It's okay to not be okay

I’m incredibly tired. It’s been far too many years, and the metaphorical concept of shit sh*t hitting the fan was truly made for describing the sudden and crippling impact of type 1 diabetes complications. It feels like being pelted with bullets that are constantly firing from a smoking gun.

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But it’s okay to feel like we can’t cope, okay to feel like we need some extra help when everything feels too much right ? Even me? The idea is so foreign to me, it feels wrong, it feels like a betrayal to all I’ve ever believed, that I should seek that help.

Diabetes is relentless, all consuming, even when it exists without deep-set mental health issues.

Eating disorders are always exhausting, they strip you of strength, and I’m in tatters. It’s slow at first isn’t it? You can feel like a cat with nine lives that just skims the edge of danger, until suddenly you realise you sink in like sugar dissolving into a bowl of rice krispies, a crackling echo rings in your ears as you feel yourself questioning just how long that damage had been simmering under the surface, and every warning sign you brushed away.

I just want my brain to stop wittering at me, every day, a slow and deep hum that goes on and on. I ache inside.

It’s okay to to not be okay I am trying so hard to rewire my usual faulty belief system. But it’s like being a toddler and trying to walk and talk. I see where I want to go and what I need to be doing out in the world but I can’t will my shaky legs to move. I merely shake and continue to ruminate.

But it’s okay to admit you can’t do it on your ow anymore. Maybe me too?

It’s okay to let someone else care for you, particularly if your life depends on it, isn’t it?

Falling down the rabbit hole and embracing insanity would be a silent release, - slipping away, a relief of no longer having to try.

But there’s no way I don’t find that guilt, the shame in other places. But least of all, the fact I’d given in.. Denial just doesn’t fit me the way it used to.

Drained, wasted an wrung out like soggy dishcloth.

It’s okay to not be okay, right? To say it out out loud? To admit you just can’t do it on your own.

I’m just so, so tired. It hurts.

It’s time to take a chance. I have to.


By Claire Kearns.

T1ED advocacy – what’s okay and what’s not?

(Disclaimer, I still only have vision in one eye so please excuse any mistakes! Proofreading is too difficult when typing hard enough!)

Why is it always important to question your motives behind being a charity representative and volunteer?

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I want to discuss and acknowledge the significance of an issue I often find myself evaluating and for which honesty is essential for. It brings up a dilemma I find myself prone to fretting over which regards the way that I might be perceived by the people that read this blog and are audience to the contributions I provide to the DWED website and social media pages. It’s also something I have been called out on and asked to consider by friends that really only want to see me well and healthy.

I’ve been a volunteer for DWED for over a decade now and presently have a very active role, contributing to the majority of online content and campaigning for awareness through regular posts to Twitter, Facebook and interaction with other associated pages, groups and organisations. These days I feel I have become director, founder and good friend Jacq’s second in command, and have tried to hold the fort steady over the recent period of time during which she has been forced to focus primarily on the demands of completing her PH d something that I am in awe of and also so very proud of her for. Let me stress that none of what I do or have done for DWED in the past has ever been asked for nor expected of me.

But the undeniable fact is that I am not recovered from T1ED and still very much struggle with my own eating disorder and mental health. This offers up a quandary concerning the authenticity and validity of me being a DWED representative or standing as any kind of advocate for the cause we, and I, promote.

Should I be allowed to have such an active role in DWED? Is it okay for me to put myself in the position of being a spokesperson and even offer advice to others with T1ED on how to cope and aim for achieving a better quality of life? Is it acceptable I put out opinions that serve to support or even challenge our members over their own eating disorders when I perhaps need to devote more attention to overcoming my own? Is there a line between black and white here or are there many shades of light to thick foggy grey?

