I never thought this would happen to me. I’ve been a “fat girl” for my whole life. I’m the person who walks down the aisle of an plane that you don’t want to sit next to, for fear of my thighs cascading into your space. I’m the person who squeezes into smaller chairs and worries about whether she’ll be able to walk with her colleagues to meetings only a few blocks away. I’m also the fat girl who doesn’t eat. Who shames herself for every single morsel she puts into her mouth. Who worries about eating in front of people. Who attends counselling for co-morbid conditions. Who eats in front of people who love me so they don’t worry, or chokes down a few morsels to appear normal to colleagues at work. I’m your friend, your sister, your daughter. I’m living in a world of rules and order, that most people in my life have no idea just how much power and control they have over me. I’m living in a world where hunger is an optimum state, where peace appears impossible and where my life appears to be a shred of what it once was. This started almost overnight, like a switch went off in my brain telling me that my response to stress should be one of restriction rather than excess. I’m crying out for help, but at the same time – I live in a silent hell.