The unpleasantness all started when I was about 13 - the periods, yes, but worse than that, the fat - fat accumulating everywhere: hips, chest, upper arms, chin, bum, secret places.
Mum and Aunt Jo said it was just 'puppy fat', but the puppy grew up into an even fatter dog. Puberty coincided with the end of my sporting career; there's no way I was going to charge around a hockey pitch in a short skirt with those hideous thighs scraping on the floor. I suppose this is what they mean when they say something's a vicious circle or a Catch 22. Well, I was too obese to catch a 22 or any other bus, so I gave up the fight. When you're too embarrassed to go out in case people shout 'lard-arse' at you, what is there left to do but comfort eat? I knew something was wrong when Mum stopped waking me up for Church on Sundays and stopped worrying about Gran turning in her grave about my Godlessness.
All I could see ahead for myself was a heart attack at 25 and a JCB being brought in to get me out of the house, so I decided to make the break, go to college as far away as possible (Plymouth as it happened), sort myself out and return as a normal young woman. I arrived here in Devon in September 2010 to do a BA in Psychology, and I haven't been back home to Darlington since. I invented a summer job so I wouldn't have to go home last year, and an imaginary pile of essays for the other holidays.
Every calorie that's passed my lips since I became an undergraduate has been counted; I've cycled, run and rowed myself halfway around the world on my gym equipment, and yet looking in the mirror, nothing's changed. One of these days, a Japanese ship is going to harpoon me, and that will be it.
Jan 1st 2012. Resolution Day. It's time to make the call.
The phone is picked up on the second ring while I'm still rehearsing my speech.
'Hello.'
'Mum.'
'Karen - is that you?'
'Yes, mum.'
'We thought you were dead - you haven't called for three months, you don't return my calls. Anyone would think ...'
'MUM - STOP!'
'What is it, dear?'
'I'm anorexic. Please help me.'
Mum and Aunt Jo said it was just 'puppy fat', but the puppy grew up into an even fatter dog. Puberty coincided with the end of my sporting career; there's no way I was going to charge around a hockey pitch in a short skirt with those hideous thighs scraping on the floor. I suppose this is what they mean when they say something's a vicious circle or a Catch 22. Well, I was too obese to catch a 22 or any other bus, so I gave up the fight. When you're too embarrassed to go out in case people shout 'lard-arse' at you, what is there left to do but comfort eat? I knew something was wrong when Mum stopped waking me up for Church on Sundays and stopped worrying about Gran turning in her grave about my Godlessness.
All I could see ahead for myself was a heart attack at 25 and a JCB being brought in to get me out of the house, so I decided to make the break, go to college as far away as possible (Plymouth as it happened), sort myself out and return as a normal young woman. I arrived here in Devon in September 2010 to do a BA in Psychology, and I haven't been back home to Darlington since. I invented a summer job so I wouldn't have to go home last year, and an imaginary pile of essays for the other holidays.
Every calorie that's passed my lips since I became an undergraduate has been counted; I've cycled, run and rowed myself halfway around the world on my gym equipment, and yet looking in the mirror, nothing's changed. One of these days, a Japanese ship is going to harpoon me, and that will be it.
Jan 1st 2012. Resolution Day. It's time to make the call.
The phone is picked up on the second ring while I'm still rehearsing my speech.
'Hello.'
'Mum.'
'Karen - is that you?'
'Yes, mum.'
'We thought you were dead - you haven't called for three months, you don't return my calls. Anyone would think ...'
'MUM - STOP!'
'What is it, dear?'
'I'm anorexic. Please help me.'
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