I know I won’t come to a conclusion either way, and I can’t control any perception that the people that read this blog will have, but I’d still like to acknowledge the argument and present my explanations. I hope not to sound as if am providing excuses or attempts to dilute fair judgements but instead some justification and details of context. I also feel obligated to admit that I myself have objected to other charity volunteers that air views that can often raise red flags to highlight a hypocrisy that dilutes the messages they are relaying. But is that most sanctimonious and disrespectful of me? Those character traits are ones I’d truly loathe to have, even if just fleetingly.

My ultimate objective is to always try to be genuine and never serve as an example to DWED’s followers of what recovery is or should be like. I am careful, or hope to be in never serving as an example of how to be or reflect any kind of attitude that remotely encourages other to follow my lead or to not be positive about being able to beat their own difficulties. I try to say ‘this is what we need’ or ‘this is how treatment and the system needs to change’ rather than ‘you can better by just doing x and y’, because really, who am I to say when I have not been able to get there myself? It would be inherently two-faced and undermining.

I’ve also been asked why I am so invested, why I can’t break away like so many volunteers have before me. In many cases this has been for the purpose of attempting recovery or achieving some semblance of purpose outside of the disordered ‘bubble’ - an environment that may be triggering and let’s be honest, quite boring if you’ve found other aspects of life to occupy time and thoughts.

My response to this is again uncertain – on the one hand I do wonder why I have pretty much become the main volunteer standing at DWED, at least in an admin -type capacity and one that places me in a public faced role in writing the members content. blogs and navigating DWED’s social media activity. I do think yes, it’s caught up in the way my disorder is so very ingrained and a part of what I am used to, but it’s certainly not a negative thing for me, in fact I see it as positive and helpful.  I care and I want to help. At the end of the day when I see our analytics and the responses to tweens or Facebook posts, as well as retweets of my writing, it makes me feel accomplished. Like I have made a change and done something useful beyond eating and puking or obsessing about the number on the scales.

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Of course, if I could have a thriving full-time journalism career instead, perhaps with a focus on literature, as well as still playing some part in supporting DWED as a way to give back, then that would be fantastic. But It’s not realistic, and so I do what I can do feel better about myself as accept my efforts as achievements, however small those may seem at times. Certainly, that acceptance can shrink to dust as I shrug it all away as nothing worthwhile. But I know my pesky sick and self-destructive voice all too well. Doesn’t mean I do not hear it. I push my fingers in my ears, sing la-la-la and try to not let it disrupt entirely

There’s no clear-cut conclusion to any of this. It comes down to how followers and supports of DWED regard my involvement with DWED. That is crucial because I’d never ever want to be a negative influence to members that need support,. Furth more I’d hate to be an annoyance, overexposed or too honest and forth giving, dramatic even, a drama queen. I do worry that our blog page basically reads as ‘Claire’s diary’ now! But simply without these blogs there would be scarce content and little promotion or exposure of the charity on an online and socially interactive level.

I finish though by asking of you all to please come forward to me and tell me if I am being unhelpful or if you’d rather I pipe down a bit! I mean that. My writing is also of value to me and so I want to be safe with knowing that on the whole the work I am producing is okay and does the good that I want it to do. I’d rather know if something is off so I can try to make changes.  You can always PM me on Facebook or DM on Twitter. Alternatively, to hide your identity feel free to use the anonymous contact form on our site (ignore the info about being a case study and just submit your message.)

Thank you for listening xx

By Claire Kearns

Complications, scare tactics and survival

I’ll go blind or lose a leg if I don’t take care of my diabetes: that’s the one lesson I feel I took away from the information given to me when I was diagnosed in 1997, just prior to my 9th birthday.
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It’s all quite a blur but I remember those warnings. I remember feeling small and not understanding what I had done to deserve it, why me? Feelings of insecurity, self-doubt and hatred that would later fuel the beginning of my eating disordered behaviours had already started to simmer away in the background. For a long time I was in a state of denial, a little of which still remains in me. I used to pretend I wasn't any different to anyone else.

