It came up, in a presentation, and there’s probably some research; but, I seem to have created my own personal proof.

I remembered, today, as I walked down Kentish Town Road (to see how far I could go before the panic kicked in), what happened when 24 hour living – and my eating disorder – met. I was thrown back, 10 years, with a surge of pain that almost over-powered me, as the landmarks that I had been avoiding, re-appeared, again.

I went to university in London. I must have attended some lectures (although I remember few of them) and I must have been a bit social (as I have, miraculously, a few long-standing friends); but I also spent much of this time in a starvation induced haze, where food was the only objective and I didn’t, at the time, realise the personal price I paid…

And so, I would find myself walking into Camden, at 2 in the morning, with a pair of jeans over my pyjamas, just to visit the kebab shop that was open ’til 4 –

Or sitting behind a paper in a greasy cafe, whilst the rest of the halls were asleep, so that I could return – and throw up – before the first morning knock at my door.

Take aways where I was anonymous. Corner shops – and 24 hour supermarkets – and fast food that almost kept up with my desperation. Mazes of streets to hide in. Chippies – and cut-price fried chicken – and pizza slices – and the extra they always threw in, because they said that I didn’t look well –

This would not have happened if I had lived in the middle of the country.

The eating disorder was already well established by my arrival – but the extremity with which I could respond to the first craving had previously been contained; and it would have been a bit harder – if I’d stayed somewhere quieter – to put my head down in the crowds. And hide.

I have been ashamed, for years, of what happened in London. I transformed a city that I loved into a prison and lost my self esteem, in a side street, along the way. I have not talked, much, about how I ended up becoming so ill there. The shame – and guilt – and self-disgust, has been very hard to wash away.

But I wonder, now that I’m a little more open with the experience, whether there are other people treading the streets in a desperate search for food, or struggling with the challenge of 24 hour temptation–

Because it’s hard, when you live in such secrecy, to admit to what’s happening; and harder still to ask for help in getting well.

It is, I appreciate, an extreme reaction; and, after a silky soft childhood, I’m not quite sure where it’s come from; but, it has thrown me back, and got me scared, and I feel like I’ve removed the rose tinted glasses and done a double take on a very different reality –

This has happened before.

It is not the first time that the world has suddenly seemed a dark and terrifying place, and it doesn’t seem to take much to scare me -

Jolt number one was a burglary; the next, a particularly unpleasant bottling (witnessed); and the third, a punch in the face. Not much, in the grand scheme of things, but clearly enough…

The earliest happened around the time I got ill, and the last, just before I was sectioned.

I’m no longer sure that this is a coincidence. Whilst the relationship is not direct, neither is it absent –

Because, today I have sought a place to hide, and I haven’t found anywhere that feels safe now that my eating disorder is no longer an option. And the terror, which I can’t seem to let go of, has splashed black paint over the things that were beginning to regain a little colour.

The belief, which I had been carefully nurturing, that the world was worth getting involved with, has taken a battering; and, I can only see danger, rather than the glimpses of life that I had been hanging onto.

This is exactly what total immersion in an eating disorder avoids. This is how something so unsafe, starts to feel safer than the alternative –

Which makes me jump, when I hear shouts; and, gets my in the stomach, when I see anger; and, leads to restless nights and fragmented dreams and an inescapable sense of terror.

Only, I can’t hide behind an eating disorder, this time; and, I can’t write off human civilisation, after regaining a little trust; and, I have to find a way of working through fear – rather than being consumed by it –

Because, bad things happen, sometimes – but they can’t negate the good things –

And bad people appear, on occasion – but this doesn’t mean that we’re all doomed –

And the world might be scary, at times – but, it can also be warm, and beautiful, and caring –

Which I’d miss if I was hiding under my eating disorder again.

The moment Christmas is over, the world seems to go weight-loss mad and the chocolates we were encouraged to eat a few days ago have suddenly metamorphosed into the devil’s food.

