It is difficult to express in words how suffering from Anorexia has altered my view of the world, the person I aspire to be, the values and ideals that I hold dear. Thinking back 18 months, a relatively short length of time, the ‘me’ that I remember is a thousand times more naive, with very little idea of how deeply tragic, but also incredibly beautiful, life can be.

I can remember now the very first time a doctor told me that I had anorexia, informing me that, I was to become a hospital in-patient. In a way they had spoken aloud an awful truth which had been lurking in my mind for quite a while, resolutely refusing to show itself in the light of day. A cocktail of conflicting emotions whirled through my mind, terror, guilt, but simultaneously, a palpable sense of relief. It was as if an internal statement which I had long accepted as true was finally in doubt, perhaps I was not a broken person after all, perhaps I was not alone. After that, the revelations came thick and fast, a choking miasma of things I never imagined I would hear. Drowning in a sea of confusion and unhelpful pleas - why couldn’t I just eat? What I needed more than anything else was someone to throw me a lifeline. Sadly, as the much referred to magic wand eluded us all, and the very individuals claiming to be experts, the CAMHS specialists, were unwilling to do anything but worsen things with their repetitive lectures about fight or flight instincts and use of shock tactics, one single thing gave me the strength to avoid total collapse.

I cannot emphasise enough the precious worth of some simple words of support from my parents, their comforting presence at my side through this most turbulent of times. The most simple acts, buying me a card, trying to understand how I was actually feeling rather than telling me how I was feeling, were worth more than anything at that time. But as the days spent furiously straining over crossword puzzles and scrabble boards in an effort to ward off desperation drifted by, with no hint of any salvation save endless pleas that I just eat, we had no idea what the future held. Why couldn’t the hospital staff understand that this wasn’t about being hungry or awkward, but that the chastising voice inside my head, tirelessly pushing me towards self destruction, could conjure up a hundred reasons why I was too much of a selfish, greedy piece of scum to eat anything.