so glad I have ‘overcome’ this.  Yes, I have come very far but I am miles away from ‘overcoming’ anorexia.

A clear example came to me today while I was working out.  I am not sure why, but my lunch was not settling well with me.  Today was a day when I was biking, running, and kickboxing and I was in the middle of my run and was burping constantly.  As my run continued I felt increasingly nauseous and indigested and thought I might throw up a couple of times.  Well, not-so-long story short, I decided to take matters into my own hands and I pulled off on the side of the trail and made myself throw up.  I instantly felt better and less nauseous and carried on with my run.

I am well aware that what I did was not in the best interest of my health; however, I was looking at my short-term well-being not the long-term.  Looking back I realize that it was not the route that I should have taken but it was the route that I chose and now I deal with the consequences.  I deal with the thoughts of feeling like a failure because I haven’t purged in months.  I deal with the thoughts of feeling  judged by those close to me.  I deal with the shame of being honest about what happened today.  I deal with the knowledge that I still have an eating disorder and am not ‘cured.’

But I also deal with knowing that I realize that what I did was a mistake.  I understand where my recover is going to go from here and how I am not a failure.  Success is determined on how you deal with failure.  I get to deal with the image of perfection that has been built around me.  That I am not struggling with my eating disorder anymore, but I am.  Today, my bubble popped.  The great thing about bubbles though, is that they are easy to re-form.  For me, I am going to see this set-back as a success.  Yes, I induced vomiting, but it has been a long time since my previous lapse and I am going to make this next period of time even longer.

So, no, I am not recovered, but I am still in recovery.  Today was not a step towards a full relapse but instead a lapse in my recovery and a speed bump to learn from.  I am going to Take a Leap today and learn from what happened and continue on the path of recovery.

At my last session with my therapist I told her “Sometimes I wonder what regular people struggle with.  I mean the entirety of the last 2 years of my life has been me struggling with my eating disorder.  It has been the root of all most if not all of the fights I have had with people, and has also been a leading stem for many of the joys in my life.  I just want to ask ‘What do normal people struggle with.’”

She challenged me on this comment.  I work at a church with middle schoolers and high schoolers so she asked me “What do you see them struggling with.”

Self worth.

Confidence.

Not being enough.

Family problems.

Friend problems.

Sickness.

Drugs.

Eating Disorders.

Not Feeling Loved.

School.

Labels.

Cutting.

Judgments.

Their past.

We all struggle and we all have ways in which we deal with these problems.  For me, it was an eating disorder.  It became my coping mechanism to deal with my childhood, my past, my daily life.  A way to escape and feel like a ‘real person.’  Others let their emotions out in other ways, but we all deal with many of the same problems.  Each problem is unique and has its own definition, its own facets, its own life, but we are not all that different.

Today I came upon this video posted by Troy Roness via The Self-Worth Project.  Troy is an eating disorder and gay rights activist and a man that I look up to greatly.  I have often been asked “Name some of your heroes.  Name people who you look up too.”  I have never had an answer.  Some say Martin Luther King or Gandhi or some great author, but there has never been anyone that I have told myself that I desire to follow (p.s. I am talking Earthly people, I have always wanted to live my life like Christ).  Troy has become that person for me.  He is vocal, he is outspoken, he is in recovery yet struggling.  I don’t know if I can call him my hero but he is a role-model for me.

Anyway, the video is part of “The Self-Worth Project” getting the word out that we are all worth it.   Their mission “To not only deliver this understanding, but to form a more loving and accepting world.”

Take a Leap and watch the video and realize we are all more alike than it may seem; so let’s be a “more loving and accepting world.”

Basically, when I was very very sick and looking online for help, I stumbled across a very good website called “Men Get Eating Disorders Too“.

I credit this website with saving my life, because without it I don’t think I would have found the courage to recognise my disorder and go and seek help. Run by the fabulous Sam Thomas, who himself suffered from an eating disorder, it includes lots of helpful links and information about eating disorders and how to seek help.

