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By Katie Metcalf

Memior of fight with anorexia

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If I had lost, I would try hard for a few days to gain it again, but then I would get back into the routine of losing it. 5 kg, but I was terrified of getting to be that fat. Though I knew I HAD to put on weight to get off bed rest, the voice in my head would tell me to keep on losing, and if I put on weight, I would be losing my battle to stay thin. And for five months, 44 five long months, I listened to it and remained on my bed. I would phone my family immediately after I had been weighed, to tell them the news.

Whenever I went out (which was hardly ever) I’d wear thick tights underneath my trousers and socks, at least two jumpers over a T-shirt, a coat, hat, scarf and gloves. I would also wear them inside when I was really cold, which was quite often. In the house, I’d have to stand next to the fire to keep warm, and sometimes, when I went out in the car with the whole family, I would take a hot water bottle with me because the rest of the family couldn’t stand the car heater as it made them all feel sick.

I had always been very, very paranoid about people seeing my body, any part of it, since I had become anorexic. I didn’t even let my Mum see me in my bra and knickers, as I was so scared that she would laugh at my fat legs, flabby bum, and saggy stomach. I was petrified that the rumours would spread around the ward like wildfire that I was a grotesque sight to behold, and that all the food should be kept under lock and key. The first supervised shower I had, I was a nervous wreck. I very nearly didn’t have it.

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