Language matters. Certain remarks are always remembered: I can vividly recall attending my diabetic clinc appointment at the age of 14 and just prior to the emergence of anorexia. I was at the upper limit of the healthy BMI range and my endocrinologist told me to be careful not to put on any more weight and that losing a few pounds would probably be beneficial to me. The next time I saw that doctor he congratulated me on the far lower number on the scale. He’ll have had no clue whatsoever as to how those words stuck with me and made me so fearful of becoming fat as I started to starve and shrink.

It seems that care has improved quite significantly for children diagnosed with diabetes these days, and the structure of treatment has changed: We no longer have to take set amounts of insulin and so stick to a regular, proportioned diet. Instead the basal and bolus routine means we can adjust our doses and take the right amounts needed to cover any kind of food we want to eat. Advances in technology such as pumps and CGM’s provide even more flexibility and some freedom from feeling so much like a pin cushion. But the rhetoric of blame and guilt for having diabetes and furthermore, the complications it causes is still put onto us. Most of all by the media and carried by members of the public that consume those headlines and read or hear inaccurate reporting regarding diabetes and so just don't know any better. The diabetes community which is most active within the social media sphere is fully informed and yet the ignorance that falls outside of that is still damaging and hurtful.

I see a lot of coverage of the potential complications of type 1 diabetes, even from charities and such that do it in a sensitive manner, but still I don’t see too much out there on management of them, advice on how to cope with additional chronic conditions in both a physical and mental sense. This is important and there needs to be guidance and resources available.

DWED are in fact in the midst of the production of a series of content packages which highlight on 4 separate common complications – these materials are available to our members. We have covered retinopathy, gastroparesis, and neuropathy so far and next we are moving on to nephropathy. For this I have interviewed a number of people with T1ED as case studies who also have direct experience of these complications. Common themes have emerged which also mirror my own history: shame, embarrassment, frustration at the false assumptions that other people around you may make. But also there’s hope, there’s perseverance and bravery.

Still, it can be too simple to think you are invincible and don’t need to worry about any of the longer term ramifications, not just yet. You aren’t at your goal weight yet. You’ll totally stop this stupidity after you’ve made it there. You’ll recover and graduate and be in your chosen career - you’ll be a proper adult, right? But months tumble into each other and then into years. You look back and think ‘damn, I really didn’t mean to do this.’

With complications you can feel totally safe until the **** hits the fan. Sorry, no way else I could put that! You don’t ever know when or what will come first, everyone with type-1-diabetes is different. Every time a new issue crops up I still feel like I am making a big deal and using up valuable appointment slots that could be used for other people. Again, that’s the sneaky self destruction in me. I know it too, but that doesn’t seem to make it any weaker.

I think that for people who also have an eating disorder the onset of complications often seems to come alongside a sense of fault and failure. Failure for being unable to control and cope with diabetes in the way they “should” do and putting themselves at risk through insulin restriction for weight loss purposes (“Diabulimia”) or/and the more ‘typical’ disordered eating behaviours such as purging by vomiting or cutting down food intake and calories [T1-ED].

T1ED can stamp you down with a double dose of guilt. Despite what other people may think about diabetes and the misinformed judgements they might make,  anyone that lives it knows the real facts, eating disorder or otherwise: That type 1 diabetes is not caused by poor lifestyle choices, and cannot be reversed or prevented. Yet, what about the complications it may lead to? You can never be certain as to when they may have developed and whether your eating disorder means you are experiencing them at an earlier rate. Honestly, I’d guess from hearing other people’s   experiences, for most it will be a definite contributing factor. For that you might feel real, raw guilt, guilt that feels more justifiable in comparison to the irrational-that-you-know-is-irrational Type 1 Diabetes guilt.

But is it, really?