When I first logged on to MGEDT I was in a very very bad place. I remember reading Sam’s story and realising, “Hey, I have an eating disorder. I am not ashamed to admit it. I need to find help now, because I am not alone.”

Since then both Sam and I have struck up a bit of an online friendship, and we regularly chat on Facebook, Twitter, and I help him out when I can. I’m proud to have been a part of the MGEDT web design, giving feedback on posters and distributing them around my local area to encourage men with eating disorders to seek help. My thought is that if I can try and inspire others to visit this fantastic site maybe they will recognise they have an ED too.

Anyway, last night Sam was featured on the BBC’s “Inside Out” programme, which tackled eating disorders in men. It was very well done, and I think Sam came across really well. Here are some screengrabs if you can’t see it if you are outside of the UK… I was speaking to Sam on a live webchat using my personal twitter handle @stoopish. (see pic << left)

The programme can be watched for the next few days – starts at 12 minutes in. Hope you can watch it – congrats Sam, you’ve done more for men with eating disorders in the UK than anyone else.

I last saw her over Christmas, which was pretty hard as I was out of my comfort zone for a few days. I had to eat when she cooked, I had to eat what she cooked, and I knew she was watching everything I ate.

The only times I could eat without her watching was at breakfast (when I’d carbo load on sugary cereal she had bought in, because she knew I used to scoff it down when I was a young boy) and then go out for a run…. and eat when she went to bed.

Anyway, today she came up to Norwich with my stepdad to spend the day with me. I met them at a local pub at 1pm for a drink, and started on a bottle of white wine. Soon the menu was asked for and we had lunch. I chose a potato, ham and leek soup with a baguette and mum chose a chicken and ham pie with chips (fries?) and vegetables. I have to say it was the most delicious lunch I have had for a long time, and although I didn’t butter the baguette I did have some of mum’s chips, so I think she was happy.

After a lovely meal we walked into the city and me and mum got to spend some time together as my stepdad went off to look for some clothes. We walked around the shops and mum bought me some Armani diamonds aftershave because she said I needed a treat. Ha! I bought myself a new work shirt and some black jeans, and we just spent the day wandering around together.

It was nice.

I don’t know, I do love my mum lots. At times she can be such a wonderful lady, like this afternoon. Just spending some time together, talking and having a look round shops was so different to how I always see her – drunk with my stepdad. He is a bad influence on her, and when she gets drunk she is always in his company and can be so spiteful sometimes.

If only she would leave him…but she won’t, and that’s why I’ll continue to be an anorexic, for the time being at least….

x

According to reports, her break-up with Ashton Kutcher has taken its toll and she’s lost weight and turned to drugs. I am not surprised…

When we love someone so much, dealing with heartbreak can cause the anorexic demon can rear its ugly head. With no one to love us anymore, we feel lost, bereaved, like a piece of us is missing. As we struggle to cope with life we lose control and leave ourselves open to the one form of control we have left – our weight.

When my anorexia started I was in a very horrible place. I had lost my girlfriend, Jenny, who I loved very much. We had lost a baby and we started to argue lots – it took it out of me. Basically, as you can read from past blog posts, growing up without a father (who ran out on us when I was 7) made me want to be a good dad…to break the spiral..to be the dad I never had. I was ready to start a family and settle down with Jen, and had planned to propose to her – but losing the baby and the combination of her becoming distant ended all that.

And so, with no girlfriend, no one to come home to at night and cook dinner for or share my day with (and with parents in Barcelona) I developed anorexia.

It seems so stupid looking back at it. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could turn the clocks back and do things differently… but I can’t, and I have to live with it.

This is why I feel so sorry for Demi Moore – sure she’s an A-list celebrity but she is clearly hurting. Being in the public eye and papped on a daily basis must cause her severe distress and pain – to have her private life so openly exposedher demon must be loving it.

