I was at university, and living with my girlfriend. In my second year, I started to struggle. I had already undergone the initial relapse phases of weighing myself whenI found scales at work, trying to be less by the time summer was over, trying to not eat for lengths of time and then it happened, a small relapse became a fully indulged gorge on eating disorder media, thoughts and old forums. I returned to a forum I frequented as a teenager so I could talk about it: because still, in my real life, it was a secret. Yet again I was living a lie, yet again I was finding salvage in eating disorder related songs, and yet again, my life split into two: my front and my secret. Gradually gradually I started to spend more and more time in my secret, withdrawing from my front and losing interest in everyone, and everything other than my eating disorder.
The pain was real. The torment was strong. Yet still, I found comfort in starving myself and this time, I was better at it. Perhaps a bit too good. In a year from 2010 to 2011 I went from someone that looked relatively normal to a walking skeleton turning heads and catching whispers. I felt powerful and weak, proud and ashamed, all at the same time.