After a few weeks consisting largely of waiting for the next drip of information from the CAMHS team who controlled my fate, the unthinkable happened. ‘Right’, I was told, ‘you are well enough to go home, see you for weighing in a week.’ I doubt I need to tell you that I didn’t miraculously get over my eating disorder at home in two weeks and live happily ever after, but without going into unpleasant details, I can tell you that a few kilos lighter, and a lot more, let’s say, ‘psychologically unhinged’ I found myself in a specialist unit with the promise of many months in-patient residence before me.

If I have painted a bleak picture so far, I apologise, but for me becoming an inpatient was a real turning point. Frankly, it would be an outright lie to claim that eating three meals with snacks every day, no negotiation , was not a daunting, horrific prospect at that time, but finally I knew I was going somewhere, even if I knew not where the road led.

For the first time in so long, I knew that I was actually understood and taken seriously, something that was incredibly liberating. For the first time, people actually wanted to understand why I had developed an eating disorder, rather than just wanting me to apply myself in pretending it wasn’t there. Regardless of my doubts over the implementation of the intensive re-feeding program, and growing obsession with reaching improbable standards in my school work, the presence of other young people who I could actually identify with and build relationships of mutual support with provided me with real hope. I always hesitate to say anorexia ‘is’ or ‘does’ because it is something which affects everyone differently , but in my case it was part of me that strove to isolate me from others, to promote a deep seated self loathing, so this empathy and companionship was the most effective weapon I could fight it with. As always, my parents were incredibly supportive, sticking with me through the darkest and most delightful of times, letting me know that I was loved. In fact if I was to suggest one simple thing which can make so, so much difference to someone with an eating disorder, it would be knowing that they were truly loved. If someone has got an eating disorder, it is always going to make life a struggle for those around them, those that they care about, and that care about them. Patience and understanding might not be the swiftest tools to suggest for tackling adversity, but it must be understood that, in most cases, like mine, an eating disorder cannot be beaten quickly or without a huge amount of effort from everyone involved.

As the scales proclaimed more and more weight gain each week, I couldn’t help feeling, while on one level happy that I was taking back my life, the crushing weight of shame. To me, my eating disorder was not strictly about weight, but regardless of this, I was still determined to punish myself for my ‘greed.’ Sadly, I had struggled with self harm for a long time, since much before my eating disorder, and since I could not reprimand myself by cutting out on food, this began to manifest badly again. But like before, this was treated with understanding, not confusion, compassion, not frustration, from everyone around me. However close to breaking point you are pushed during the course of someone’s eating disorder, it is so vital that you don’t blame or seek to punish them, as this can only feed their internal, hateful voice, and makes things a whole lot worse. I would imagine that no-one could achieve this goal all the time, considering the gargantuan stresses involved, but from my experience, a confrontational attitude, with me and my anorexia versus the doctors and my parents, would never have got me anywhere.