Fortunately, the supermarkets seem to have cottoned onto the movement and the lighter choice special offers are well stocked up, for those of us who haven’t succumbed to the cut-price gym offers…

I am surprised at my surprise -

It happens every year, like hearts in February and witch hats at Hallowe’en; and, it should be easier to ignore the things that come round on a rolling timescale.

I am a little unsure why I’m giving it any headspace –

We all know that it’s a not very cunning commercial strategy to tap into new-year-new-you thinking, and take advantage of the few remaining people who are happy to be shepherded along by money making marketeers –

Or do we?

When I was naive enough to believe that the 1,000 kcal a day diets were actually okay for the normal body; and, that they were followed, with the rigidity of an army boot camp, by the other people who had also brought into the promises, I clearly shouldn’t be making assumptions –

Because I took things a little too literally when I got ill; and I didn’t question the notion that half a plate of food might not be the answer to eternal happiness that I was looking for – or that a diet plan might not be a set-in-stone prescription that should be followed to the dotted i and crossed t.

And I hadn’t yet lost the naivety that made me believe that everyone else was following the diet (to the crossed t); and, that the people who were penning the 200Kcal lunches after a cup of hot lemon for breakfast, were probably not practising what they preached.

In my desperation to fit in and my desire to do what everyone else was doing, I didn’t realise that, in January, we’re all meant to go on diets; and, by the 4th, most of us have stopped –

Because my eating disorder didn’t take do half measures and it tended to take things literally; whilst my head was far more likely to listen to anything other than myself.

This year, I’m accepting the fact that January will probably be magazine – and possibly paper – less, and that supermarkets will have to be entered with caution. I have a stack of DVDs on standby and I’m trying to tune out of the constant weightloss chatter –

And, whilst I’m not trying to change a key part of the supermarket calendar, or even criticise a movement that might help people be more aware of their health; I’d just like to point out to anyone, like me, who takes things a little too literally –

1,000 Kcal is probably not enough for a day –

And we do not all need to go on a diet come January –

And the people who are penning the programmes and writing the plans might be sitting there with a bar of chocolate – or a whole lot heavier than you are.

Twice this morning, I have seen a frail figure, clad in leggings and a thick woolly hat, run past my window.

This is why I am writing this website.

Anorexia does not do holidays and it certainly doesn’t do days off.

This is why the message is so important.

If she falls, she will break.

This is why I’m telling my secrets -

Because the prisoner running up and down the road whilst the rest of the world is wrapped up in warmth or shouting with laughter reminds me of where I’ve come from –

And where too many people seem to be going -

If we don’t change the trend.

Anorexia makes you selfish.

The ‘you’d eat it if you lived in Africa’ line just got on my nerve.

I’m not sure that the discussion would be any more helpful to other people struggling with eating disorders; but, after reading a piece in last weekend’s Observer, I am trying to make sense of the fact that there are over a billion people out there going hungry – whilst I have struggled between choosing not to eat – or wasting food like there’s no tomorrow.

There’s something very wrong going on.

Are eating disorders a perverse luxury in developed countries – or do health trends evolve as societies and economies change?

Maybe it’s only natural that new struggles emerge when the fight for survival loses its urgency?

Or possibly we’ve gone so far in the other direction that the excess has triggered its own set of problems?

It’s a difficult debate, particularly for someone who has relished the refusal of food that others are desperate for, and made a career out of eating – and then throwing up – as much as she could get her hands on; but, it shows just how much we’re diverging –

It suggests that we are, possibly, developing too fast to actually learn from the process and we’ve got a little way to go before we get the balance between total deprivation or complete overload right-

Or climate change makes the decision for us.

If the predictions are correct, even the developed countries will eventually experience some shortfalls; and, maybe it will be easier to manage food when the perspective changes?