All I can say is that I hope she gets well soon, I’ve been there and I’m sure you’ve been there too. Taking each day and treating it as a new one is the only way to start getting over an ex… yet not a day goes by when I don’t think of Jen and what we could have had.

AC x

You can often spot an anorexic a mile off. Physically they look like a skeleton, with sunken eyes and cheekbones. Their ribs protrude, their legs are like twigs, their wrists are tiny, their fingernails are white, and their hair is paper thin. They live a miserable existence, close to death, as their body shuts down, eating itself away as it struggles to survive – despite the mind telling them otherwise.

However, few people think about the damage that is being done to them internally.

As the body tries to cope with starvation, it starts tapping away at internal organs, muscle and tissue. In an effort to keep the heart beating, anorexia starts feeding on the excess fat first, so your stomach goes first. Once this is depleted it starts eating the fat around your ass, so it becomes hard to sit down. Then it takes the fat from your face, given you a sunken expression.

Your muscles are the next to go.

Your arms start to wither away. Your thighs and calves too.

Once these are down to the bare minimum, your internal organs start suffering. First up are your kidneys – you can survive on one, apparently, so it makes sense that your body sees these as the first organ to target. Once they start to shrivel, you start to pee more and more. Your liver also gets shot, as does your stomach and bladder.

Then your brain starts to go – you start to go mental as your body starts eating away at the fatty sheaths surrounding the nerves in your brain. You don’t sleep, you have mental thoughts as your body tries to get you to eat. When I hit this stage I shoplifted chocolate bars and donuts from Tesco – can you believe that? It wasn’t me – it was my body making me do it. Shoplifting!! This good boy, with a first class degree in history and an MA…shoplifting to stay alive!

I’m still suffering from these consequences of the damage done inside today. I may look normal on the outside, but my body has not and will not recover. My arms are still thin, my face puffs up when I eat too much sugar and my legs balloon if I drink more than 2 pints on a night out because the kidneys are so screwed.

Trust me, anorexia is one hell of a horrible mental illness which does more damage on the inside than the outside. Think of that the next time you think about restricting food…I try to, but it rarely helps!

Here goes..

I quit my job

Two days after my last blogpost I quit my job. Yep, in the current economic climate I made the decision to jack it in and take a chance on finding something else.

I couldn’t take it any more, sitting in an office with a bully for a boss. Someone who was such a control freak she read my emails, listened to my phonecalls, timed my morning arrival and evening leaving down to the second.

I had given up a better paid job, a company car and a blackberry mobile for this job. It was in PR, a chance to get back doing what I love best and writing, but after five weeks I thought “fuck it”. I couldn’t take it and so I walked.

I wrote a letter of resignation and posted it through the door, and I was suddenly unemployed and another extra +1 on the scrapheap.

I signed on

I signed on immediately, but let me tell you that it’s not fun. The amount of forms you have to fill in is crazy. I also managed to get Disability Living Allowance – my doctor signed all the forms because I’m underweight. But guess how much I got? £19 a week – the lowest grade. People with bad backs get more – and are their lives at risk? I’ll let you be the judge of that.

I applied everywhere

Hunting for a job is not fun.

Hunting for a job with a mental illness is even worse. The constant rejection after rejection made me feel low and depressed.

Daytime TV sucked away my soul – I felt I had nothing to live for, but kept plugging away, sending out CV after CV.

I joined the local gym

I know I know. “You’re underweight AC – why the hell did you join a gym?”

Well because I had nothing to do it was the perfect way to let off some steam, gave me a place to go to during the day, somewhere to read the local paper and bury my head in a book while on the exercise bike. Plus it’s true what they say, exercise does make you feel better.

And that was my life. Day in. Day out. From August 13th – November 1st.

You may be thinking at this point either a) holy hell you were brave, congrats on making the big decision to b) you’re mental, you gave up a job and an income in the current economic climate?

Well, the good news is that I GOT ANOTHER JOB!!!!

Yep. That’s right. I managed to get back into the world of work, and have been working as a PR and Social Media Consultant for a local company here since 7th November and I love it.

