The teenage years are, in my opinion, totally unique to any other phase of life. They are times of great growth- mental, physical and emotional. With these changes come happiness, acceptance and maturity but possibly fear confusion and pain too. How can a person so young cope with so much change during a relatively short space of time? Do adults recognise the true extent of our difficulties or do they look back on their own past with rose-tinted glasses? As they say, time heals all, some day I too may come to treasure memories on this difficult time.

Modern day teenagers are faced with incredible pressure and adversity. I don’t believe any one of us is exempt from this. Some may deal with this in an extreme, extroverted way while others keep their suffering hidden behind a smiley facade. A seemingly happy sixteen year old could well be tormented and depressed deep down and has yet to uncover a way to express their feelings. They are, in essence, a ticking time bomb, allowing their feelings to fester and thrive until eventually they find a way to manifest themselves in their lives.

How could I make such a huge presumption? Are teenage mental health issues something I heard talk of and decided to research? Perhaps I could have read a few magazine articles, extracts from psychiatry journals, a biography. How I wish that was true, the pain and suffering that could have been prevented. No, I’m speaking from experience. I fell unwittingly into a world I can only describe as a living hell, my life was slipping through my fingers as I naively stood by and watched.

Anorexia Nervosa. I still find it hard to say the word aloud. Directly translated into English, it means ‘a loss of appetite of a nervous origin’, although any sufferer will tell you that the appetite is not so much lost as it’s burning pain is used to quell other emotions.

Did I choose to allow this disease into my mind? Was I prepared to lose my friends, my hobbies, even my life, all in the name of vanity? No, never. I never in my wildest dreams saw this in the road laid out for me. I never chose to become so sick I was eventually hospitalized. I can only describe it as a presence that crept its way into my mind, influencing my every thought and growing in strength until my own judgement no longer had a say. Even as I became weaker, I could not recognise that the situation had gone beyond my control. My closest family and friends had no clue of how my mind had been imprisoned. To an outsider, I was a teenager going through a difficult phase that would pass in time.

During this time, I was heavily involved in a sport that required good physical health. My fading strength and wasting muscles were hard to disguise. Over time it became blatantly obvious to all that the person they once knew had been replaced by a mere shadow of her former self. I had become severely depressed and was gradually losing the will to live.

It was pure luck that I live barely five minutes from a ‘St. John of God’s Lucena Clinic’. As I found myself clinging to the last remaining shreds of my life, help was at hand. I was hospitalised and went on to spend five months there. Since discharge I’ve been coping well, not to say it’s been easy. I knew it wouldn’t be. I’m grateful though, for every morning I wake up and find my freedom intact.

This is, obviously, a mere overview of what was a hugely difficult and complex time for me and all involved. To tell my story in detail would take far beyond 1000 words. And, to be honest, some things are best left unsaid.

Perhaps most worrying is how many other people will be able to fill in the gaps in my story for themselves. Eating disorders among adolescents are becoming increasingly common. The reason for this is hard to pinpoint, although many say our media obsession with thinness has a part to play. I, personally, consider blaming it solely on the media a cop-out, a way of disguising underlying issues. I don’t believe people would die in the name of vanity.

How can these problems be prevented and treated without the cause being known? Eating disorders are notoriously difficult to treat, as is any mental illness. There is no quick fix. Recovery is a long and difficult process; opportunities to quit arise at every turn. It requires great strength of mind and determination, qualities that not all possess. Support and love can help but at the end of the day it needs to be the sufferer’s decision to fight back and live.

I share my story, not to frighten people, but rather to offer hope to those in need of it. I too felt as though recovery was impossible, as though there was no way out. Now I have come far enough that I can look back and feel relieved I chose to fight. I appreciate life more than ever; there is so much to live for if you give yourself the chance. No matter how bad the situations seems, there is always light at the end of the tunnel. Recovery requires dedication, strength and courage, but in the end, it’s worth it.