Or, maybe, we need to try and think about these things now, and see if we can avert, or at least reduce, the terrifying prospects for either extreme of the spectrum?…

Lifestyle infers that you’re hoping to stay alive, so we’ve already hit the first snag; and choice infers that you’re in control, which is clearly an illusion as you discover when you try and escape –

So the description’s wrong on all accounts…

It’s just a little worrying that we’re even describing a prolonged suicide in these terms.

Maybe when I was too ill to know that I was ill, then I would have subscribed to the theory. My anorexia was particularly good at justifying and explaining and promoting its cause, and a little social acceptance was always a winning argument: if you believe that society admires anorexia, the impetus to give it up diminishes.

Maybe if I hadn’t fought tooth and nail to extract myself from the grip of anorexia, than I would concede that, yes, eating – or not – is the individuals’ right. I certainly argued the case when people tried to get me to eat. It’s just that the moment the anorexia really hits in, you’re not making any choices.

Perhaps I’m getting too hung up on the terminology – but I’m a little wary of applying loose words to a lethal subject.

Perhaps I’m taking it so seriously because it’s hit me so hard – but then that just reinforces my earlier argument….

That anorexia categorically contradicts the notion of being alive, so it’s not about lifestyles –

And choice infers that you can change your mind at any given time – but in reality it’s not that easy.

I’m not into scape-goating the media and I’ve always believed that anorexia is about what’s going on in someone’s head – and not what’s going on in the pages of Vogue.

I’m a little less sure now.

It’s not the anorexic appearances on the catwalks that have got me thinking or even the fact that modelling now seems to be a high risk career –

It’s because the trend seems to be spreading.

Thin is no longer just haute couture ‘in’; it seems to have got muddled up with notions of success in a whole host of other, completely unrelated, things.

When the dress size of singers starts being more important than their singing or the latest diet of an actress is higher up in the headlines than their acting, then we’re really getting the message worryingly wrong –

I’m just not sure which way the communication is going…

Is it that the general public, with a whole host of their own body hang ups, are doing a little transference onto those we’re paying to see or hear or watch? That our fixation with size and shape and who weighs what is encouraging a few body dramatics – because they clearly sell?

Or, maybe it’s that, in a culture obsessed with fame and commercialising talent, celebrities are identifying thinness as a competitive edge and, through acting into the whole ‘thin is in’ myth, are not being very responsible with their limelight?

Has the line between talent and appearance has become so blurred that it’s no longer just about what you do, it’s also about how you look when you’re doing it –

- but are we really that superficial?

Do we really prize skinniness over some killer vocals or the ability to bring a character to life? –

Or is this just what some pretty ruthless editors or a little media stirring is encouraging us to think?

They’re questions that I can’t quite answer and its a blame game that I don’t want to get pulled into; but I’d appreciate a little reality checking – because, when thin is synonymous with an eating disorder, it is, most definitely, not in; and when we’re more interested in table habits than talent, then the distortion’s got more out of hand than I imagined.

As a reformed calorie calculator, I’m trying to de-programme my head and start seeing food as food – and not as a permissible or not permissible number.

The problem is, the worlds’ concurring against me.

There are traffic light systems and calorie counted menus and colour coded packaging and an obesity epidemic vying with a size zero culture -

Getting the balance right is obviously harder than it sounds, even though we’ve now got BMI and BMR and a whole range of other calculations to give us the precise scientific formula.

It’s an impossible situation. The population’s totally split. There are the blissfully ignorant and perilously overweight; the calorie jugglers and justifiers; a small section who’ve got it sussed and understand the science

– and I’m just trying to forget –

Because you’ve got to draw the line somewhere. You’ve got to take the number out of the equation – and put the focus on what’s actually going on.

When you’re upset about a few extra calories, your energy is diverted from the real problem. Whilst you’re busy going round and round in mathematical circles to allocate your daily allowance, you’re avoiding whatever you should really be thinking about. And, when your judgement becomes based on calorific consumption and a good day is determined by calorific intake –

You may be controlling the numbers, but it’s at the expense of whatever’s controlling you –

I have to resist the temptation to skip the track. The lyrics would be far too close for comfort – if I didn’t find myself singing along.

