The Backstory: First year at University 2009-10

I was so devastated by being rejected to study Biology at Oxford University, that I couldn't give Durham a chance to make me happy. I had never felt so lost and alone as I did on the drive of St Mary's College, waving goodbye to my parent's car. In retrospect, I know that I almost certainly would not have coped with the constant pressure of Oxbridge, but I couldn't see that at the time. All I felt was a profound loss, as though the only life I wanted for myself had truly died. And it was all my fault, for breaking down in the interview and not giving myself a chance.

So, trapped in this web of shame and guilt, I shied away from people and focused on the work instead. I found it stressful to adjust to a new style of academic assessment - here there were no mark schemes, no syllabuses: a world apart from A Levels where you could get 100% on an exam. I felt completely out of my depth. It became increasingly clear to me that the more time I dedicated to my course, the more likely I was to be rewarded. Very soon, I couldn't justify spending any time on nourishing activities, such as going out with the hill walking club: I would only feel guilt guilt guilt for squandering valuable time that could have been spent working...

My lonely room at University

At the same time, my "eating abnormalities" began. Right up until the day I started University, I had always eaten well and not worried overmuch about what I put in my mouth. But at this vulnerable time, a great fear awoke when I saw the groaning portions on offer at my catered college. I wasn't used to having so much food freely available: here you could have a cooked breakfast, hot lunch and three course dinner EVERY DAY! After whisking off to Argos to buy a pair of cheap bathroom scales, I was horrified to discover that I had put on a pound or two in the first week alone. Something in me completely panicked. I was out of control, the weight would just keep going up, up and up unless I did something, fast!

And so it all began. I cut out carbs, seeing them as "empty calories", and eschewed rich puddings in favour of fruit and yoghurt. I began skipping lunch and became addicted to the "hunger high" from eight hours of fasting from breakfast to dinner. Those scales set my mood for the entire day when I stepped on them each morning; if the needle hadn't moved, I could carry on as normal. But if it had trembled ever so slightly upwards....then I would be angry and frustrated and there would be no breakfast as punishment for my "greed" (totally ignoring, of course, how our weight naturally fluctuates over the course of a week!) If there was a formal dinner that evening, then I would fast all day so that I felt "ready" for it. I became too self conscious to eat in the dining room, and would slink out the back door, carrying my meals up to my room.

Whilst this was all going on, I was still running, using GoogleMaps to plot out routes that included the steepest hills I could find. Perhaps I would have tried to join a team, but something else happened that stole any chance of a social running life. I developed exercise-induced diarrhoea. Almost every time I went out, I ended up with "the runs" and the final kilometre or so was always a sprint back to get to the loo in time. As I went most days, my weight went down with a bump. Rather than shocking me into action, part of me felt that this must be a good thing - if I had lost weight, it must have been fat that was there to lose. After all, in our society, thin was good, wasn't it? Each time my weight dropped, the rational part of me would say Must do something about that, get it back up again....and yet I never did, for part of me was secretly pleased. And so the 'lower weight' simply became the new 'normal', the new figure which decided how much I would eat each day.

Back in the West Midlands, my parents had no idea what was going on, until my Grandmother passed away and we came together for her funeral. Possibly, this sad event accelerated my decline as I had never experienced such a close loss before and had not really known any of my other grandparents. When my mum hugged me, I could feel her fingers stroking my ribs in disbelief. I brushed off her concerns, saying that I had been having "tummy trouble" and was still adjusting to university life.

Some of my culinary creations - a summer aubergine salad and a cake for my Brother

But the holidays became battles of increasing frustration. Mealtimes were especially difficult, as my parents would shout or plead with me to eat some carbohydrates. They also couldn't understand why I still had to go out for a run every day when it was making me ill. Yet running had stopped being enjoyable long ago - I felt compelled to go, even if it was raining and I was exhausted: I had to do it simply so I could eat again that day. I also developed another addiction and became fascinated by cookery. I would sit for hours flicking through my growing collection of cookbooks and supermarket magazines and planning meals to prepare for the family. At first, my mum appreciated having some nights off, but soon these occasions only became a source of upset when I would serve myself just a tiny portion of what I had made.

Yet things weren't too bad at this stage. I was still in reasonable physical shape and that summer I took part in the British 3 Peaks challenge with a University team. It was a daunting task- to climb the highest mountains in England, Scotland and Wales in under 24 hours - and I trained myself by running laps up a road so steep that cars weren't allowed to drive down it. I was probably the fittest I had ever been in my life. Although I had carefully tried to portion out my meals for the event, the powerful surge of adrenalin that came over me gave me an enormous hunger and I ate far more than I intended. But it was all fuel for the fire, and it felt incredible to power up those mountains so strongly! As soon as the challenge was done, however, my guilt resurfaced and I forced myself to have two days "off eating" to compensate.

So, after one year at University, I was just about coping and life still had some variety....but the rot had set in. Times were only going to get worse...