“I struggle to believe that such a ravaging illness doesn’t cause irreparable harm to one’s psyche.”

It’s difficult to know exactly when my anorexia began. It’s a notoriously insidious illness which slowly entangles the mind; its disordered tendrils gradually corrupting the person until they’re completely ensnared in its grip.

Little did I know that my innocent foray into running at age fourteen would force me into the horrific, illimitable depths of mental illness. What initially began as a genuinely pleasurable pursuit rapidly morphed into an addictive obsession which consumed every waking hour of my thoughts.

Severe restriction of food was inextricably tied to my compulsive exercise. They had a parasitically mutual relationship; a lack of running would be compensated for by restriction, yet more running was used as an opportunity to restrict and thus deepen my energy deficit.

Naturally, my body began to cannibalise itself. Instead of using a sustainable source of external energy for fuel, my body consumed its own fat and muscle for sustenance.

I soon lost all my physical strength; walking became a laborious, painful task as the traces of my spare energy were reserved purely for running. A lack of body fat kept me shuddering all year round; as other people relaxed in t-shirts in the spring, a thick down jacket barely warded off the cool air as my fat stores would’ve done.

The most pernicious aspect of anorexia is the narrowing of everything which gives you pleasure. The ceaseless fixation with food, body and exercise eclipse any opportunity for joy or contentment. It becomes impossible to forge relationships, to concentrate on hobbies, or deviate from the devotion to an ascetic routine of self-punishment.

Reacquiring these lost parts of myself was my primary motivation to recover. Purging anorexia from the mind is far easier when a desire to positively improve the situation is fuelling you.

I’m not completely better. Perhaps I never will be. I struggle to believe that such a ravaging illness doesn’t cause irreparable harm to one’s psyche. Our character is constantly in flux, so maybe it’s impossible to ever recover a past version of ourselves when it’s eternally subject to change. Even if I’ll never become truly whole again, I know that life is remarkably better than it used to be, regardless of the other psychological issues I’m still experiencing.