As a nearing 30 year old, I am, officially, over the hill and on the shelf.

I’d find it offensive if the social commentary wasn’t so astute – if I wasn’t caught off guard by the spotlight.

It’s not the first time she’s struck a chord. There’s the stuff about spaghetti Bolognese and guilt (‘Everything’s Just Wonderful’); or the idea that everything’s cool when you’re getting thinner (‘No Fear’); or how hard it is to get a mortgage; or the fact that we’re all running around after money –

It’s nice to know that you’re not on your own.

Lily Allen may be nearing A list celeb status, but she still speaks for the girl in the street. She still sings with an honesty that hasn’t yet been edited out by her PR – or maybe that’s part of the charm?

It’s hard to feel down for too long when the music keeps pulling you up; and, it’s not just the ‘how the cookie crumbles’ attitude that takes the dark edge of everything: a catchy chorus and some uplifting baselines with a melodic tune can do wonders for the soul –

And therein lies the skill of the artist –

Lily Allen doesn’t gloss over the facts – but her music is too upbeat and uplifting to let them get to you.

She’s makes some pretty damning – and astute – comments about society – but you can get away with saying the things that other people are afraid to say when you accompany them with a good baseline and a catchy chorus.

And, if you’re not interested in the voice of a generation theories; well, the tunes are music enough. Whether she’s telling a story or holding a conversation on making a point, Lily sings it as it is – and she gets you singing right along with her.

It’s what binging and bulimia thrive on. Strong desire; fast food; instant gratification.

Food is one form; according to the media, consumerism is another.

I agree. The parallels don’t surprise me. Having spent much of 2003 to 2005 in supermarkets, I’m familiar with the lure.

When you’re in the middle of a great gaping emotional void, shops are quite appealing. They’re a preoccupation and then a full time occupation. When nothing feels particularly great, they’re a haven of soft lighting and soothing music and promises. When you want, they provide – with the drip drip drip of addiction: the gratification may be instant, but the satisfaction doesn’t last much longer.

It wears off pretty quick – and just leaves you wanting more.

In 2004, I cottoned on to what was happening pretty quickly and wrote the following bit. I’m a little more eloquent (hopefully!) now, but this says it how it was:

I know that the people in the supermarket recognise me now. I have trawled the shelves for so many hours, over so many days, that I am almost part of the fixtures. Sometimes they look at me curiously or the checkout girls comment that I must be cooking something nice, or, oh, haven’t I got some good bargains. I joke to myself that I must be the queen of bargains, or that I would be the perfect shop assistant, or even create elaborate stories to explain away my obscene purchases, but inside, I imagine them laughing at me and I want to hide.

I sometimes think that this is one of the situations where ignorance is bliss. If I didn’t know that Sainsbury’s reduced their food at approximately 4.15, or that Waitrose slashed their prices 20 minutes before closing time, or that around bank holidays, everything was a lot cheaper, I would never have got into this habit. My days would not be determined by the supermarket’s timetable; the guilt and panic that missing a potential reduction provoked would be gone; the driving necessity would not be so painful. I would not be left with a freezer bursting with food that is contributing to my destruction.

It was the physical consequences that struck me at the time. I was overwhelmed by the volume. With other things, the dependency isn’t so visible. Even if it’s just as soul destroying.

Cracking the food shop habit wasn’t the end of my journey. It was replaced by Sunday afternoons in clothes shops and guilt tainted plastic bags; with pointless wanderings and the same question – what’s the point; with indecision (which one) and price comparison (how much) and mental negotiations….

The breakthrough was twofold. It happened when the frustration and the indecision and the guilt and the futility became too much – and when life kicked in.

It came from a simple little question: “but do you really need anything?” and a a painfully honest answer: “yes, but nothing that I can buy”.