The stigma attached to eating disorders, profound as it is among women, is almost insurmountable among men, who not only resist treatment, but are frequently refused treatment even when they do seek it. Those men who do get help often have a heavy burden of shame to unload.
Dear Readers,
After much discussion and debate, we decided not to edit this post and publish it the way it is. This is in a sequel. Please find below part one of the most encouraging male ED stories on this blog. In order to seal the anonymity, the name has been changed. This is a work of six months. Please do keep in mind this story is being shared in good will to raise the awareness and to dispel the myths surrounding Eating Disorders. Eating Disorders have no Gender and can affect anyone.
Anorexia and bulimia are characterized, in both men and women, by essentially the same traits: self-induced starvation, an excessive fear of becoming fat even when thin, and a tendency toward compulsive living patterns. Men don’t necessarily think in terms of “fat” or “thin” as women do. They relate in terms of “strong” or “weak”, where fat is associated with being weak, unmanly and disgusting. So, for many men, structured forms of exercise are carried to obsessive levels.
Men Stuff.org
Part One
I was just 5 years old when I began eating to fill a void in my life. I was raised by my grandmother and her way of expressing her love for me was to serve me with outrageous quantity of food anytime she could.
By the time I made it to junior school, I could easily pass for a secondary school student. At the time, I never understood why I didn’t live with my parents. My three siblings lived with them, and they seemed okay. I am not saying I was unhappy with my Grandmother; it was quite the opposite actually
I was 9 years old, when I found out my mother wasn’t biological, and that is when it actually dawned on me like the unexpected rise of the morning sun. It all made sense; her attitude towards me, her cold stares, her lengthy silences.
As I grew older, I sought comfort in food. My grandmother was well aware of my Step Mother’s attitude, and would often tell her to be nicer to me. Granma would then cook for me as some sort of appeasement. We lived in a family home with plenty of room, which ensured we could conveniently accommodate my young uncle and his wife. My grandmother and I had the left wing of the house all to us.
I was clinically obese in secondary school. My weight crept up to nearly 19 stones. My self-esteem was practically nonexistent. There was no uniform that would have been the perfect fit for me; everything was too small, too tight, or downright impossible. Oh! What I would have given for oversized pants It wasn’t until I was about 15 that I began some sort of weight loss program. We had a new sports teacher who encouraged me to take on Sports. In one year, I lost over 3 stones of weight.
I was super motivated. I got into college and I continued with the workout and running routine. I dropped down to 11 stones. When I was done, my eating habits were still out of my control. I’d try to stay day or two without food and sometimes I succeed, but then just fill myself with anything that was greasy and fried in full fat right after. My grandmother wasn’t very supportive, as she continued to force food on me. The days I felt rejected by the family, I would overeat, comfort-eat and then spend the next day compensating. I never knew it was bulimia. I weighed myself every day. This bad eating habit was my own little secret. I would often get the food, shove it into my gym bag and come home. At the family functions, I was secretive, less involved. My eye was always on food and the kitchen. I always comforted myself by thinking – I don’t eat with family; this is for me for later; physically I looked well, and all other forms of self deceit.
The period between high school graduation and university resumption were the loneliest of my life. My grandmother did all she could, but no one really cared.
At university, it was a new world. I was by myself. I became more preoccupied with food. I had no interest in socialising and studying. I was very lucky to get a job at an Asian restaurant working 4 hours every day in the evening. This helped me save money. At the restaurant, I would just eat and eat and wouldn’t get home till 2am in the morning. This obviously affected my sleep. Back in the halls, I would sleep through the day, missing lectures. My eyes were always puffy, as I would stay in bed thinking about my next binge. Things got to the point where my attendance dropped below 50%. I spent days in bed. Restaurant food lost its appeal. Day time binges got worse – with large pizzas. Weirdo, psychopath, were some of the words used for and at me. My weight slowly increased, I had to increase my workouts, and I would make myself vomit. I couldn’t bear the thought of being fat. I was left alone to deal with my illness.
To be Continued…….
