When life becomes the Arctic

Starting to envy those seeming so unfazed by different parts of their body electively exposed to their surroundings, or those that are perspiring small beads of sweat from their pores as they carry out their day, really is when I should have began to probably start questioning my own sanity.

Although coupled with a few others; for me,  if there is any one reason to want to tackle anorexia, is the irrefutable desire to achieve warmth. I know it’s far from uncommon that numerous people feel the cold to a much harsher degree anyway, but personally going from insisting that the window remain open throughout the course of the night, to not being able to stomach a sleep without a double duvet, a single duvet and 3 or 4 blankets in the middle of March; really makes me sometimes miss the excess 3 stone muscle-fat sheath, formerly deposited around my bones!

Succumbing to the warmth of the treadmill at either one of the three gyms in Reading I found myself alternating between, was hardly a rarity. Claiming a corner of the fitness suite, sometimes up to 90 minutes; with besides to the prime motive of running to burn calories, I would actually frequently seek comfort in solely pounding the belt, so as to just redeliver the blood to my constantly numb extremities. More often than not, this could take almost as long as 30 minutes; until I could begin to restore some running style normality, as the feeling in my toes re-emerged.

Speculation around anorexia is that the sufferer willingly opts to wear baggy or lots of clothing in an attempt to conceal their skeleton so prominently protruding beneath. In stark contrast however, I would actually sometimes find myself become increasingly agonised by the undisturbed bouts of cold temperatures, resulting in the fact that I simply had to conceal my body, or end up facing a seriously distressing drop in body temperature. It would be exceptionally difficult to explain why I became irritated by this and why I seemed to want such observance from others; I mean, does anyone really like being able to see bones protruding from places they shouldn’t be? But when every waking minute, thought and action of each day, is targeted towards the voice telling you that being as thin as you are (though you could still be thinner) is something to be proud of, why shouldn’t you boast all your excruciating efforts and reveal the bones spanning your upper body?

Now being away from University, a far too common occurrence in the Brown household would be witnessing what appears to be a Middle Eastern summer and an Alaskan winter, both within 5 cm of each other. This being, my mother; experiencing an engulfment of heat and irritably removing her jumper, and myself; consumed in a woolly hat and 101 layers, only occasionally emerging my nose and mouth to sip on the mug of hot drink cupped in my hands in front of me.

Though it isn’t scarce for me to think that every time I don’t feel as cold as normal or seeming to experience unbeknown warmth that hasn’t come from layers of clothing; “does that mean I’ve put on weight and my body is now metabolising loads of fat to keep me warm?!” However so, my now 51kg frame has decided that enough is enough, and it’s time to stop contemplating those short sleeved clothes that make me look and feel good, without having to first consider how cold I will inevitably get. I am now positively striving towards being able to remove my jumper alongside my mum; not to reveal bone and skinny hard efforts, but because I can naturally start beginning to feel the warmth; as the disorder, I hope, gradually starts to melt away… Even if that will involve eating some nuts and avocado.



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