I’m really hesitant to post this. I feel as though I’ve been honest on my blog so far. However, that was with conditions that I’ve had for a very long time. I’ve been honest about things that I’ve had time to come to terms with. I’ve never had to deal with new problems arising and then feeling obliged to talk about it on my blog – since my blog is mental illness related, after all.
I know that nobody is forcing me to write this, or to tell anyone that I don’t want to. I just feel as though to be able to feel good about the way I’m advocating for mental health, this is what needs to be done. I’ve only told a few friends and my immediate family about this, so it’s quite a big step for me into admitting it.
Note: I’m not including pictures of my body in this post. Mainly because I know that writing about eating disorders may not trigger people, but body pictures will. I don’t want my body to be used as goals or as a dream, or even as a thing to laugh at, etc.
Last August I remember that I told my therapist I thought I had some sort of eating problem. She told me it was due to my anxiety, and it was just a way of my anxiety manifesting itself. She said once we solved what I was anxious about, it would go away. Every week she asked if I’d lost any weight, and I was still on anti-depressants at the time so of course the answer was no. I weighed 9 stone 8 pounds (137 pounds) at that time due to the anti-depressants, where as I had been under 8 stone my entire life.
I was sure that the sudden weight gain was causing the eating problems. Often I felt so guilty I would cry every time I ate something that wasn’t a vegetable or had over 150 calories. I started tracking my calories, fasting for 12+ hours at a time, only drinking tea and water. At the time, I told my best friend about it but because I didn’t believe I had an eating disorder, per say, it wasn’t really treated as one.
My weight back then was in no way overweight. However, when I looked it up on BMI calculators, I was dangerously close to the ‘orange overweight zone’ and that scared me. I had been tiny all my life, and that’s not due to me not eating. I’m lucky enough to have been born with a really fast metabolism, and just naturally skinny genes. When I say lucky, it’s because for most of my life, skinny has been considered lucky. Not because I necessarily believe that now.
When I got discharged from therapy in January 2018, they also took me off of the anti-depressants. I knew I would lose weight, I just wasn’t sure how much. I told my therapist in my last therapy session that I thought once I was off the anti-depressants and started to lose weight a little bit, I’d be fine again. She advised me to not focus on that side effect of the anti-depressants, and instead focus on whether I still feel happy or not. Then she told me to stop tracking calories, stop writing down what I ate, and to stop fasting.
I went to America to visit my boyfriend for the first time after that, so I forgot about everything. I didn’t eat much in America, and I think that largely contributed to how much weight I lost. It was a very quick weight loss, and a lot of weight. I weighed 9.7 stone (133 lbs) before I went to America. When I got back I weighed 9 stone (126 lbs) exactly. 7 pounds in 7 (or 8, roughly) days.
After that it just continued to spiral downhill. I wasn’t ever hungry, because the anti-depressants had been controlling my appetite for so long. I hardly ate during the day, only a couple of snacks. I’d eat maybe half of my dinner with my family at night. That’s pretty much it. It wasn’t nutritious either, so my skin and my overall physical symptoms started getting worse. I started being really tired all the time, feeling faint or losing my breath quickly, headaches, you name it.
I was losing weight though. By March, only 3 months after coming off anti-depressants, I weighed 7.10 stone (108lbs). A total loss of 38 pounds roughly. Scary amounts of weight. Then I started getting the pains. I can’t tell you what the pain is because as I’m writing this, I’m still under investigation to find out what it is. After I ate, I just got the worse pain imaginable. This then obviously contributed to the cycle: Lose mass amounts of weight, feel good about myself, don’t eat because I feel good about myself, no pain.
That’s pretty much where we are now. I got dangerously close to the lower end of 7 stone (98 pounds) in May 2018 and I actually ended up in hospital for the digestive pain I’ve been getting. This made it worse for me, because now I’m always scared about eating. I eat a lot more than I used to, but it’s never really healthy stuff.
I just eat things to get me through the day and to stop feeling hungry. If I eat when I’m not absolutely starving, I feel guilty. If I eat and get the pain afterwards, it just spurs it on more. My therapist is slowly helping me to get through it, but she said it’ll probably correlate directly with getting a diagnosis for the pains. Once I get a diagnosis and/or treatment, the fear of eating will go away, etc etc.
Right now I weigh 7.9 stone (107 lbs) and that is considered healthy for my height, I believe. I also feel confident at this weight. It is considered slightly on the lower side of things, but I’m naturally that way anyway. It was hard for me to accept that I have an eating disorder. I guess I stereotyped eating disorders, in a way.
They aren’t just anorexia and bulimia. It can come in many forms, and disordered eating can quickly escalate into something you never wanted it to be. I’m scared to admit it because I don’t fit into the typical categories. I’m not deathly underweight. I don’t hide my body all of the time, and sometimes I even love myself. I hope that one day I can love myself all the time.