My personal battle and recovery from anorexia nervosa

This post will be primarily a testimony of my battle and full recovery of the life-threatening illness, anorexia nervosa, which I suffered from between the ages of 10 and 15. My wish is to inform people about this disease and perhaps give hope of recovery to those suffering from it.

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What exactly is Anorexia Nervosa?

Anorexia nervosa is a serious eating disorder that results in unhealthy, often dangerous weight loss. While it is most common among adolescent women, anorexia can affect women and men of all ages and is characterized by a refusal to maintain a healthy body weight, an intense fear of gaining weight, and a distorted body image. www.helpguide.org

People with anorexia see themselves as overweight and have an intense fear of gaining weight or becoming fat. Their perception often contradicts reality, as some continue to restrict even though they are dangerously thin. The process of restricting becomes a preoccupation and is often obsessive in nature. Individuals may spend a lot of time thinking about their body, or foods, and ways to restrict and lose weight. They may develop unusual eating habits such as avoiding what they perceive as high caloric food and meals, picking out a few foods and eating only these in small quantities, or carefully weighing and portioning food. People with anorexia may repeatedly check their body weight and many engage in other techniques to control their weight, such as intense and compulsive exercise or abuse of laxatives, enemas, and diuretics. Girls with anorexia often experience a delayed onset of their first menstrual period or amenorrhea (absence of menstrual periods).

Eating disorders frequently co-occur with other psychiatric disorders, such as depression, substance abuse, anxiety disorders, and borderline personality disorder. In addition, people who suffer from eating disorders can experience a wide range of physical health complications, such as loss of bone mineral density, anemia, including serious heart conditions and kidney failure, that may lead to death. Recognition of eating disorders as real and treatable diseases, therefore, is critically important. - Psychology Today

A review of nearly fifty years of research confirms that anorexia nervosa has the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric disorder (Arcelus, Mitchel, Wales & Nelson, 2011) Eatingdisorderhope.com

As you can see, anorexia nervosa is a serious and possibly deathly mental condition...

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My Story (this is a personal and entirely honest testimony):

My battle with anorexia originated at the age of about 10. I was living in England with both my parents but I was becoming increasingly concerned about the shape and size of my body, which I considered "too fat" - especially my stomach - despite being naturally slim - and almost every evening I'd look at my body naked in the mirror and I'd complain and feel bad about how I looked, I wasn't happy with my body and I wanted it to change.

I began "restricting" (food intake, fat and calories) around that age too, it all commenced rather insidiously and nobody noticed that I could possibly be suffering from a severe psychological condition. Back then at the age of 10 it wasn't that obvious though that I could be suffering from an eating disorder, but things quickly escalated when we moved to France 2 years later. From the age of 10 to 12 I was counting calories and fat on all food packaging and often I'd skip dinner or give it to one of my yonger siblings and whenever I could I'd "cheat" (get away with eating less or eating diet foods without getting caught). At school I would often compare myself to others girls, including my best school friend at the time who was naturally very slim but nevertheless healthy.

I felt rather ashamed of the whole process (of wanting to be thinner and desperately "dieting") but it was more powerful than myself and I NEEDED to be in control, while everything around me was slowly crumbling down - my dad was suffering from severe depression, my parents decided to move to France for a "new start", they soon after separated, my dad went back to England and shortly after got diagnosed with leukaemia, and I was suffering from bullying in a foreign school in a foreign country with a foreign culture and language that I didn't know a word of. As you can see, it was total chaos, inside and out.

With all this going on, I was given an even bigger opportunity to control my food intake and get thinner and thinner until the age of about 13 when it finally got officially noticed (and diagnosed) and I was sent to hospital for 2 months. Before this though, at the age of 12 in France, I remember idolizing this girl in my class who was the "thinnest girl I'd ever seen" - she was also top of the class and the funny thing is, she was eating normally meanwhile I definitely wasn't. Basically, I envied her in many ways and my body needed to be like hers, whatever it took. I often observed her body in class and during sport, it had become truly pathological. I had a specific image in my head of how I wanted my body to be (stick-thin and like hers) and I was determined to succeed. In hindsight, her body was probably not as thin as I imagined, but my mind was already distorted and I was entirely obsessed so it didn't matter at that point; all I knew is that I had to loose more weight and so the nightmare continued...

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After school I would go for a run and after meals I would systematically hide away and do aerobic exercises to burn extra calories. I would also hide food at the dinner table while my mum's back was turned (she didn't really know what was going on but she was cross at me for not eating and it frustrated her a lot so I had to keep it a big secret). The illness had well and truly taken over and it seemed that there was no going back at this point, I was too deep in. I felt very isolated, the only "support" I had was my diary and music. Nobody understood and it appeared to me that nobody cared either. As I got increasingly thin I would wear big, baggy clothes to cover up my emaciated figure and I was constantly cold, even in summer, due to not eating enough. My body was slowly and seriously deteriorating whereas my mind had already for a while now. I didn't know what to do, my body still wasn't the way I wanted it to be, it wasn't "perfect", and I wasn't getting the attention I secretly craved, it felt like I had no choice but to carry on...

Summer was on its way and we decided to spend it in England - "yay!" I thought, I'd be able to see my two best long-lost friends. I was rather excited to be going back to England for the summer holidays as in France I was struggling a lot at school and I had no friends, I was a total outsider, and I was even the victim of racist remarks and bullying...

