I could never really pinpoint a time when bulimia came to stay.

I felt its presence; subtly at first, but by the end it became an unwanted entity. It invaded, possessed, destroyed and shrouded us with fear. Due to the effects on our personal lives we had to move house several times - each time I hoped we could leave it behind - only we never did.It wasn't offered a forwarding address and each time we closed every door we secretly prayed we had left it there, only it was never that easy. It had the courtesy to let us settle for a few weeks, the suggestion of new hope, a fresh start, time for us to feel safe that maybe this time things would be different -  only it never was because this invisible force ripped my family apart as it was stronger than we.

Every door I banged on, every plea for help fell on deaf ears because nobody truly understood the devastation ripping through my family. his was not an illness to just affect my daughter – it destroyed all our lives. The countless days and nights sitting in hospital in intensive care watching my daughter dying will haunt me for a lifetime. Our GP preparing me for the fact that my beautiful girl was unlikely to survive will haunt me for a lifetime. Holding my breath every morning as I would enter my child’s room just in case her body was cold will haunt me for a lifetime. No parent should live with such fear. The depression became worse; the dark cloud loomed over me that this living nightmare would never be over.

The more we fell apart, the louder it laughed. The days became darker and our individual paths lonely ones. The tapestry of life I tried weaving for my children was left with threads discarded. I had no time or energy to make memories which would be happy ones. One day my son stared up at me, the next he was towering above me. I had missed the bit in between. I had lost 8 years. I heard the words my baby spoke for the first time but never really imprinted them in my memory.  We shared our fears with no-one, as no-one really understood. It was our nightmare. It was easier to detach ourselves for fear of the ignorance, intolerance and understanding by even our closest love ones at the force which insisted on sharing our home and refused to leave. We lost friends, understanding, love, and turned our anger and frustration at each other and began to punish ourselves.  Our once happy home was no longer filled with the sound of children’s laugher, but filled with anger and resentment.  I had to give up work to become my daughter’s Carer and money was tight. When the illness was at its worst, food became the saviour and the enemy. There was never enough left for the packed lunches in the morning due to bulimic urges through the night, never enough juice for the bottles due to the continuous thirst, and the household budget was spent on food. We had to play catch-up to pay the bills and activities, simple pleasures, clubs or after school activities or holidays became non-existent. My son developed an unhealthy relationship with food and would hide it “just in case there is nothing left to eat”

That lightbulb moment for my daughter was our salvation. When bulimia packed its bags and decided to leave for good, this time I locked the door firmly behind it.