"I am now 31, and have been struggling with intense bulimia or anorexia for about three years. I had a brief period of anorexia and bulimia when I was about 14, but my present difficulties were initiated by the break up of a long-term relationship when I was 28.

Throughout my education and work life, what now expresses itself through the eating disorder was being played out in other ways - drugs, drink, gambling, sex, obsessive study, obsessive pursuit of arbitrary goals, intense self-criticism and judgment. These were bad coping mechanisms, but otherwise I had mostly had a happy and fulfilling life. I maintained strong relationships, was socially confident, achieved well in my studies and progressed well at work - although I always hated the jobs I did. I started a long-term relationship when I was 20 that would last 8 years, and strayed into a career path that qualified me to become a financial adviser; but, hating the whole industry, I went back to university to study something interesting, and graduated with first class honors. I then applied to do a master’s degree, and it was in the intervening period that the eating disorder developed, which robbed me of most of my achievements in life.

When I finished my BA, I was in a job I loathed, waiting to start my MA. My relationship was troubled, and - an anxious mind with no immediate occupation – I began to obsess about diet and health. I learnt about nutrition and the science behind exercise and body composition, and decided to try and lose fat while gaining muscle. By the time the MA started, I was exercising hard, working full time, and was increasingly anxious about the relationship. I was constantly exhausted and often unwell, and after a few months something had to give, so I postponed my studies for a year with the view of saving up enough to go part time next year.  

I’ve never been one for Christmas, but the Christmas of 2005 was being attended by certain family members I didn’t get on with. This, plus the mixture of tedium, alcohol and high calorie food made the prospect of Christmas with the family very unattractive, so I decided to stay on my own. What I didn’t realise was that my relationship would pretty much fall apart just days before, and being alone would prove intolerable. My mother, bless her, wanted to make sure I had every conceivable food luxury for the day, while I’d received chocolates and bottles of wine and the like from friends and colleagues. On Christmas Eve, beside myself with worry about the relationship, unable to distract myself with crap TV, I ended up drinking and eating until I was so full I couldn’t move. I woke up appalled at myself, and with a great need to make up for it I spent most of Christmas day trying to burn those calories. I starved my way through 2 hours of intense weights and resistance exercise, and then about 6 hours of vigorous walking. I had given myself a cold, harsh, miserable, lonely Christmas day, and returning home, still worried about the calories I’d consumed, and unwilling even to ad milk to my tea. Pretty soon, I just gave in and binged. There was no way I was going to punish myself with exercise and starvation again so I decided to make myself puke even though I hadn’t done it for years and had never been very good at it.

I vomited what I could, but soon felt very weak and shaky and was at the fridge again. I spent the rest of Christmas 2005 bingeing and purging everything in sight, eating a massive block of cheese like it was an apple, eating so rapidly and animalistically I didn’t care much for how I would feel after. On awaking, though, I worried obsessively about how much my body absorbed from the binge, and the bulimic pattern begun. The vomiting felt like a friend who came to the rescue, but one who could only achieve so much, so I wouldn’t call upon them too often – only to take the edge off the a binge I was going to have anyway – a form of damage limitation.