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In England I felt a bit better and less alone - my friends were there after all and I was able to speak and communicate in my mother tongue, but I was still suffering from anorexia and it was only going from bad to worse. I'd weigh myself after each and every meal and if I'd put on even a gram I'd have to pursue my efforts of losing weight even more - I couldn't help it; I was drowning in the condition and there was no way out (at least I thought at the time). I also hated to be looked at, I refused to have my photo taken too, I was truly ashamed of my body and myself in general at that point.

One day we decided as a family, and with the company of my two best friends, to go on an outing at the park. It was a hot sunny day and in order to not appear weird I gathered that I'd need to put on some suitable clothing - ie summer clothes and not my habitual thick, baggy jumpers and large jogging bottoms. That day, my mum noticed just how thin I really was, she was under shock and couldn't accept it so the next day she decided to call our old family doctor. Before I knew it, two nurses had arrived at my grandma's house where we were staying and after checking out my body and weight - I weighed at that time 32 kilos/5 stone/70 pounds for 1m60 with a BMI of about 12,5... things were undoubtedly critical. They even told me that if I didn't go to hospital I'd be dead within a week. One of the nurses asked me to draw a picture of my own body, the way I saw it. I drew a picture of a totally average-sized girl when in reality I was emaciated, all my bones were showing, even my muscle tissue was being eaten away they later told me... I didn't know what to think, but it was only at that point that I finally saw that there was a serious problem and that I probably needed medical help, especially after hearing that I might soon die. Just after, I was escorted away in an ambulance to the general hospital...

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I stayed two full months at the hospital. Every day I'd get 3 good-sized meals plus 3 protein and fat enriched milkshakes. I wasn't allowed to leave my bedroom in order to not burn "extra calories" and all diet foods were strictly forbidden including mirrors and I wasn't even allowed to go to the toilets alone (they were afraid that I'd make myself vomit). Once I was caught doing some aerobic activities in my bedroom, having carefully closed the curtains beforehand, but a nurse came in right in the middle of me doing my jumping jacks and I got into big trouble. That was the last time I tried doing that... at the hospital at least. From time to time I was allowed out in a wheelchair for a little outing around the hospital. Otherwise, I was stuck in my bedroom but thankfully I got almost daily visits from my friends and family and I had plenty of reading material as well as my much-loved diary...

At times I wouldn't "cooperate" though; as in I wouldn't eat all the food that was put on my plate - I found it so unfair: "This is my body, and I decide what I consume" I would sometimes proclaim... pointlessly. When I did that they'd threaten me that if I didn't eat, they'd have to put a tube through my nose and straight into my stomach in order to feed me (and ultimately fatten me up) so that calmed me down... So I tried to cooperate as best as I could, eating at least half of every meal. The nurses were very supportive and caring though, thankfully they were there to listen to me because I wasn't, unfortunately, able to see a psychiatrist, let alone a psychologist or specialist in the disorder... I'm sure that if I could have seen a mental health professional that my recovery would have been a lot faster.

Two months later I must have put on about 6 kilos and they let me out as I was finally eating somewhat normally. I did feel relatively better but I hadn't yet recovered, the rest I had to do by myself and over time... and I was determined in getting better and finding a (finally!) normal weight and figure. Shortly after we went back to France and things started to slowly fall into place... I guess, in hindsight, that I'd finally gotten the attention I secretly craved all that time and I was finally able to accept my body as it was and eat properly (at least compared to before), so things were definitely looking up, at last.

Then one fine day (I've always been into introspection and self-help), I suddenly had an epiphany: all this "dieting" and controlling my food intake and weight was a complete pathological OBSESSION and with that I decisively chose to stop obsessing about it which included stopping writing my daily calorie intake in my diary, stopping staring at myself in the mirror, stopping trying to be like that girl in my class, stopping OBSESSING. I finally wanted my body to look like a woman's; I wanted to look desirable in the eyes of a boy/man (I had never had a boyfriend) and I wanted to get on with my life and stop letting this illness take over my life. From that day onwards things became much clearer in my mind and I was finally accepting my body and I no longer desired to be thin. Progressively, over about 2 years I got better and better and now and since about 2008 I have entirely recovered and I am truly thankful. Hope exists, recovery is possible, I'm the living evidence, as well as many other survivors who I admire. Having anorexia did obviously harm my body though (muscle tissue loss, my periods still hadn't commenced at the age of 15, I was considerably shorter than the rest of my family and still am, my boobs never fully developed...!). But I am alive and have truly recovered and that's all that matters now.

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Conclusion:

Anorexia nervosa and all mental illnesses are real and must be taken seriously and if possible, sooner rather than later, I couldn't stress that enough. If you're concerned about your child or a friend or family member then please help them get professional help because there's so much shame, behind eating disorders especially, that the person suffering isn't necessarily going to look for help themselves; they may not even realize (like it was the case for me at the beginning) that they are suffering from a condition. So please reach out and help those you care about before it gets too late! I was thankfully saved (a little late I must admit but not too late) and I have now (and for the past 10 years or so) recovered entirely... not once have I gone back and I don't ever intend to - besides, I've got other mental illnesses to deal with now... Lol! (I was trying to be humorous but it's actually true).

And if you are suffering from anorexia or any other mental illness then please, I beg you, ask for help/support. People DO care even if you may not see it - the thing is, because there's so much shame associated with this illness as well as bulimia nervosa, sufferers often try and hide their symptoms (as I experienced myself) - and that's possibly why you may not be getting the help and attention you need, so please be courageous and talk about it with someone close and/or a doctor, because your life matters and you deserve to be happy and healthy and recovery is possible!

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