Christmas was a bit of a double whammy for my eating disorder.
The bulimia was in seventh heaven (with a touch of hell); the anorexia was on a permanent state of alert; and I was bouncing between the two.
Sometimes, bulimia would win out; and I would succumb to the temptation of trolleyfulls of cheap chocolates and the Christmas Eve reductions.
Other times, Anorexia was king; and I’d nibble round the bowl of crudités, dodging the carrot sticks with a slight smear of humus or constructing a variety of ways to say ‘no thank you’.
Always, weight and rules and calorie contents reigned supreme; and Christmas dinner would be replaced by a plate of vegetables or followed by a quick trip to the bathroom.
Every year, my eating disorder would play the same trick of making me prepare and prepare and prepare for the worst, so that the anticipated weight gain turned into an inevitable weight loss.
Each Christmas, my eating disorder would reduce me to a quivering wreck, so that any chances of enjoyment were ruined; and any pleasure, came only from sheer relief -
But this is not what it’s about (even if the feelings are so strong that you’re blinded by the terror); and this is not how Christmas used to be (even if a full blown celebration and some new years cheer is a bit too much to stomach) –
Because Christmas is meant to be about hope and celebration and life – and it helps an eating disorder if you forget this.