I’m appreciated.

I’m making our clients happy (I got a big department store over 1,100 Facebook fans in 2 weeks which got picked up in the local press)!

I’ve made some friends with people my own age (no more stuck in that office with just the bully boss for company)

And that’s what I’ve been up to!

I’m still underweight, but I’ve got a purpose in life again. I’d just like a girlfriend I suppose….so if you could sort it for Christmas that would be marvellous.

More tomorrow!

AC

It was early February 2009. I was signed off sick from my job – a combination of being so weak, and irregular heartbeat and on a course of anti-depressants had lead my doctor to declare me unfit for work. I was an absolute mess – weighing just 8 stone (112lbs) at 6ft’3 I was a walking skeleton. I wasn’t eating, not because of the demon, he was surprisingly quiet and content in my suffering, I wasn’t eating because I physically couldn’t. Anything I put in my stomach was rejected, partly because of the drugs, and partly because my stomach wasn’t used to it. What I was doing however was smoking and drinking copious amounts of Jack Daniels…it seemed the only comfort I had at the time to try and block out the pain.

One night I was asked by my sister to come into the city and go out with her and her friends. I made the effort to get dressed and go into town – put some Jack Daniels in a bottle, filled it up with diet coke and off I went.

By the time I’d walked the two miles into the city I couldn’t face it. My demon came alive and told me not to go. I was so very tired, my legs were burning and so I went to the cinema by myself instead – silently sipping my drink on the back row.

When the film finished I put my coat on and stumbled into the wintry air. Somewhat woozy from the alcohol and my lungs burning for a cigarette I lit up and struggled the two miles home.

However, little did I know what was to happen next…

As I approached a bridge I collapsed. My body, or rather my stick-thin legs just gave up. I blacked out and fell into the grass.

When I came to all I remember was my heart beating irratically.

I picked myself up, lit another cigarette and struggled on home.

I walked through the subway, struggled up the stairs, and walked through the car park. Suddenly I heard a cat, howling in pain. As I walked further the sound of its wails got louder and louder. As I turned a corner I saw it, a thin, bedraggled ill-looking grey cat. Its eyes were puffy with mucus, it’s hair was scraggly and its body was stick thin. Its ribcage moved in and out as it wailed at me with every breath, its bones sticking out with each high-pitched cry.

I crossed the road towards it, kissing my lips and rubbing my fingers together.

“Here puss puss puss,” I said in a soothing tone. “Here kitty kitty.”

I wanted it to come to me, I wanted to stroke it, to tell it everything was ok. I wanted to pick it up and take it back to my house, which was just round the corner. I wanted to give it a saucer of milk, open up a tin of tuna or give it some ham. I was taken over with a sense of guilt, I wanted to ease its pain and show it some love.

But with each step I took it moved further and further away. It slipped under a wire mesh fence and looked at me with its green eyes. It continued to howl as I continued to call at it, stroking my fingers together and making that stupid kissing sound.

And suddenly I just broke down and cried.

This may sound stupid but I saw myself in that cat that night. I was stick thin too. My ribs protruded out, my legs were like twigs. I was refusing to come to those that loved me, refusing food and help refusing to listen. I suddenly felt guilty – I knew how my family must have felt as I stood there in that pitch black alleyway. I was frustrating my family just like that cat was frustrating me.

Wiping my tears from my eyes I somehow managed the strength to stand up. I had one choice that night, to stay like I was and carry on like that cat and die, or choose to live and get better.

I chose to live.

I waved goodbye to that cat and walked away, promising myself I would try and get better. And over the next nine months I did. I ate more, I got stronger. My body filled out and I was able to run again – people in the street no longer looked at me like I should be six feet underground.

Yet not a day goes by when I don’t think about that cat and that night I knocked on death’s door. I don’t want to go back there again, no sir. But it’s hard, y’know. It’s hard to beat this demon. It’s a living nightmare.

