Most people’s weight goes up and down over their life. Fact.
Mine, however, has perhaps oscillated more than most. I do not boast about that- I have damaged my body badly in the process. From my lowest weight in anorexia to my highest weight in obesity, there is a difference of 15 stone. That’s 210 lbs. 95 kg.
That is a whole person. Or, as I like to see it, my eating disorder personified.
So, yes, I have been at both ends of the scale, and right in the middle too. Fat and skinny and just average.
And you know what I’ve learnt? I have never been happy with my body.
Not when I couldn’t see my feet because my tummy was in the way.
Not when I wore size 12 jeans and compared myself to the girls smaller than me.
Not even when I was so thin I was threatened with being sectioned under the mental health act.
The fact is, I was no more confident when I was skin and bone than when I have rolls of fat.
Because now I know it wasn’t about looks. It was, and is, an illness wanting to destroy me. It doesn’t really care how. It just wants me dead.
When I felt so fat I wouldn’t leave the house, I comforted myself with more food.
When I was so thin my hip bones hurt me from digging into a mattress at night, I still wouldn’t feed my body.
When my blood pressure was so low I was about to faint, I went for a run.
There is no rhyme or reason to eating disorders. They are vicious predators using a seemingly-harmless substance to cause pain, suffering, misery and fear.
I feel desperately sad at the abuse my body has endured. But what I’m realising is it wasn’t at my own hands. I was merely a vessel for something more powerful.
So, I’m done battling. Engaging with that ED voice builds it up and it gathers strength once again. I’m done. I hang up my gloves. I surrender.
I’m not going to fight something that is always going to destroy me in the end; no, I’m not going to enter into the ring in the first place.
And that way… I’m always the victor.