An eating disorder is a mental illness and can feel all consuming. In the beginning you don’t think of the future, of still being ill in ten years time. Of having to deal with neuropathic pain and frequent laser eye sessions, a stomach that doesn’t work properly and can lead to quite unpleasant effects, far from glamorous or just that little thinner and fitter, like you intended to be. You don’t even consider that you might have to someday walk with an aid and not be able to go far on your own. But this is the truth of it, and I am merely glossing the surface. An eating disorder is sneaky, deceptive and can prevent the ability to seeing any kind of wider perspective Your world revolves around food and numbers and secrets, avoided diabetes clinic and nurse appointments, pretending you’ve taken insulin or eaten, or not eaten (after binging), lies that fall out your mouth with added embellishment for authenticities sake. It can make you feel completely powerless.

Confirmed diagnosis of complications may help or hinder someone attempting recovery from an eating disorder/T1ED or Diabulimia. It may feel they have been given a concrete reason that they need to try to take better care of themselves and so reduce further risk. On the flip side it is common to feel defeated and damaged beyond repair. From a fast moving car you look out the passenger seat and lose yourself in your own heads, until your body becomes so tired and the dissociation begins to lift – you notice the trees, grass. The breeze against your face and realise that none of it was ever worth it. You climb into the driver’s seat and try to steer but nothing is familiar. You want to stop and breathe but you realise the brakes are faulty; you’ll survive mostly unscathed after crashing the car against a safety barrier.

Nobody means to end up with a list of complications that for some reason seem to all hit at once like falling dominoes. Take me: coincidentally I’ve had a horrendous week with neuropathy, quite possibly due to medication changes. On Friday my balance was so compromised that I couldn’t walk in a straight line or hold myself up, and the pain felt unbearable – numbness and pain consecutively which seems like a contradiction but you’ll know exactly what I mean if you’ve been there. Next thing was on Tuesday I noticed another black ‘floater’ in my left field of vision so have an emergency eye clinic tomorrow.

I can’t really say how it makes me feel. I’ve had retinopathy for a while and three laser surgery sessions, but I’d ever been through neuropathy to the degree where it left me pretty much incapacitated. I did feel momentarily scared, when it was happening and my balance was totally off kilter, but that floated away and I am left with numbness, a whole lot of nothing, to a degree where I am almost nonchalant about it all.

The main element I wanted to bring into this is the effectiveness (or not) of “shock tactics.” I have recently concluded that I am pretty much immune to them. I think this is for two reasons: the first is because I have trouble giving a damn about myself – all that mental health head crap. The second I feel may be relevant to other with type 1 diabetes that were also told the horror stories growing up of losing legs and eyesight and even becoming bedbound. Some like me may have heard such horror stories numerous times over., thrown at you during another attempt to give you a 'wake up call'. It all gets a bit old. It perpetuates the isolation we already feel from the people around us without type 1 diabetes.

We know all the risks without even reading sensationalist ‘real life’ type stories. We are the experts of our own condition. Personally, nothing anyone could say to me in terms of possible dangers of  mismanaging my insulinr would ever faze me.

This is something I wish my family and some friends could accept. I KNOW it comes from a place of care, but the things they can say to try and jolt me out the eating disorder I’ve had for over half my life, and make me face up to what I am doing to myself. I don’t need that. It doesn’t help, and it can actually hurt. Instead I need to be listened to and be able to rant about type-1- diabetes, about neuropathy keeping me awake at night and blurred vision that means I have difficulty reading some labels. Being told I brought this on myself just makes me want to withdraw and beat myself up inside a little more. The bottom line is that shock tactics have no influence on me beyond causing upset. Too many lectures over the years have worn me down and people should save their breath.

I’d be interested to know if this immunity to ‘scare tactics’ is a trait many other type 1’s feel they have. Do you suddenly ‘wake up’ and tighten your monitoring and dosing accordingly if you develop signs of complications? Furthermore, if people tell you that you might need amputation one day or lose your sight is it effective in causing you to act and try to regulate your sugar levels? Or is it support and an acknowledgement that you are doing your best to get through the days that is more useful in helping you to start making changes? I wonder if this is different for people with T1ED due to the influence of how we feel about ourselves.

