Things You Only Know If You’ve Been In Lockdown With An Eating Disorder

While it’s true that people who suffer from eating disorders can ‘recover’ – put on weight, stop exercising as religiously, curb the excessive calorie-counting – during desperate times, the urge to fall back into those negative habits is a compulsion you battle with almost every day. And, during this pandemic, it’s been easy to see how eating disorders can resurface.

Eating disorders don’t just spring up out of nowhere, nor are they solely about wanting to look good. The one defining characteristic among people affected by them is the desire to be ‘perfect’ and in control. In my case, they were triggered by numerous reasons: moving countries every two years, going to boarding school, being badly bullied. Life felt out of my hands. And so during times like we’re experiencing now, where no one seems to know what’s going on, that lack of control can be incredibly uncomfortable.

I’m 29 now, and my problems with eating started when I was just 12 – possibly even younger, if I think about it. For over 12 years, I woke up every day filled with dread and the pressure to not ‘give in’ to food. Food was the enemy and, sooner or later, I’d succumb to it, of course. I’d eat so fast, out of hunger and anxiety, that I could barely breathe.

Afterwards, I’d feel utterly repulsed by myself, burning it off through either exercise or by making myself sick. My throat was raw from sticking my fingers down it and producing bile, although I couldn’t stop – and wouldn’t stop until I was absolutely certain every ounce of what I’d eaten had gone.

To anyone who has never experienced an eating disorder, it must seem insane that someone would want to punish themselves like this. But when you’re ill, there’s a voice in your head that rationalises your behaviour, distorting what you see in the mirror and making you feel grotesque. I can only describe this voice as an abusive partner, except the abusive partner is you. It’s a demon that tells you how pathetic and worthless you are, every moment of every day.

I suppose we all have it, although for people with eating disorders, its ‘strength’ is more pronounced. If it’s not criticising your looks, it’s attacking your personality, character and other abilities. Like any form of OCD, it feels nigh-on impossible to stop.

To say my life was exhausting is an understatement. Sleep was the only time
I felt at peace, and I’m sad to admit that there were days I’d wish I was dead to stop the constant flow of awful comments clogging my brain.

I’ve never had a problem with alcohol, although I can imagine the principles of addiction in isolation remain the same: finding the strength to ignore triggers around you. During quarantine, the triggers have felt more pronounced – the lack of exercise and inability to carefully monitor calories on a running machine at the gym; the urge not to cave in and indulge on ‘bad’ foods; trying to ignore comments from family members about their own weight or their fears about ‘putting the pounds on’. You know there’s no malicious intent behind what they’re saying, but it merely reinforces the message that even during a pandemic, there’s nothing better – or more fulfilling – than being thin.

When I was 18, leaving home was a godsend because it meant I could be fully in control of what I was – or, more accurately, wasn’t – putting in my mouth. It meant being able to block out comments from concerned family members about my weight loss, and being able to cook carefully controlled meals myself, without the fear of oil, butter or salt ‘contaminating’ it. It meant I could walk for miles with my headphones in, climbing into bed early when my body finally crashed around 6pm.

But like many during lockdown, I moved back in with my family – and, ironically, given how I felt at 18, I’m so glad to be here. We’ve eaten dinner at the same time every night, and I’ve enjoyed the routine of knowing when and what we’re eating.

I have, however, noticed some old thoughts creeping back in. While exercising in my room the other day, there was an urge to keep going until I couldn’t do any more – to exercise until it hurt or until I could no longer walk. But I managed to push the inner voices to the side; years of therapy have taught me to let these thoughts pass.

Times are tricky. For an illness that thrives on structure and routine, this will be a difficult period for many, and with no real end in sight. But let’s try and use this time to get to know ourselves properly: bond with family, exercise for pleasure; enjoy the richness that food can bring. Our weight doesn’t have to be an added stress.

For help and advice about eating disorders, visit anorexiabulimiacare.org.uk

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