This is a post I've wanted to write for a while, even as far back as the beginning of Walking by 2013, but have refrained from doing so because the subject is rather sensitive and touches many of my nerves, let alone anyone else's. However, with the resurgence of some physical discomfort yesterday (and the fact that it has completely disappeared again today) I'm reminded of the huge importance of talking about the particular issue, and would be very grateful if you gave this a proper read in spite of its length.
That said, I think this is also my first post to be labelled with a trigger warning, so I am going to contradict myself and warn you that you should probably not read any further if you find it uncomfortable, or have problems, talking or reading about food, eating, or any of the mental health issues related to these topics.
If you're still here, thanks, and it's time for me to be brave.
I have had a complicated relationship with food since about 2005, when I was fourteen and fifteen. More specifically, I have had disordered eating, which I first developed as a response to being told that I was 'too heavy to transfer' (i.e. to stand up and be supported when moving from my chair). Despite the fact that I now know this was not true, because I have never weighed more than about 45kg, at the time I was terrified at the prospect of losing one of my most prized abilities. I didn't think I was fat, so it wasn't exactly body dysmorphia, but I was desperate to lose weight in a bid to stay thin enough to do transfers. Also around this time, I wasn't feeling academically challenged or getting enough physio at school now that I was in one of the the senior houses, and I was incredibly homesick and worried about my physical state. Then in 2006, having lost friends since the age of ten, I lost another (Lauren, who I wrote about a few posts back).
(That last paragraph isn't a catalogue of misfortunes, but an acknowledgement of the build up of various factors, as well as that, although I did not know it then, I was teetering on the brink of depression. It's something I've not really been able to face up to or articulate until now, when I am in a pretty good space.)
I felt completely out of control - and the one thing I could decide was the type (and amount) of food that I put into my mouth. So I stopped eating and started losing weight. At my lowest I dropped to 35kg, or 5 1/2 stone, which put my BMI at about 13. I wasn't focused on those numbers (in fact I only know them because of all the intervention which followed) but simply on remaining able to transfer.
The irony was, of course, that my weight loss only had a detrimental effect on my body. It made me all the more aware of my stress-related discomfort (in my grief, homesickness and general turmoil I had developed spasms of a strength which eventually managed to pull my left hip out of its socket), which in turn stressed me out further. Yet there is no logic to situations like this, so I couldn't understand that, and kept going. I kept going to the point where my unit leader told Mama that, were I not going home at weekends, I probably wouldn't be alive.
Home. Another reason for my difficulty was that our lift was broken, and I couldn't go back on a permanent basis (and thereby change schools) until it got fixed or we were moved, so there was nothing to assuage my homesickness.
We finally moved into our current (wonderful) flat at Christmas 2006, so I finished off Year 10 and left my boarding school in July 2007. I started at our local comprehensive in the September, and we all thought that everything would be okay. It was, on one level - school was great, I had a wonderful support system and lovely new friends - but the physical pain, and the deep-rooted worry that I would get too heavy, was still there. Also, quite soon into term, my dear friend Vicky (who had helped me hugely in getting through our final year at school together, she being a year older and one of the kindest people I've ever known) passed away. It was tough and I still miss her hugely. However, partly to do justice to Vicky's memory, I managed to get through my GCSE exams (thanks to the support of family and friends, which I'll never forget). I did so whilst on medication (diazepam). By this point it was as if I was so far downhill that it didn't matter - though it was more likely because I finally had a structure within which to work and live.
I say that because, once we finished GCSEs and lost that structure, I collapsed. That's why we call the summer of 2008 'the avalanche' - my pain, and concurrently the issues with food, intensified, my hip was subluxed and my spine curved. I could only eat bananas, and received a referral to my local Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service (CAMHS) where I got the diagnosis of 'disordered eating': not an eating disorder, but an unhealthy relationship to food as a result of my disability. I couldn't read independently anymore, and I didn't think I was going back to school to do A Levels.
That's where the film version of Pride and Prejudice came in, as I've written previously. I literally watched it every day that summer, because I was unable to do much else, and somehow managed to piece myself back together. I got to eating again, went back to school and started Sixth Form. Then I got news of my Starlight wish to meet Keira Knightley coming up in early 2010, and I knew I had something to get better for. Our meeting made such a difference that, gradually, the spasms dissipated and I kicked my several medications. Not only that, but I finished Sixth Form and went to Warwick - and we all know how things went from there!
I wanted to write this post for two reasons. Firstly, to document my attempts at recovery, to remind myself how far I have come - and perhaps to help others struggling with similar things. Secondly, though, I wanted to be honest about my eating issues (both to you and to myself) because I know that I'm not quite there. Food is still too often the first thing that I let slide when I'm stressed or busy - and I also know that, in order to make any significant changes with my body, I really need to commit to giving myself enough energy to do so.
Hence the title of this post - nutrition mission.
If you're still reading, once again, thanks - and thanks to everyone who has helped and supported me thus far along my journey. I love you.
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