Experiences of eating disorders: "I"ve been to many dark places"
Anonymous, 22 The first time I was depressed, I was 12 and I didn’t know I was ill. I didn’t even know what depression was. After a family feud and several years of being a victim of bullying, I didn’t want to live any more. I remember standing on my balcony, hands on the railing, and thinking: “Should I jump?” I thought that I was a coward, because I was afraid of dying more than I hated living. I began to self-harm, and my mental illness had the sting of a pair of scissors cutting into my skin.
I was 16 when I decided to lose weight, so the boys and the girls wouldn’t laugh any more, and perhaps, just perhaps, someone, one day, would even desire to touch me. Three years later, I was sitting on the toilet bleeding because I had taken too many laxatives, and my mental illness was as red as blood.
At 19, I gained all the weight back and along with it came anxiety and depression and the sense of failure. I had moved in London, away from my family, to study and build a new life. So why wasn’t I happy? Why had the balcony turned into a tube platform and I was wondering again: “Should I jump?”
I lost the weight again at 21, and by 22 things were OK (in a precarious, risky balance). I decided that I needed help before things got worse again. Now, once a week, I meet with a therapist, thanks to the NHS, and she asks me how my week was, and I am as honest as I can be.
Hiç yorum yok:
Yorum Gönder