Have you ever really completely defeated anorexia?
The participation page
Desy, 14 years
My story begins in October 2000.
I stopped eating. There were various reasons for this, but I don't really want to reveal that much. The main reason is probably sexual abuse that my primary school teacher observed on me. I weighed around at the beginning 32 kilos and was ideally weight. After throwing up for a couple of weeks, I decided to go hungry. It was very easy. I was always very proud when everyone else ate and I didn't. At that moment I was strong and all other failures ...! Otherwise I was the failure.
After about three months I had a whopping 8 kilos less, so I weighed 24 kilos, and came to a clinic. They couldn't make me eat. Even when they finally threatened me with force-feeding, I did not eat. Then I was given an ultimatum: Either I ate a quarter of each serving, or I wouldn't be able to see my parents for a long time!
I almost got up and taped this doctor. But I could control myself! I pretended to agree. Every day I ordered cornflakes for breakfast. Almost everything disappeared into my trouser pockets and later into my suitcase, and I ate a few flakes. Most of lunch and dinner also disappeared into my suitcase. At some point it was said: You can go home! I had "only" gained 2 kilos (and that was partly water; I always drank about a liter of water before weighing). But those assholes (sorry !!!) seriously believed they made me well. I went home and hunger again, fresh and happy, where I had "left off" the last time.
After a short time I still weighed just under 21 kilos and it was bothering me to go. I would never have admitted that, and even played sports like a fool. I didn't eat or drink anymore. When I drank, the water felt salty because my taste buds were already damaged. I spat out my own saliva because I was scared to gain weight. My parents were very worried because they had to watch me fall into disrepair faster and closer and closer to the death line.
At some point I was admitted. To the children's clinic in Zurich. In the interview I was asked if I would go home again, I said coldly: "Sure."
Nothing there. I had bad luck. As the When they examined me, they found that I no longer weighed 20 kilos, could hardly walk, was half parched and showed no reactions when I was hit on my knees by rubber hammers. I can still clearly remember the words of the doctor that were addressed to my mother:
I wanted to scream. But I was too weak. I no longer felt my body, I was only the soul. The next morning I was weighed and examined again.
I weighed 18 kilos.
When I saw this number, I was happier than ever.
I finally did it.
I was light as a toddler.
I was pure, light, and half-dead.
There was lunch. I didn't eat anything. There were snacks between meals. I didn't eat anything. I didn't eat or drink anything anyway. That night I was clinically dead. My heart stopped beating. I was lying in my bed with tubes attached to an EKG monitor that checked my heartbeats. And I didn't feel anything. I only heard a distant beep from the monitor. The next day the doctors came and told me that it couldn't go on like this. They said they would help me now. I didn't know what that meant. Not yet.
I knew it two hours later when I was back on my bed with a sore nose, sore throat and tears in my eyes. Everything was destroyed. All of my weight struggle has been in vain. Destroyed everything. With an act. With the nasogastric tube. I felt bad and wished more than ever that I was dead. Now I was going to get fat again. Fat and gross. Like in old times. But everything is evolving. Me too. After not reporting to my parents for a month, I called my mom. It was a short conversation, but I was glad to hear Ma's voice. I missed her. I was feeling bad. Mentally. Physically I felt better, I had gained weight thanks to the tube and could walk better again. Laugh? No, I couldn't laugh anymore. But I tried hard. I tried very hard to get well again. After 3 months the tube was finally taken out and I started to eat. I never ate much. But I ate. I almost died on my first meal. I sat there with my fork in my hand and thought, "Am I holding my fork correctly?"
Tears ran down my face. I struggled with the voice in my head and for a little moment gained power. I ate something for the first time in 4 months. I very carefully put a fork of tofu in my mouth. It tasted like cardboard - just gross. I was released after a 4 month stay. I was still underweight, but I felt better. I had to go to a check-up every week. I was always so terrified of the moment when I would stand on the scales. I wasn't afraid to weigh too much, but too little. I didn't want to be underweight anymore.
Within a few weeks I managed to get to my minimum weight. I didn't want to weigh more, because I found myself beautiful and happy with myself. All went well for a while, but then I met my tormentor. My whole little balance broke. I was starving again. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop. I had to. I felt dirty and useless again. I wanted to die.
It went on for a whole year, there were good days and there were bad days. On the good days, I sometimes managed to get something to eat. I ate maybe half an apple on the bad ones.
Then I was admitted to the clinic again. This time with 24 kilos. I went voluntarily.
I couldn't and didn't want to fight anymore.
I hated my life and I finally wanted to be healthy again.
I no longer felt like counting calories, eating little
and to play sports like a madman.
I finally wanted to live the life of a normal 12 year old again.
I was still young, I could have experienced so much more. Why did I ruin all of this?
These were my thoughts! I really believed in dying. I believed it, but I DIDN'T WANT !!! I started eating in the first few days. I had a great sense of achievement:
If I'm honest, then sometimes I really felt like eating sweets. This stay should be a short one. I only stayed two months, and this time it went without a tube. I wanted to get well - and I got well.
Today I can eat almost normally. Almost because I always have to know how much I'm eating, I just need it. But that's not a problem. Do without ice cream? This is impossible for me today.
Addendum from October 25, 2003 to Desy's story:
So I had overcome anorexia
But my bad trip was still not over. It all started over six months ago. Even then I had been madly in love with Colin, a boy from my class, for six months. We had a very close relationship, almost like boyfriend and girlfriend or brother and sister. He didn't know about my feelings. My best friend Irina, of all people, snatched Colin away from me.
I had an appointment with Irina on a Monday during the holidays. She hadn't wanted to tell me, but through her sister I found out that they had already been together for four days at the time. My heart burned like it was on fire. I only felt hatred for the two of them.
I got the idea to mutilate myself.
With razor blades, knives and broken glass
I cut my arms
I cut deep, so deep that today I have bulbous scars. I cut myself every day, sometimes about five times a day. I felt a pain, but it was beautiful. Pleasant and soothing, soothing heartache.
Each time I was able to take a deep breath and feel free for minutes, free from this urge, from this pressure. I didn't just cut myself because of Colin, but now because of everything and everyone. I couldn't stop anymore. If someone cursed me, I had to stick a shard in my arm
I had to do it every time that pressure came up inside of me.
You can't describe this feeling.
It is indescribably beautiful
and indescribably ugly.
After that, I felt better for a while, but then the remorse and guilt came. I don't even know who I felt about them, they were just there.
I stopped laughing, my academic performance fell, and I became more and more depressed. Every day I thought of suicide, and many times I was on the verge of it. To this day I don't know what stopped me from doing it. Eventually I switched therapists and had to go weekly.
Then in July I was given antidepressants. I couldn't have endured it any longer. I was really more depressed than when I was 18 kilos in the clinic.
I rarely saw Colin and Irina never over the summer vacation
I was slowly getting better, I still cut myself a lot, but much less than before. Over time, I only edited weekly and eventually not at all. The last time I cut myself was on August 18th and I'm very proud that I did it.
Meanwhile, Irina and Colin are separated. That’s one of the reasons why I’m doing so well. I'm doing really well at the moment, and I've probably never felt better in three years. I can perform well again at school and I have fun in life.
At the moment I am still under the influence of the antidepressant, but I believe that my condition will not change without this drug.
My attitude and my thinking
have become much more confident and positive
and that, you can't change that with pills !!!
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