Thanks for reading…

AC

This is incredibly tough. In fact working is probably harder for me at the minute than trying to cope with my anorexia – at least I know how to deal with it on a day-to-day basis.

When I’m at my desk, I can’t stop thinking about food. Even when I’ve eaten and I’m not hungry, I’m looking at the clock, thinking about when it’s time to eat again. I know I don’t need food, but my body doesn’t trust me that I’m not going to starve it again.

And so my heart beats faster. My eyes constantly flick down to the time on my computer. 09:40….09:41…09:42. It’s a horrible feeling but this is what this disease does to you. It’s far more than just numbers on a scale. It pervades every single part of your life.

When I hit my lowest weight of 8st I nearly died (I’ll talk about this in my next post). After realizing I didn’t want to die and that I had to stay alive, at least for my two adorable nephews, I began to ‘re-feed’ and I bulked up back to 13 stone within three months. This was incredibly frightening for me. Not only was the scales going up up up I seemed to be eating for England. I was literally gorging on food all day and all night. I’d wake up at 1am, 2am, 5am and just eat. Sugar on everything.

“Oh how well you look,” colleagues would say. “You look so much better.” Possibly the two worst things you can say to a recovering anorexic – the demon reads it as “You fat git! See, there’s a fat boy inside you and he’s come back!”

My weight leveled off and I started to stop gorging, but the fear of getting fatter and fatter remained. So I started running again. I joined a gym – and sure enough the weight started to drop off.

Today I’m about 10st 5/6 – half way between my heaviest and lowest weight. I wish I could say I was happy with this, but I’m not. My ribs show again, and I can feel my heart miss the odd beat. Although I can sit down without feeling my pelvic bones or be so cold I can’t even feel the heat (yes, one time I literally got into a scalding hot bath I was so cold and couldn’t get out so I literally boiled until I could be rescued) I fear it’s not long to go before I’m in the 9st weight range.

This is not good.

“Eat more then!” I hear you cry. “What the **** are you doing to yourself? You’ve knocked on death’s door once, you won’t be so lucky the next time!”

I know all this!

Do you think I like being tied to my scales or defined by the food I eat? I’m living a nightmare. I just want to be a healthy weight but not see my father when I look in the mirror. I want to be a healthy weight and be able to sleep for more than 1 hour without waking up and needing to pee. I want to be a healthy weight and not have legs that swell up like balloons the minute I drink more than a pint!

But more importantly I want to be a healthy weight and love myself. It’s only then that I will find someone to love me back. I’m lonely, I’m sad and I just want this pain to end.

Whether the anorexia gets me or not, who knows. All I do know is that I’m tired of this hurt and all the counseling and happy pills in the world won’t take it away.

Apologies for such a pathetically self-absorbed post today, just had to get it off my chest.

AC

There’s been loads of news written about rising levels of obesity, people are eating junk food and waistlines are expanding across the world. In response there has been the rise of the food label, which is an attempt to try and make people aware of what they’re putting in their gobs.

Unfortunately however, for an anorexic, these labels do more harm than good.

Here in the UK we have a colour coding system based on a 2,000 calorie a day diet. Green for go, Orange for careful, and red for ‘woah there fatty, watch it!’

For an anorexic this scares the hell out of us. Peanuts, cheese, chocolate, butter – all red. In our minds this means DO – NOT – EAT. Throw in the percentages of your daily allowance and couple it with the precise number of calories in the food and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

I know exactly how many calories are in so many foods. Bread, 125ml of milk, a rich tea biscuit, a handful of peanuts. So much so I went mental and only opted for foods under 100 calories – vegetables, fruit, water and diet drinks. Add to that a whole lot of exercise to burn it off and hey presto, the weight dropped off.

Rather than plastering these labels left, right and centre, perhaps more needs to be done to get people moving. Eat what you like, so long as you don’t just sit about all day. Restaurants can do their part too – stop serving plates of food of gigantic proportions!

