There was no battle between the “real” me and a manipulative, alien “Ana”. The portrayal of anorexia as some invading enemy, or a sly, toxic friend, is one I find wholly ridiculous. I still reject the idea that one might somehow, by sheer force of will, learn to accept a body in which one does not feel at home. I still think force-feeding was violent, traumatising, if not downright abusive. The expectations they had for my life, my body, were not my own.ĭecades later I have not come round to other people’s point of view. I used to fantasise about the peace I would experience if only people were to leave me alone. Upon discharge I lost the weight again and in the years that followed I tried to play a game of keeping myself just thin enough to manage my anxiety, not so thin as to be coerced into further treatment. Furthermore, it made my overall psychological state not better, but worse. This led me to gain a significant amount of weight, which I hated. In 1987 I underwent the first of three hospitalisations for anorexia.
