India Landy

It all started when…

Until very recently, I thought of myself as a sad person. I’ve always felt as if I was holding an invisible burden – as if all the joy in the world had been swallowed up and I was left with a big, heavy ball of sad upon my shoulders. Not that anyone was ever to know this; I forcibly held back tears at sad movies, family funerals, end of relationships. I was, and often still am, unable to let people know I am suffering, preferring to be seen to shrug off some of the heaviest stuff as if it was nothing.

Inside, it was a completely different story. From the age of 11, until last year just before my 23rd birthday, I had bulimia. Over the years, the reasons I kept making myself sick every day changed somewhat. At the beginning, it was a way to lose weight quickly that spiralled out of control – although of course there was never any control to begin with. By the ‘end’ (saying that out loud sounds odd as I never expected there to be an end to it) it was simply an awful habit that I couldn’t break out of. There were a myriad of other reasons, but I’d be sat writing for a long time if I listed them all!

I was aware of the dangers; I had educated myself enough about it. I knew electrolyte imbalance was wreaking havoc on my heart, the effects of stomach acid eating away at my teeth and oesophagus, hair falling out all round the house, but none of this was enough to convince me to stop. I’m going to be completely honest here, and there’s still such an immense shame I feel about never being able to admit this, but I liked it. Before these symptoms arose, I wasn’t ill enough. That’s a common theme when it comes to eating disorders. Of course, it’s never true – if you’re thinking these thoughts then you need and deserve help as quickly as possible. But yes, a part of me liked it. A different part of me liked it for a whole other reason. I liked eating as much as I wanted. I was starving myself at times, which meant food tasted that much better when I did have it, and so I would overeat and feel ill. I liked the feeling of being empty straight after being so full. I liked the attention I gathered, impressing people with the amount I was seemingly able to eat. I liked that no one had any idea. As I said, this is a difficult thing for me to admit, but is pertinent and necessary to be spoken about.

I became so good at convincing other people I was okay that along the way I managed to convince myself. I resigned myself to the fact I would always have an eating disorder, and for a long time I believed this. I also believed that my eating disorder and mental health issues were completely separate – the revelation that they are actually so intrinsically linked may seem obvious to some, but I genuinely never made this connection until I started consuming and retaining enough food for my brain to function correctly. I thought I was sad for no reason other than that I was made sad. I thought my inability to regulate my temperature correctly and that I was constantly freezing was due to my height, and poor circulation, not due to the fact the little food I was unable to get rid of through throwing up was purely focussed on keeping my vital organs from shutting down and wasn’t able to stretch far enough to heat up the rest of my body. It was the same excuse when it came to almost fainting every time I stood up – that was purely due to being 6 foot tall, wasn’t it?

Along with the physical symptoms of bulimia came the addition of depression and anxiety. I think one of the reasons I never put two and two together is because these came a while later, firmly introducing themselves when I started college and continued to cast a shadow during university. Throughout secondary school I was a high functioning bulimic, achieving good grades and generally able to maintain an outgoing, happy façade. This changed dramatically when I got to college, however. I had chosen to go to a boarding college – I think the appeal of this was a fresh start, trying at least to leave these detrimental behaviours behind. The opposite of this happened, and I found myself trapped, both in my head and in classrooms where I concluded, from no particular evidence, that absolutely everyone hated me.

Things declined at an alarming rate and for two months I dragged myself from my room to the college medical centre every day to fall asleep, completely depleted of any energy, in their ward, as you weren’t allowed to spend the day in your room if you were missing lessons. I ignored my parents phone calls and was awful to them when I did come home – something I am so ashamed of and am trying to make up for every day. I cried every day for these two years, and probably quite a bit longer after that. I also had violent hiccups – an odd symptom, but I think it had something to do with anxiety – I ended up with them at times you would really not want the hiccups, during assemblies or periods of awkward silence. Next came the suicidal thoughts. Every car that drove past me, every train journey I took, every bridge I walked over, each was an opportunity for me to kill myself. This is something that I haven’t really admitted to anyone, other than my best friend, Ben, who told me he’d had the same feelings before. Devastatingly, he was unable to overcome these thoughts, and ended his life during the first lockdown last year. Since his death I have felt compelled to speak out more openly about every ugly thought that rears its head in the hopes that it might help someone going through similar. Ben should still be here, as should so many others.

I can’t pin down exactly when these thoughts began to subside, but I now realise they correlate with when I introduced cycling to my life. It was a means of escape where I didn’t have to worry about what people thought of me, and kept me distracted from being sick for a few hours. The more I rode the more I wanted to ride, and slowly but surely began keeping in that little bit extra per day, just to make sure I could ride that little bit further. I still thought there was no hope of completely overcoming it, but my mood drastically improved merely by making sure breakfast stayed in my stomach. Then lunch did too. And one day I thought, if I’m ever going to give this recovery thing a go, it may as well be now.

It was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I have never been so present and able to enjoy social interactions as much as I can now. Previously my thoughts were preoccupied with when my next mouthful of food would be and where the nearest toilet was, or how long it was until I could leave and go to sleep. I often cancelled plans extremely last minute – I always had the intention of going, but when it came to it was too exhausted to leave the house. Now all I want to do is run around outside and share this inexplicable joy with everyone that had eluded me for so long. I want to shout and sing and exclaim to everyone that’s ever experienced any pain similar to this that there’s a whole world out there just waiting to be explored if you’re kind to yourself.

One thing I will say is that being happy is quite unusual to navigate when it’s something you’ve fundamentally believed isn’t possible for you for the majority of your life. But I’m so very thankful that it’s something I’ve been able to discover, and hopefully explore for many years to come. I do still get the dark days, and I’m conscious they’ll be back at some point, but it’s comforting to know I’m now able to recognise when they might be coming and how I can best keep them at bay.

P.S.? -----

Before penning this down, I have had this conversation over 1000 times with myself over and over in my head. What I want to say, how I want it to come across. Almost as if there is a running document stored up there, where sentences are repeated, over and over again, edited in my brain until they’re perfect. I’ve waited for the ‘right time’ to share these secrets that I kept hidden for so long, but what the right time means is completely different to each individual. There are always going to be people that aren’t ready to hear what you have to say, and aren’t going to respond in the way you might like, or indeed need. The only thing I can say is that the sooner you say something – anything - the better. That one, seemingly impossible step paves the way for all the next. As daunting as it may seem, it's never too late to take that step.