Perhaps I’m being picky, and people like these sorts of labels. In the wrong hands however, like us with eating disorders, they are lethal.

Now don’t get me wrong, I think the NHS does a great job on a very limited budget, but over my years of suffering this demon I’ve been in and out of hospital more times than you can shake a stick at. I’ve had countless blood tests, x-rays, MRI scans, water deprivation tests, ECG’s – the works. I’ve been to accident and emergency with feet like balloons when I started ‘re-feeding’, I’ve spent the night hooked up to a heart monitor, and one time I was rushed up with a suspected stroke (turned out it was Bell’s Palsy).

Yes, I’m a walking medical miracle.

However, the nurses and doctors at the Norfolk & Norwich University Hospital aren’t used to dealing with anorexics. Not a surprise really – they’re used to physical conditions and try their best to help, but anorexia is a nasty mental illness.

So yes, this leads me on to my second point. The NHS mental health service, which again is wholly inadequate when it comes to eating disorders.

I’ve had countless appointments with head doctors to try and understand my condition. I’ve had shrinks tell me I’m clinically depressed, I have anxiety issues, I have low self esteem. I’ve been on cognitive behavioural therapy courses, I’ve been given ‘mindful thought therapy’. I’ve been given citalopram, buspar and cirtriline to try and lift my mood. I’ve been diven temazapam and zopiclone to try and help me sleep. I’ve been given oxybutinin to try and stop me waking up to pee 4/5 times in the middle of the night.

They don’t work.

Yes, I realise I’m depressed. Yes, I realise I’ve had a shitty childhood. Yes, I realise only I can change my thought patterns. Yes, I realise I can’t change the past.

But HOW!

How can I learn to move on when I’m constantly reminded of my father running out and abandoning me when I was 7 years old – because each time I look in the mirror I see him.

How can I learn to move on and forget the bullying by my stepfather when my mum won’t leave him?

How can I learn to move on and forget my ex girlfriend splitting up with me when my heart aches for her every day?

How can I learn to move on and learn to trust again when everyone I have ever loved or cared for has either abandoned me or let me down?

No amount of happy pills or medical cure will rid me of this demon. It thrives on those four thoughts above, and it’s killing me. Ever so slowly, it’s killing me.

I thought I’d start a blog about a demon that’s a very big part of my life – anorexia. It’s a demon which is so much more than just food and restrictive eating. It’s a demon which sits on my shoulder every single minute of every single hour of every single day. It defines me, my personality, my mood, my get-up-and-go. It dictates what I do, what I say and what I feel. It whispers to me, it stops me socialising and who I let into my life. Basically it’s a living nightmare which chains me to the scales or forces me into a pair of running shoes. It controls my life and I hate him.

“Oh great,” I hear you cry. “Yet another ‘woe is me blog’ spouting out a load of old drivel about how bad their life is, sod this – I’m off….”

But wait – hold on a moment there, this blog’s not aimed at garnering sympathy. It’s a way for me to get a message out, a way for me to express my feelings about a disease which afflicts thousands of people in the UK. It’s a journal of torture, yes, of pain, yes, but also a way to speak out to people and raise awareness. I want my readers, whether they have an eating disorder or not, to understand the disease a little bit more and at least give some comfort that they’re not suffering alone.

I also want to speak about eating disorders in the news – to try and quash the stereotype that they are only suffered by girls, and to make you aware of the struggle trying to cope with an eating disorder is – especially for a man. But most of all I want a record – for my family at least – to read if I should pass away. My body is severely broken and it seems like it’ll never repair itself, so should the demon win (which I fear it will, someday) I want them to know just how much I love them. I’ve put them through so much pain and I hope, through my words at least, I’ll give them some comfort that they tried their very best.

Right, enough of my morbid ramblings, I think I’ve set out my stall. So, if you’re interested, let’s crack on with Anorexic Chap and start raising awareness of this bloody demon.

Thanks for your time, and I hope you enjoy the blog.

AC.