Email from a friend
Lydia you look hungry! You would look so much nicer with a bitta weight on you x x
My identity became my eating disorder, and my eating disorder was my identity. I looked in the mirror and could not believe how thin I had got. I gazed at my perfect legs, ran my blue fingers over my protruding ribcage like a piano. My face was sunken, my cheekbones like daggers. The largest part of my body was my haunted eyes, which stared back at me in the mirror in a state of pure amazement and triumph at what I had achieved. I bought a pair of size-four jeans which dangled around my stick-like legs, and hung so loose around my waist and bottom that I had to wear three pairs of tights and a pair of leggings under them just to keep them on. My hip bones poked out through my clothes, my stomach was concave and my elbows sharp as knives. My breasts were completely non-existent, and even a child’s bra sat inches away from my chest. Even my knickers didn’t fit, as I no longer had a bottom. They hung limply off me and resembled a loose nappy. Yes, to you this may all sound extremely unattractive, but I felt absolutely stunning. I did not look real, I looked like some strange mystical creature, and that is what I felt like, on a trip away with the fairies, deep in a world of fantasy. In contrast, though, I felt fearful. Fearful of death at times, but then when I was feeling euphoric I could not care less. Such a mix of these powerfully contrasting feelings is almost impossible to describe unless you have been through this yourself. Even then, though, I cannot say that other people felt the same. The beautifully haunted world that I was living in was miles away from anyone else and everything else.
From my GP in Newcastle
I have been seeing Lydia at the Eating Disorder Unit since the beginning of October. For some time Lydia has struggled with anxiety and depression and has been restricting her diet in order to lose weight. In the last four weeks she has been seen and assessed by our Regional Eating Disorder Unit and has been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. Lydia is undertaking a community based treatment programme and her mum has moved up to Newcastle to support her with this. The Eating Disorder Consultant is doing this as a trial over the next couple of weeks but it may come to a point where Lydia has to be admitted to an inpatient bed in the Eating Disorder Unit in Newcastle. Lydia is currently attending the Eating Disorder Unit twice a week to have bloods, heart tracing and weight assessments. She is following a strict diet treatment plan.
Yours sincerely,
Dr * *******
Both my parents came to my consultation with the head psychiatrist at the Eating Disorder Unit. She was a large, fearsome-looking woman whom I immediately decided I hated. She led me through the inpatient unit to assess me. On the way through, we passed several demented-looking skeletons. I gasped at how thin and emaciated they looked (unaware that to others I looked much the same). As sick and twisted as it sounds, I felt jealous of them. I also felt embarrassed to be there. They must all be wondering who this fat girl is and why she is here – she doesn’t have anorexia! Funnily enough, we were all probably thinking the same thing about each other, eyes darting, analysing and comparing our bodies to each other’s in a swift glance. Sizing up the ‘competition’.
My blog post
Influence and Inspiration
I have decided to make this blog more of a personal diary of my thoughts, and use it for myself to look back on, though if you happen to read it I hope that you gain some inspiration and enjoyment …
My family. They are absolutely amazing and I am so grateful.
My boyfriend. Equally amazing.
My friends. And again …
Listening to wise people.
One night we went to a bar to sell our goods. I put on my sparkly high heels, baggy leggings and a jumper. I felt like I finally looked pretty amazing. My legs were like two pins (they were more like needles). I got drunk and had a lovely evening. I had a conversation with one of my lecturers who attended that night and it inspired me so much. She told me it was great that I had come out but I needed to sort myself out. She said she had wanted to bring me vitamin drinks into university on several occasions, because if I wasn’t going to eat I could at least drink. We talked about ways in which to inspire myself through glamour and fashion. She told me to watch old movies and escape through reading and ideas. It was an amazing conversation and it lit a lightbulb in my head. I confided in her and explained how I didn’t know who I was any more. Our conversation hit the right nerve and I will remember it forever.
My blog post
Something I wrote in my phone, probably at 5.40 a.m., one time:
The worst thing is having to think about it and talk about it all the time. Having fun, being creative, listening to inspiring people and watching inspiring films can take me away. Drawing, ink, outfits, glamour, ideas, aspirations are a saviour. Confidence, influence and inspiration are key words. Nothing is safe but everything is amazing. Creativity and drive will save me. Excitement and networking and listening to and hearing other people.
The only way in which I was able to warm up my permanently icy body was by sitting in a bath full of boiling water. I would run it as deep as I could before the water started to get cold. Actually, getting in was horrendous, as it meant taking off all of my clothes and being unbearably cold for some long seconds. I would lower myself in slowly until my sharp tailbone clunked against the bottom of the tub. It was absolute agony to sit. I would lie back, my spine cracking against the surface. Sometimes I would exhale all of the air in my lungs and lie completely under the water, just to see what it might feel like to not be in the world any more. I would imagine drowning and only bring myself back up when I had to. I would look down at my purple knees, and would examine my skeleton of a body. Sometimes I would stroke the layer of fur that was developing on my arms, and wonder whether I HAD taken things too far, and even be a little scared. Thoughts like this never lasted more than a few seconds, as they quickly disappeared behind the mist of the voice congratulating me for achieving skinny. Getting out of the bath was dreadful. Being soaking wet and THAT cold was excruciating. I would dart to my bedroom down the hall and blast the hairdryer over my transparent skin in a desperate attempt to heat myself again.
Another thing I did a lot around this time was sit on benches. I would just walk around completely dazed and sit on benches anywhere by myself, and not think. I would be completely blank and glazed over, but horrendously lonely, cold and depressed at the same time. I remember sitting on a bench in town outside a church for several hours once. I was completely numb, and feeling nothing,