The names of diabetes complications are not even of use, really. It’s the impact they have on us and our general quality of life that counts. Burying our heads in the sand is no use, but still, there is no need to catastrophise. Complications may not be completely cured but they can be treated. Health Professionals have the means to try and stop progression with medications, changes to diet for gastroparesis and procedures for retinopathy ranging from laser eye surgery to vitrectomy surgery.

Complications are not a death sentence or burdens weighing us down. Every single person I interviewed on the subject was surviving despite really tough circumstances. Type 1 diabetics are the strongest people I know and stronger more for dealing with such life altering complications. We keep going and even on low days, we don’t give in. We hold each other up if we need to and remind each other that guilt and blame has no place. Dwelling on what might have been is futile.

By Claire Kearns.

Action plan

Sometimes I worry that I’ve completely exhausted blogging about type-1-diabetes and eating disorders to death. But then when I can’t sleep at night my mind won’t shut up; it’s over thinking all of the things that I haven’t said, niggling doubts and grievances I feel I need to let out. I just hope nobody reading these blogs is sick of my rambling!

Diabetes is always there, canoodling with anorexia and my fall back insurance of running high blood sugars without taking quite enough insulin. I fear hypos most of all and struggling to accept the basal adjustments my specialist nurses urges me to make. It’s still a constant battle to stay attached to my pump, and it’s disheartening to still hear ignorance and judgment on both type 1 diabetes and eating disorders wherever I go. The combination of the two still seems to be a wildly foreign concept to most members of the public that have no personal investment in the issue.

This is still frustratingly the case even after a number of notable print and online articles that have been published over the last couple of years on Diabulimia and the prevalence of disordered eating in individuals with type-1-diabetes. The brilliant documentary “The World’s Most Dangerous Eating Disorder” which was aired by BBC Three last year led to widespread acclaim and we were so pleased. For a while, with a surge in our website traffic and social media interest, it seemed like it could be a major breakthrough.

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In retrospect it merely splintered the glass surround which makes it easier for outsiders to see through but the other side which means options of treatment and true acknowledgment is still so unreachable. This despite coverage of far too many unnecessary death and statistics revealing staggering mortality rate that prove that those with T1-ED and/or Diabulimia walk shakily close against the edge of a tall building every single day.

Yet the reaction to that reality is quite predictable a lot of the time, still: “how stupid can they be? How difficult can it be to just inject if it’s a matter of life of death? Don’t they realise how crazy they are to do that?” and oh of course, there friend or relative has type 1 and lives a healthy life, their diabetes does not really affect them at all!” The eye rolling and that frustrating and wholly misjudged that is still used by clinicians: “non compliant.”

There has certainly been positive change lately and that is an achievement, small feats that add up like another stone to the fortress walls and chip away at attitudes that ultimately need re-education. More of us are asserting ourselves, challenging stigma when we hear it.  Some health providers have really stepped up and trained themselves and their teams (whether that be diabetic clinics or eating disorder units) as best as they can in the shadow of NHS funding cuts. On a wider level there have been conferences and numerous new research studies on the disorder.

Widespread discussion on the importance of the right language used within healthcare settings has been a hot topic on social media just recently. Twitterites Renza/Diabetogenic (@RenzaS) and The Grumpy Pumper (@grumpy_pumper) have been fantastic advocates on this matter, as well as Dr. Partha Kar (@parthaskar) and a handful of other HCP’s, all of which should be applauded. I only hope that this evolving dialogue continued to spread further afield beyond the tight knit diabetes community that is mostly found on Twitter or\ Facebook.

We are shouting, hollering.  Louder now after some people have begun to notice, to react, largely as a result of the documentary. Still, it can be entirely frustrating and exasperating.  It can often feel like you are left with nothing but a sore throat and strained voice as the people that should be listening walk away oblivious. It’s hard not to feel bitter, to dwell and let resentment fester.

Hope can fuel a surge in determination one minute, almost excited by the common goals, the shared anger and upset, and that camaraderie found among a group of fellows with type-1-diabetes. It can be a fierce energy that rises up and bounces back and forth with re-tweets and the swapping of blogs that for the most part, are completely spot on and relatable to you, in at least some parts.

