About Me

A bit (actually a lot, sorry this is so long )about me and how I've come to be where I am now. This may all be a bit boring as nothing dramatic has really happened that "made" me sick. Sometimes things just happen for no particular reason.

I have always been a high achiever at school. I guess that's how I think of myself now and also back when I was younger. I got high marks at high school and received various awards. I liked doing well at school, and my focus to make sure I got good grades, get a high mark for the HSC (entry score for university). I did have friends (of people who I would sit with at school), but I wouldn't say I had any good friends. At the same time, I didn't really feel the need to have close friendships, although I have never had any close relationships with anyone, so in a way, there was nothing to miss. 

Looking back, school and studies were basically my identity. It's what I was known for and it suite me fine. I didn't have any issues with eating during my teens but I think there was a period when I was about 15 where I first experienced depression as I remember just crying a lot for no reason and I also started self harming around that time (which couldn't have been a normal thing to do, but at the time, I honestly didn't think anything was wrong). 

If I had to pinpoint a time when the eating disorder started, it would probably at the end of high school. I suppose it's almost the typical case of a period of change and uncertainty about what I'm going to do now that the routine of school was over and the need for control in my life. Although it didn't seem to start out like that. I remember the year of my 18th birthday, I was home alone as my parents had to attend a funeral overseas (I didn't really mind that they weren't there as our family has never been very close). One of my school friends had made me a birthday cake for me to take home. It's such a long time ago so I don't really remember the exact details, but I remember having some of the cake, and then for some reason, I had more of it, and more of it until I had the whole cake. I don't remember whether I felt physically sick or not (I probably did a bit), but I think I did feel some sort of guilt. And that's when I first tried purging. To be honest, it was almost as if I was curious to see if I could make myself sick. So I tried it and it wasn't that hard. In a nutshell, that's how it started. 

It wasn't anything too drastic to begin with (it never is at the beginning), probably just purging a occasionally, sometimes after feeling I've eaten a bit too much. And then I suppose the restricting probably slowly crept in after that. I don't think I had any intention of losing weight (I was normal on the slim side to begin with), but it just became a habit that, as habits go, got harder and harder to break. I still remember bits and pieces of what I did before I even realised that something was wrong: I would have had dinner with the family, but afterwards, I'd be eating a few bowls of cereal and some chips of something, and then I'd take a book or my laptop and go to the bathroom (it was winter and there was a heater in the bathroom) and "pretend" to just read or be on the computer, while I'd purge. Another funny habit I had was drinking flavoured milk. We would get the multipack poppers (e.g. chocolate milk), but rather than just drinking the one, I would pour a bit into a glass and top it up with skim milk, and I'd keep doing this, drinking several glasses of "diluted" flavoured milk until I finished the popper (back then I didn't know what calories were and didn't think drinks counted haha). It's funny that my family didn't really catch on. But like I mentioned, we weren't really close and everyone sort of did there own thing.

After about a year or so, the restricting/bingeing/purging became more regular, I lost some weight, became more obsessive with food and food related things (recipes, cooking, diets etc.). I started looking up about eating disorders and saw that I had the signs and symptoms for it. And one day, I just ended up telling my Dad about it. It was probably one of the most difficult and awkward things I have had to do since like I said, we are not the sort of family who were opened to each other. And throughout my illness and recovery, when I have not been in the best state of mind, I have often regret having told anyone about it, instead wishing that I had left it and let it get worse. But mostly, I'm glad I did say something, because there have been good things in my life that have come out of choosing to face my eating disorder.

The first time, I went to my GP and was referred to a psychiatrist who specialised in eating disorders (actually I think he specialised in child psychiatry, but saw a number of ED patients). He had some connection with a clinic which had an inpatient ED program and referred me to the program. And that's how I began my treatment for anorexia. 

At first, I was quite naive about the whole thing and like the majority of society probably, didn't know the seriousness of eating disorders. I thought that I would go into hospital, put some weight on, come out, and be recovered (if only ;) ). The whole inpatient experience was so new and basically a shock to me. Not only in terms of the food (3 meals and 3 snacks a day, WTF!), but also in terms of how unwell some of the other girls were. I remember one time, early in my stay, one of the other inpatients came into my room and asked me if she could use my room sometimes to exercise because she wasn't allowed to and the nurses wouldn't know if she was doing it in my room. I honestly didn't know what to say, I was shocked at the "strange" request as well as the desperation she expressed. In the end I said no, as it was a pretty awkward situation to me. 

Physically, my first inpatient stay wasn't that bad. It almost seemed like going to school and I acted like the good student that I was good at being, did what I was supposed to, which pleased my doctor, the nurses and my parents. 

After my 8-week stay, I came out on the lower end of a healthy weight, and honestly thought I was "fixed". Problem solved. 

I guess it's not as simple as that. I don't really remember too much about the next few year, just bits and pieces. At first, I was probably fine, following the meal plan, almost enjoying the novelty of the experience (I did say I was naive about the whole situation), but then after a few months, eating disorder behaviours started creeping back in and I was admitted again.

This process sort of repeated itself over the next few years. But instead of helping, in a way, it made it worse. A lot of the time, I wonder if I would have been better off doing outpatient treatment from the beginning. Because the more times I went back in, the more ED focused I became. Being surrounded by eating disorders all the time (both in terms of behaviours from some of the other patients and in terms of just therapy revolving around ED) in a way did more harm than good. 

On a side note, during this time, I started uni and did some part time work (including my current supermarket job, which weirdly I have come to enjoy). I did well at my studies, though had to defer several semester in order to go into treatment on a number of occasions. I also considered changing my degree/career path multiple times. I did finish my degree eventually, though it took me twice as long when I finally graduated in 2012. Nevertheless, I'm glad I stuck it out and I am proud of my achievements at university.

Looking back on the years in and out of hospital, there were definitely times where I just wanted it all to end.  I never deliberately attempted to end my life, but I did get worse enough in my anorexia to get close to it. At times, even now, when I'm struggling with both ED and/or depression thoughts, I do wish that I didn't call for help on that one occasion when my anorexia was at its worst. But I know that that would not have been the solution, and if it all ended, there would be no chance of experiencing the good things that life is worth living for. I have had glimpses of these things more recently and hold the hope that recovery will allow me to find enjoyment in the things I do and experience the good and not always good (I'm still realistic ;) ) things that life has to offer.

(If you've read this far, thank you. Hopefully this wasn't too long winded and dull. If you have questions or other thoughts, please feel free to let me know)