The Backstory: Time out.... University Year 2

Everything seemed to move up a gear when I started my second year at Durham (studying Cell Biology). I can vividly recall when our course tutor gave us a list at the start of the year of all the assignments we would have over the next 8 months that would impact our final grade. It filled me with dread and sealed my conviction that I couldn't afford to spend any time away from study.

And so it began, a hard year of assignment after assignment; weekends in the library and hours copying out notes. My social life dwindled to nothing as I spent more time in the company of my textbooks. I even felt guilty when I went to church and would hurry away before the end, avoiding the post service refreshments and social time...

View of Durham Cathedral from Observatory Hill

But I still had to exercise. This wasn't a happy release from study, but a compulsion - if I didn't go out for a run, I couldn't bear the guilt about eating. Study, run, study, run...at times I was so depressed walking back from lectures that I would stop dead in a corridor and be unable to move for a time. When winter came, I dreaded the snow and the treacherous ice that came with it. How could I go for a run in those conditions? Whilst others built snowmen, I would sprint up a gravelled hill- the best surface I could find for gripping on to. I was lucky not to fall and do myself a mischief.

I was still skipping lunch, avoiding carbs and suffering from diarrhoea so my weight kept bumping down. By now, the physical symptoms of a classical eating disorder were emerging - but I still didn't consider myself as thin, let alone anorexic. Soft downy hair (lanugo) crept across my face and back. I became extremely sensitive to the cold and couldn't warm myself up. I gave up caving as I simply couldn't stand being completely wet through and miserably cold all the time. Our family skiing holiday was a trial of endurance for me; even with multiple gloves and vests, my fingers froze into blocks of ice. Everything stopped being fun.

One of my few peaceful moments at Durham - walking through the trees to the campus

The only thing I looked forward to was when it was finally time to eat. Food had to replace all the social, creative and joyful parts of my life that were missing. And so it was such a precious thing, of such importance - and thus something I should be afraid of, in case I gave myself too much and became fat.

As the final year exams drew near, I felt the pressure increasing within and without. I was on practical lockdown, spending the whole day in my room revising, only going out to run and collect food from the canteen. I was so nervous that I couldn't look anyone in the eye and someone only had to say "How's revision going?" and I would dissolve into tears. The slightest thing would send me into hysterics. Once I accidentally dropped some yoghurt on the floor and became so upset that the cleaner embraced me to try and calm me down. When she felt that I was just "skin and bone", she alerted my college tutor who began to keep an eye on me, encouraging me to eat more and take breaks from revision.

Floating on the dead sea

Yet it was all for naught. The very day before my first exam, I reached the end of what I could stand. I was sitting at my desk, desperately trying to force in some facts about gene regulation. The more I tried, the more I panicked and the harder it became until I had a complete breakdown. Instinctively, I rushed to my college tutor who had been expecting this to happen. She declared that I was unfit to study and sent me home.

It took a while to get over the shock of being back with my parents, with a whole year stretching before me until I could re-sit my exams the following year. When the fog cleared, I felt compelled to make myself useful and not to waste this time further. Amazingly, I got a part-time job in a local care home. To this day, I'm convinced that it was only because I lived close enough to walk and so wouldn't need to drive (their car park was so microscopic that they had to rent spaces from the golf course next door). It did wonders for my self-confidence though. I was delegated to the dementia wing, where many of my patients could switch between extreme personalities and become frustrated and confused. I had to develop a thick skin and learn not to take things personally. I was constantly being pushed out of my comfort zone - for instance, being asked to go and give a shower to someone who, depending on their mood, could be completely against the idea. I did struggle at times and had many tearful moments in the staff room, but at other moments I felt true elation at having brightened someone's day.

FAR too much food on offer during my trip to Israel

When I wasn't working, I was revising, cooking meals for my parents and trying to get a handle on my nerves. Through the local mental health clinic, I was able to try CBT, art therapy classes (which I loved!) and even auricular acupuncture. At this time, the focus was on controlling my anxiety rather than my erratic eating patterns. So whilst I managed to claw my way back to a mental state where I could take the exams in the summer, there were still many unresolved issues. When I worked at the care home, I would go the whole seven hour shift without anything to eat, and I often only ate one or two small meals a day. I saved up enough money to go on a trip to the Holy Land after the exams. This was an incredible experience, but was tainted by the constant presence of food - sumptuous buffets in the hotels and kibbutz accommodation: so many rich sauces, puddings and cakes mocking me because I couldn't have any of them.

After I resat my exams, I went to Cambridge to do a research internship at the University as part of a scholarship scheme. It was a wonderful experience in many ways, but one which I didn't make the most of, as I was too timid to interact with the other students on the programme. Although the college was catered for, I let my body go downhill even further. Before work, I would drag myself out for a run, then cycle to the lab without breakfast. Lunch was a yoghurt and some salad, and by dinner time my body was so desperate for sugar that all I had was a pudding from the canteen. Those were the moments I waited for, alone in the kitchen with my sugary comfort. I had brought a set of scales to "keep an eye on my weight" but as it slipped down I felt powerless to do anything.

Behind the smile, I was in torment. Presenting my poster at the end of my research placement

One memory stands out - the lab decided to have fish and chips for lunch from the takeaway. I didn't join in, but lingered in the doorway, just so I could see and smell them.

A student on the programme managed to befriend me; a relative of hers had suffered from anorexia and she had recognised the signs in me. On the last day of the course, I told her how terrified I was about starting my final year, how nothing had really changed in me and I felt on a crash course to oblivion. Even as I said this, it felt like a prophecy. And indeed, it did come true...