In this Eating Disorders Awareness Week, MQ copywriter Juliette Burton, who also works as a writer, comedian and mental health campaigner, shares her experience of what happened the day she was sectioned under the health law mental due to anorexia.
When he was 17 it was decided that he was “crazy.” So I spent my 18’sth birthday section under the mental health law in the hospital. But then my best friend passed hers 18th drunk birthday under a table in Wetherspoons. I think I had the best place.
The day I was admitted, August 5, 2002, my parents accompanied me to our local GP. This was not unusual, I had been seeing the GP for a few months. Every week I visited my friendly, handsome local doctor to have my blood taken, have my blood pressure and heart rate measured and have a very pleasant chat about my condition. It remains one of the most stable relationships I’ve ever had.
However, upon walking into the doctor’s office that day, I realized something was different. There were subtle clues that something was up; It was a different room than my normal visitors, my handsome doctor looked much more serious than usual, and seemed to have gathered a crowd for some kind of party to celebrate the seriousness of the situation, although his guest list was a little limited. The other people I had invited to the evening were two other very serious adults I had never met before and my own parents. If there had been balloons and streamers, the whole experience might have been more enjoyable for everyone involved, although postponing the cake was a good idea, given the circumstances.
The handsome GP calmly asked me to sit down and calmly told me that I was about to be “discontinued under the mental health law”.
I thought. I know what the six words mean… separately. But he says them in this fascinating new phrase. I had no idea what this particular “section” was, no idea what “being” meant and about 3 years ago I was introduced to the concept of “mental health”; I just thought it was something made up. overly dramatic people like me talking.
“They will take you to a psychiatric center and you will have to go. “You have no choice in the matter.” One of the strangers stated sternly.
My mother looked at me with sad but kind eyes.
I nodded. Having no choice in the matter. Okay, yes, I can do that. I mean, I’m a teenager. It’s not that I’ve had much autonomy until now. I can deal with this.
“An ambulance will arrive today,” my handsome doctor explained kindly, “to take you to the hospital.”
Then the men in white coats come looking for me. I reflected. I’m going back to another hospital. This summer my friends are waiting for their AS Level results and I’m going on a trip.
“Juliette…” Dr. Handsome looked at me poignantly, “you’re a month away from dying.” He paused, looking for signs of shock, impact, or recognition. Unsatisfied with his efforts, he continued: “…you are a month away from dying of anorexia.”
The seriousness with which he was explaining the fact that I was a month away from dying of anorexia seemed to indicate that he thought I didn’t know. He was crazy to think that he would surprise me. When he said, “You’re a month away from dying of anorexia.” I thought, Yes, it sounds fine. I thought. That is the point. My plan is working just as I expected.
Anorexia was the solution to all the madness in the world, in society, in my life. Anorexia resolved every distressing thought, every distressing emotion, it was my identity. My life experiences up to this point, the external social messages, the internal pain, all fueled (pun intended) this illness that manifests itself to help me cope. It was serving me. Anorexia, in my very sick opinion, was the perfect answer to all my problems: a high achiever with low self-esteem, being a perfectionist in an imperfect world, being afraid of failing, feeling like my life was out of control, the imploding pressure of being young, the claustrophobic pressure of being a woman, the terrifying rush of puberty and adulthood advancing on me, my voice not being heard or heard…feeling helpless in the face of all that and so much more. Anorexia gave me power. My resistance to eating was my resistance. Anorexia resolved all my internal turmoil and numbed everything. Why would I want to stop?
And now here was this doctor giving me this supposedly big revelation that I was already aware of. Why do they pay you so much money?I thought, To tell me something that I not only already know but am deliberately doing? AND Am the certifiable?
“I’ve been trying,” I said, with a half-truth.
“And that’s great,” Soulful-eyes enthused. “But it’s not making a difference fast enough.” I have subsequently filed a complaint about meditation tapes, therapies, teeth whitening toothpastes, and anti-wrinkle facial moisturizers.
That blatant mental monster had been rotting in my mind for about a decade and I only noticed it because of years of hiding starvation tactics, cutting calories, over-exercising, years and years of suggestions and advice, none of which I will explain. in any of my writings. I don’t want to give the pen to anorexia.
Anorexia was the first of my mental illnesses to be diagnosed, noticed and treated properly. Behind that illness were other mental health conditions that I had not yet learned to manage. Anorexia was the condition for which I was hospitalized; It was the condition that caused the most alarming symptoms to other people. But it wasn’t the condition he had lived with the longest.
I spent years struggling with my mental well-being, anxiety disorder, depression, bipolar disorder, separation anxiety disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, compulsive overeating disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. They simply hadn’t been properly treated, diagnosed or discussed yet.
Later that night, my mom and I were in the kitchen waiting for the ambulance. With so little body fat, the warmest room in the house was the logical place to wait.
Now I know that the classic image people imagine of a certifiable lunatic being institutionalized, detained, or committed would be that of a crazed half-human, foaming at the mouth, kicking and screaming, resisting the efforts of men in white coats. But in fact, I remember the paramedic leading me to the back of the ambulance without resisting me at all. Like a horse going to the slaughterhouse and being led by the reins to the boxcar, head down, one foot in front of the other, knowing my place. No matter how strongly he felt about me, even I knew that if he fought he would lose. The two paramedics flanking me were nothing compared to my mother at my side. I always do what I’m told if my mother is around.
After getting into the ambulance, I was taken to the psychiatric hospital and stayed there for 3 months. I was then given back my human right to freedom, I was no longer legally sectioned and I was allowed to leave. Treatment during this time led me to experience psychotic hallucinations due to stress and some of the most difficult experiences of my life. But my life was saved and now I am very happy that it was. The experience within this hospital, like others I have experienced as an inpatient, was not easy, but I am still grateful to those who saved my life, which means I was able to share my story and hopefully contribute to the effort to guarantee that others in the future will not experience what I have. This is only possible with research.
Eating disorders are mental illnesses and sometimes, but not always, have physical symptoms. My physical symptoms at this stage of my life meant that medical professionals intervened to ensure that I did not die from those symptoms. While others may experience eating disorders, they may not experience any physical symptoms at all, but it is important to take the pain and distress caused by your eating disorder seriously: measuring distress has nothing to do with symptoms. physical symptoms. No matter the manifestation of the eating disorder, compassion is the key. In my experience, pain is pain, nothing good comes from quantifying, comparing, judging or measuring.
At this point in my life I was a teenager but my relationship with food has been problematic throughout my life at all ages since I was very young. Eating disorders can affect anyone of any age, gender, race, sexual orientation, or background. While food and I still have a complicated relationship, my relationship with food has improved, grown, and I still believe recovery is possible for anyone.
My ongoing recovery journey has been fluid, food still teaches me a lot about who I am psychologically speaking. And what I feel around it continues to give me deeper insight into parts of myself that I couldn’t access when I was sectioned. While eating disorders are life-threatening and possibly the mental illness that has affected my life the most, navigating my recovery with them has taught me a lot, particularly around compassion.
If you are concerned about your own or someone else’s relationship with food, you can contact the UK eating disorders charity Beat on 0808 801 0677 or beateatingdisorders.org.uk.
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