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At 7 years old I started to throw away my school lunches, hide food in baked potato skins and give away my penguin bars to my friend. Around the same time, my mum was called into school by my teacher, worried by the fact that her skinny pupil had made a new year’s resolution – to lose weight. I don’t recall this myself, but I believe that at this time, the seeds of an eating disorder were being sown and would soon become something which would be a cause for concern amongst those closest to me, dismissed by GPs, worsen in time and land me spending months in hospital – only to go and lose the plot, again.

I have a life too. I should be the proud owner of a First Class degree, but I don’t ‘do’ pride, I’ve worked as a television researcher, dabbled in print media and hope to one day become a female version of Louis Theroux. I’ve fronted bands, fed the homeless, sang with the Halle Choir, sky-dived and travelled. It could be argued that my eating disorder hasn’t really held me back, but it has, in more ways than I care to call to mind… the question is, at 22 years old, am I ready to kick this thing into touch? Let’s hope so.

Edited to add: Now aged 24. The story continues…