What started as a coping technique, a way for me to have some control has turned into a major problem. I didn’t choose to starve myself, it just happened and now I am afraid it’s taking over my life.
I started reading a book last night, one I had bought from the charity shop a few weeks ago. Reading is and has always been one of my greatest loves, there’s something about books that works as therapy for me.
When you’re reading something you just can’t put down, you’re able to get lost into the words and the storyline and for that hour or two able to forget about your own problems.
But this book didn’t do that
The book forced me to stop and think, it then left me feeling guilty and somewhat afraid.
The book was written by a woman who had suffered from anorexia and it was her true story about her battle and her recovery.
While the book is supposed to be inspiring it caused an unsettle feeling. It touched a nerve, a raw one.
I don’t speak much about my eating habits, the secret isn’t as much a secret, and just something I don’t discuss or talk about in any great detail.
I am writing this blog post not even knowing if I will publish it to the blog; I just felt the need to write about it. That way it’s no longer a secret and I am taking that very first step in finally admitting I have a problem, rather a huge problem.
I have a fear of gaining weight. I have a fear of food.
I don’t remember when it started, but I am scared of how it will end.
The girl in the book ate an apple, a banana and half a bowl of cereal each day.
This scared me, I don’t each as much as her
I am not anorexic, although one of the GP’s at my local surgery suggested I go to an eating disorder clinic.
I don’t hate my body, I don’t look at it and think I dislike it as such, but I do find myself pinching the fat on my stomach when I sit down and that disgusts me. I also have noticed more fat on the tops of my thighs and that’s frightening me.
The CPN suggested I join the gym, I explained my good friend goes and has asked me to tag alone, exercise is good for mental health, that was my excuse. I was too afraid to tell him that I am still not eating and the gym would become an addiction.
I don’t own a pair of scales anymore as I became obsessed if I the dial went over 7 stone.
I have weighed between 7 and 7.5 stone since the age of 13, I am now 35. I have never lost much weight at a time and I have been able to maintain my weight, even during pregnancy.
I have had 6 children and everyone comments how amazing I look, is this part of the problem? My weight earns me praise from others.
It has become so bad that I was not able to eat a normal 2 slice of bread sandwich, the moment the bread touched my lips I began to gag.
My friend sat watching me horrified and looked towards my husband for some kind of help. He could do nothing. This is what I have become.
It is definitely about control, food is the only thing in my life that I have full control over.
Some days, weeks are better than others. When stressed I refuse food, when in a low mood I don’t eat, I pick at bits, half a biscuit here a square of chocolate there.
I can enjoy a MacDonald’s with a friend but that will fill me for the next 2 days.
The kids know that mum doesn’t eat
“Do you want to die” my 15-year-old asked me
How can I answer her?
If I sit on my husband’s knee he complains of my boney bits digging into him.
“Mum what’s that?” my 10-year-old son asked, pointing with a disgusting look on his face. He was referring to the prominent thigh bone sticking out under my jeans.
I don’t show much of my body, I try to cover up, and even in the sun you will see me in long sleeve baggy tops. My chest is another major issue to me, or the fact I don’t have one, it leaves me feeling unfeminine.
Of course nobody would know as I buy bras that make me look as if I have something. Being skinny is what gets me the praise, I am making others want something that I have, when inside I am lonely and alone with my battle and fear.
I had all my hair but off last week, anything to take the attention away from my body, people can now comment on the short hair.
I try to eat away from others, so they are not watching me, it gives me a chance to tip the food into the bottom of the bin and cover it, then remember to leave a few bits on my plate.
I have got away with it for so long, but now they know.
The husband treated us all to a chip shop tea yesterday, I managed to eat 7 chips, that and a Double Decker chocolate bar was what I had eaten all day and I felt sick and full.
I didn’t choose to starve myself
It’s not that I don’t like food, I do, I think.
I am a picky eater and I don’t know what my favourite meal is, perhaps I don’t like food much after all. I never fancy anything, could just eat something, like I hear others talking about.
My diet consists of a bar of galaxy chocolate each day; I can do this for weeks.
I do smoke and I do drink at least 12 cups of tea each day, I find the tea fills me so I don’t feel hungry. The smoking is used when I do feel hungry; I compensate a meal with a cigarette.
I used to think I controlled food but the truth is it’s now controlling me and I am afraid.
I didn’t choose to starve myself; I can’t even remember how or when all this started.
When things go wrong I push my body to the limit, it’s a way punishing myself, not eating is my punishment. I feel better if I don’t eat.
I don’t want to battle with another issue. Perhaps it will go away on its own. I know it won’t, who am I kidding? It’s a problem but one that’s helping me.
Is it self-harm or do I have an eating disorder? I don’t know.
I wish I had never bought that damn book.