That understanding, compassion and sense of community is truly valuable, it means we know we can fall down and be held back up. That we can feel comfortable to rant and moan about unpredictable sugar levels, neuropathic pain or even giggle over the humour of common #diabetesprobs. Plus those diabetes memes which can be hilarious to us, (well me anyway! Perhaps I’m too easily amused,) but absolutely baffling to those with functioning pancreases. I’ll never forget sending a friend some of those “diabetes cat” images and protesting about how funny they were. On the contrary, she was completely baffled and the humour I saw didn’t compute to her one bit. Not her fault at all, but hey a fellow diabetic would probably find them as funny as I do.  Is there anyone with type-1-diabetes that can’t appreciate the thought of Hansel and Gretel style blood test strip trails and those don’t-give-a-fuck-attitude ee cards (see below!)? Laughing is a good remedy.

Friends and family can be amazing when they try to appreciate our daily struggles and be compassionate, but the fact is that only we can know what it feels like to deal with chronic and largely invisible illness every day, every minute and every second without any reprieve from it. For me at least, despite a sense of patience and the fact that I know I am cared about, it is still all too easy to detect a sense that I am a miserable bore when I talk about diabetes woes. I’ve been told that I am obsessed with my own disease and need to find other things to focus on by so called friends.  I’m always complaining, and there’s always some medical pain I am suffering with. It makes me feel like a huge drama Queen and hypochondriac.

There is some truth in it, in that yes distraction can be good and thinking about your problems can make you more miserable. But the reality is that this illness never relents, and it can’t be ignored. The control it has over our bodies and our minds is like a swarm of hovering gnats hovering around us as we stand in a room with the windows bolted shut. You can swat them away but you’ll never catch and kill them. The only way to breathe is to let in some fresh air, and give them a way out. It’s not fair that we should be told to ignore the biting to the back of our necks when it just means we’ll be left covered in a rash of sore red welts. Why should we be ashamed to vent, if that is something that helps relieve the burden and ache of it all a little?

So I may have gone on a bit of a tangent here, down a rabbit hole. But I do have a point ultimately and that is the urgency of some real action. Awareness is always positive but it isn’t enough, especially when it is rarely put out into the public sphere. We need strategy, we need government action, and crucially we need the godamn media to sit down and pay attention for once. They seem to be completely deaf, the newspapers anyway, some more guilty than others of course. But every time there’s a ridiculous headline, they lump type 1 and 2 together or suggest we cure ourselves with okra, cinnamon or a better sleep routine, we make a fuss and call them out, sometimes they apologise and then a few weeks later the exact same kind of thing occurs. It’s blatantly disrespectful and insulting to be placated and then blatantly ignored for the sake of causing a reaction or even a moral uproar to stats on the amount of money diabetes care is draining from the NHS. (And yeah, better care and earlier interventions=less hospitalisation and less expenditure, isn’t it a no brainer?!)

I am saying all this but do I have any idea myself? Well yes, I do. First of all with the papers - as a DWED representative I am challenging myself to call the big wigs at some national papers and confront them on their failings. Starting with the Daily Express, yep. So wish me luck, right now a frustration is motivating me but I may want to hide scared tomorrow. Which is why I am stating this here: I will do this. I will record those calls and I will report back in a later blog.

Second is a project where you all can chip in and put your case forward if you wish. When I spoke to (the truly amazing) Norman Lamb in May for a recording which is uploaded in our members area, he offered to take DWED’s case forward to Jeremy Hunt and have it raised in parliament. This would be in the form of a letter that we will address to Jeremy Hunt that will specify just how crucial it is that people with T1-ED and Diabulimia have access to better care, which can be done with the shuffling of money, with training across the boards, more knowledge given to GP’s, AN OFFICIAL DIAGNOSIS. It may fall on death ears, but it’s worth a good damn shot.

