” No I am not leaving until you give me what I came here for”

” No I am not leaving until you give me what I came here for”

There are a variety of different contexts this statement can be used in. In this context, I was a 15 year old girl just under 9 stone if that; sitting in a doctors office surrounded by all his framed merits and accolades. Perfect family pictures

” I can’t give you what you ask for.Sorry but that is it”

I screamed abuse at the doctor. Tell him I am fat. Is he blind? put on your glasses old man. He has to help me. I need strong diet pills and diuretics.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for. “

This went on for a good hour. I put up a good dramatic performance, tears, savage cries, pleas,  threats to take my life.

Until he finally gave in. My Mum paid for him. We left -me with a sense of achievement and happiness. I was finally going to be thin.

I would sit in my grandma’s room and look in her massive mirror, with my crappy eyesight and look at my body, pinch the fat I was convinced was on me.

Can’t a doctor get down for bad ethical practice?  Come on, I was born in Africa. The right leverage and price buy you a lot.

My Mum was into her reiki and doing a bit of weed and finding herself. She got pissed off and gave in. Just like she always did.  I wore her down.

I’ve never been able to fully shake off my eating disorder. I’ve stopped the laxatives. The heating up 2 mushrooms and drinking loads of Pepsi max and other tricks I learnt to stave off in my anorexia journey. I don’t want to give any vulnerable people all the tricks. I don’t want anyone to copy these behaviours..

All the hospitals I have been in. Sectioned against my will.  The rage. The anger. The weight may come back on me, but this beast: it lives inside me. It is like a tumour or a cyst that won’t go away. to cut it out would cause it to spread and I would die.

Oh, I have wanted to die many times.

Until

I made a pact with life.

I was going to try it out properly.

Like an average person.

Whatever or whoever is average.

I love my daughter and partner and Mum and I have so many opportunities coming up and January is not even over yet. Yet, I confess I have to weigh myself every day. I can’t help but get giddy when the scales show me at a lower figure. In fact it is one of the biggest triggers in my illness. 

Lose a couple of kilos and then the chase is on. It’s time to beat these numbers and watch them disappear until I’m feeling bone everywhere. Jutted out hip bones, a hanger like a collar bone with my big head attached. Knee knocking until I am bruised. Loose clothes…

I hate it when I have gone too far….. I live every day with this illness- this maladie. This puss filled abysses.

I wish I didn’t care about my weight. I wish I could allow myself to eat pasta and chips and pizza and pie and cake and all the yummy foods there are to eat. Maybe when I hit 50 and realise I’ve  wasted so many years in my quest to look like a hung scrawny wire coat hanger.

I know sexiness and true beauty comes from within. The emaciated look is not attractive to me.

Addictive , yes.

Here’s a snapshot of how me- a recovering chronic anorexic mind works… I put on weight in June 2015 , whilst on detox I may add. I hated the fact the scales went up to 10 stone -65 kilos. I somehow managed to live with it. The exercise was my saving grace and being told I am beautiful and sexy by my partner many times a day. Plenty ‘I Love yous’

After Christmas, I suddenly lost weight. I stood on my scales this morning and I am 59.

That is meant to be my goal weight. I need to fit into my wedding dress after all. Alas, that is not enough for my dismay. That snide critter plugs me in and sends dopamine chemicals of euphoria around my brain. Fires me up. If I can lose x amount of weight. I can push it down even lower…

This is the torment. Then the iron will and battle again hunger starts. The reduction on food starts.

This is a deadly game.

I don’t want to be a part of it. I scream. Eating disorders run in families -well at least they do in mine. I have a 4-year-old perfectly proportioned child, I don’t want to pass on this to her.

I have to keep on fighting and fight I shall. I wanted anorexia so much when I was younger. I’m 35 now. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to go to the hospital again. I want to be happy with what I have.

The hardest bit is I have a couple of close friends who are seriously overweight but I love them so much. I see past their weight

Why can’t I do the same with me?