31. I never told you this, but..

I started having food problems when I was 16. That would be the official start, the day I began to throw up my meals, but my distorted unhappy unhealthy attitude to food goes way back to being a chubby child who ate too much and was teased for it, was never fancied by anyone and felt like I had let my parents down.

Once I had put my fingers down my throat the first time, I was addicted. It was a way I could be secret about hating myself. Anorexia was too obvious. If I didn't eat at the family table they would ask questions. If I ate and appeared normal, but went to the loo and puked it up and reappeared; this was OK. Between that first time and 22 when the worst of it ended, I had periods where I would eat 7 or 8 times a day and self induce vomiting every time. I learnt where was best to position my fingers, what foods didn't come up as easily, the best way to get rid of the smell, how to cover up if you got sussed. And all the time, in total secrecy. Most of the time bulimics don't change shape much. I don't think I did it to be thin, I did it because it was horrible. So many reasons. It was firstly a horrible feeling, and does damage to your teeth, throat, stomach, mood and hormones. Secondly it was unpleasant because I never could enjoy eating; I had to eat in a controlled way to ensure I could bring it all up again, and I never tasted anything, it was just mechanical. And once it was out of my stomach and into the toilet, I was left feeling hollow and starving until it was time to eat again. This meant I was weak, tired, hungry and ashamed most of the time. If the food didn't come up because either my throat was too tight or there wasn't a chance to use the toilet, particularly in public, I would go into deep panic. I could feel the calories being absorbed and turning to fat and I would not be able to think of anything else. I would feel that on top of everything else I failed at, I had failed at being bulimic that day. It was a terrible feeling. I learnt to only eat when I knew guaranteed I could be sick. I began to hate my family for not realising what was going on, even though I designed it all so they wouldn't know. It was at it's worst on family holidays, in Japan, when I worked at the BBC, when I lived in Antwerp and on and off during living in Oxford, and Brighton and in Camberwell.

Mixed in with the fixation of needing to be sick were times when I would not eat at all. Or be obsessed with exercise. It would only take one person to say I was looking good these days, a passing comment, and it would mean I felt compelled to lose more and more weight so that people would keep saying it. In Sweden I starved myself to tears. I also had extended periods like when I was a Nanny where I was so lost in my complex and awful schemes of self despising that I was eat the same about of binge food as I ate when I would be planning to be sick, and then instead of letting myself have the relief of throwing it up, I would purposely deny myself that and force myself to live with the ever increasing weight as a punishment for how horrible I thought I was. I would eat in secret, and then sit on my hands so I couldn't go and lock myself in the bathroom and bring up everything until my stomach was empty and all I could taste was bile.


The feeling of wanting to be sick after eating too much or too many bad things or in times of big anxiety doesn't go away; apparently for most people if you've had eating problems it never does. I get the urge far less often, once every few months rather than hours. But instead of acting on it, I have learnt to reason with it. To be my friend, not my enemy. It took a very long time to change my life. I've still never talked to anyone about it, not even doctors. This, and a number of other things, still feel far too shameful to discuss.

Writing this made me realise just how repressed so much of my past is: tip of the iceberg. Repression is a coping skill; not a sustainable one, but one that lets you function in the short term at least. But now is when this stuff has to come out and breathe and leave.

I don't want to be unwell any more.