I was so out of my league. I felt empty, I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed or cried. Interactions with other people exhausted me and I no longer had hobbies or ambition. The physical temptation of food was fighting my mental aversions to it. My parents were concerned with my physical body as even the smallest size in the petite range swallowed me whole. I was shivering during the summer heatwaves. My friends kept commenting on how thin I looked and I thought they were lying. I spent days staring at the screen, directionless and only ever thinking about food which made me feel revolting. I believed that I was repulsive.

My parents saw me wasting away but I was good at hiding it all, good at pretending it was all okay. Still, nobody can plead health when their body and mind are failing. I was so weak I wasn't even able to hold onto a mug of tea. As summer started and clothes became lighter, my mother confronted me over the way my body looked, the thinly stretched blue skin over weak bones. I ignored her requests to call the doctor, still deluded enough to believe I was fine. It was a safety mechanism and pride, but also the lack of nutrition which made me believe that was true.

She called the doctor behind my back when I refused to. I was in the car with my mother when I took the phone call from an unknown number. I was caught off guard when I found myself speaking to a GP, stumbling out of the car and finding some privacy in the corner of a public car park. She wanted me to come in for a blood test and a general catch-up to identify what was wrong because my mum told her I was sick. When she asked me my opinion I wanted to scream “I know what’s wrong with me” but the words didn’t come out. Instead, I managed to say “I think I have a problem.” At that moment the line was crossed and I finally verbalised that something was wrong. I didn’t have any energy to hide anymore. I cried on the phone as my mum sat in the car, waiting.