What we need from you are testimonies that we can add to the letter. Real life truths from people with T1ED that want to push the message that further change is needed NOW, those that feel devastated and worn down, and let down by a lack of adequate support services. Submissions from friends, family and carers would also be so helpful, especially as sometimes their loved one is unable to advocate for themselves, or in the worst, most saddening instances, they are no longer with us to do so.

I will be setting up an online form for submissions in due course and will amend this blog with that link. [4/7/18: Please find the submission form here.]

Keep fighting everyone, it’s cliché but all of you out there with type-1-diabetes, with or without an eating disorder, are fighters and probably so much stronger than you believe. Hold on. Let’s act on this. We are all in this together. Keep looking at the stars instead of blackened night’s sky. We might not ever be able to shoot for the moon but we can aim for the stars.

By Claire Kearns.

My Recovery From Diabulimia

Please read this story of hope shared by one of our members. Recovery is possible.

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 My story is much like that of many others with type 1 diabetes.  I had just turned twelve-years-old when I was diagnosed and had no clue what I was doing but I checked my sugar levels and aimlessly injected random amounts of insulin in the hope I was getting it right.  Two years down the line the only thing I#d ever heard at my regular clinic visits was “you need to lose weight”.  This became something I rebelled against in the years that proceeded. This in the form of eating anything and everything, avoiding clinic check-ups and telling lies to the healthcare professionals and worst of all my family.

I got to a stage where I never checked my sugar levels and no longer took my background insulin.  I knew I was making myself Ill but found it hard to get back to a routine because I never really had a routine.  The advice I had been given as a newly diagnosed T1 was completely wrong by today’s information and knowledge into the condition.  I took the courageous step of writing down how I felt and what I was doing and gave it to the diabetic specialist doctor.  She was very kind and told me it was okay but nothing else was said and I was given no guidance.  I felt let down.  I continued with my life and no positive changes were made as I didn’t know how to do it on my own.

I started to cut back on the amount of injections I was taking after a trauma in my life.  My big brother passed away and for the first time in my life I didn’t turn to food for comfort, I felt the complete opposite and found I couldn’t eat without feeling sick.  I started to lose weight and it felt good but felt I needed to lose a lot more weight as I had reached my heaviest.  I became obsessed and found out that the less insulin I was taking the more weight I lost.  I regained my appetite and liked the idea that I could eat what I wanted and kept my weight low. 

By the time I hit the age of 27 I had it down to an art and had lost a large amount of weight.  I loved hearing people gasp and telling me how great I looked.  Someone told me in disgust that they could see my collar bones but this only played to my ego and I took it as a compliment.  For the first time in my life I could wear beautiful clothes, men found me attractive and people were telling me I looked great.  At this point I wasn’t suffering any side effects unless of course you couldn’t tolerate feeling extreme thirst, nausea and exhaustion.  I continued to live this secret life and lied to everyone that it was easy: “oh I just don’t eat as much” - which I didn’t and that it was just down to walking. This was the perfect diet and I’d cracked it.

Slowly though I started to notice my hair falling out,  damage to my vision was detected and I was vomiting a lot.  On numerous occasions I tried to gain some control and sought the help of my GP who in turn referred me to the eating disorders team.  Sadly it never helped me as the only treatment available was what would be the same for an anorexic or bulimic. They didn’t understand the complexities of this eating disorder and so I gave up my visits.

I felt lost and depressed; as if nobody knew how to help me even when they tried.  I wanted to help myself but wasn’t strong enough to break the cycle, my addiction to being thin.  It got to a point where I wasn’t injecting at all and ended up in bed for a week. I was so weak and tired that all I did was constantly vomit into a bucket at the side of my bed.  One day I got in to the bath to wash and warm my frozen body up. I floated there far beyond the time I should have and the bath was so cold again it hurt my skin.  I had no energy to pull myself out of there but I somehow summoned enough to do so and wrap a towel around myself.  I stumbled through to my sofa and lay down.