Snap

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SNAP

I'm five years old on the kitchen floor in my pyjamas. I don't know why exactly but I have a feeling of being alone and abandoned. I'm not though, I know that as I look at myself and hear my mother in the bathroom.

It's a weird thing to stand and look at yourself, I look so normal. But then an immense feeling of sadness washes over me, so strong that I erupt in tears instantly. I cry, not the me I'm looking at. The me I'm looking at doesn't understand this feeling, but he blames it on himself. Every time we have food, my mother goes to the bathroom and gets sick.

Why?

I don't understand.

I do, but I didn't then.

Maybe this happens every time she eats, or maybe it only happens when she eats with me. I eat the same food and I don't get sick, so it's not the food.

It must be me.

I'm making my mother sick.

I have to stop this, but how?

I know, every time we eat from now on I'll make sure she eats more and this will keep her away from the bathroom and then she'll get over being sick of me.

This will mean I will have to eat more too, but it's ok. I can eat more if it makes my mother not sick any more. She'll be happy because she won't be sick and I'll be happy because she'll be happy.

The tears come heavier now as I see myself form this, quite frankly, genius plan to keep the peace in the home. I'm only 5 years old and I have made a life changing, no life forming decision and my mother has no idea. Neither do I. No one does.

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SNAP

I'm in the dining room and my mother is carving up a ham. I'm giddy with excitement. Dinner time. I can see no one else. It's just me, my mother and the ham. She tears off a little strip of ham and gives it to me. I dance away like I will never be happier than I am now.

I must be special.

She has given me ham before anyone else.

My plan must be working.

Every body is happier when it's dinner time, especially me. It gives me another chance to keep my mother out of the bathroom, because that's where she gets sick. I'll have to eat more dinner, and every body's left overs to keep her out of the toilet.

That's what she does.

She eats more and it takes longer for her to get to the bathroom.

I have to do the same to show her how much I still love her. I still love her even though she gets sick. If I eat with her, we can always be happy together.

But when the food stops, I get sad.

When the food stops, the bathroom starts.

I'm sad now.

Dinner is over.

I can hear my mother in the bathroom.

I see myself at the kitchen table picking at the dirty plates.

I'm seven years old now and I think that if I eat it will bring back the happy feelings I had when my mother isn't sick. It doesn't. But I still keep eating.

Suddenly I'm very aware that my face is wet from tears and sore from being scrunched up in a grimace of forgotten moments. Looking at myself I want to hug him and tell him how proud I am of him. It's not his fault, never was.

He was only doing what he thought was the right thing to do.

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SNAP

I'm 10 years old in the back of the family car. My parents are fighting and I have that bad feeling again. I have it because I know we will go home, have dinner and she will go to the bathroom. On top of that bad feeling, I also have confusion. I thought I was doing the right thing by eating, it kept her from getting sick. I wasn't doing the right thing all along. They're fighting now and this time I'm very aware that I'm the cause of it.

My mother starts it, she always did:

"He has a problem"

"He's only ten years of age, he'll grow out of it."

"He will not grow out of it, we need to get him seen to."

"No we don't, he's fine."

"He's 10 and he weighs 12 stone. There is nothing fine about that."

"He'll grow out of it, it's puppy fat."

"Toddlers have puppy fat, he's obese."

That's what the scales in the shopping center said, you know the ones that announce your weight to the whole population? That was the moment I realized there was something wrong with me.

Why is she saying stuff like this about me? My dad doesn't think there's anything wrong with me. I was trying to help HER. No one in the car says anything more. Tomorrow I'll be brought to the doctor who'll send me to child nutritionists and tell me that I can't have the food I want. I don't want the food though, I want her not to be sick. What will happen to her then?

I want to be happy again. I need food to be happy.

Sitting beside myself in the car I can see what my parents see and I can also see how they reacted in the ways they did. My father knows I don't understand what's happening and my mother doesn't understand it either.

I always thought I was doing good, but now they're fighting over me?

I have never felt such pain, loneliness and confusion in my life. And all I want to do is go back to the times when she would give me ham and every thing would be ok.

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SNAP

I'm standing in an empty room and in front of me stand the 5, 7 and 10 year old versions of myself.

The five year old is alone in Star Wars pyjamas.

The seven year old is alone in his school uniform that has "ages 11-13" on the label.

The ten year old is alone in his fathers' tracksuit.

I go to five year old me and pull him in close. I squeeze him tight and tell him I love him. We cry into each others arms and I tell him how proud I am of his plan to make every thing happy again. As I tell him nothing was his fault, he gets pulled closer into me, fading away.

I go to seven year old me and pull him close too. I squeeze him tight and tell him how beautiful he is and that he is special to his mother, but that's not why she gives him ham before the others. I tell him how proud I am that he kept the plan going this long, but that he doesn't need to work it anymore. I pull him tighter and tell him I love him and that I am the only thing he will ever need to be happy. As I assure him I will always be there for him, he gets pulled closer into me, fading away.

I go to 10 year old me and pull him the closest. I hold him tight and explain that they are not fighting over him but their own fears and confusion. I tell him that he no longer needs to keep his mother out of the bathroom, he can't. I tell him how proud I am that he wanted to save his mother for all this time and that this makes him a great young man. As I promise him that he can always count on me for happiness, he gets pulled closer into me, fading away.

I am inconsolable. Grief, sadness and relief have filled me to the brim and I cry more than I ever have done in my life.

The emptiness is gone.

I have something more, an understanding.

The missing piece, was me.

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SNAP

I'm awake and literally soaked with tears.

We sit in silence. My hypno-therapist and me. He hands me a tissue and I laugh, nervously and with a little embarrassment. He reassures me that this is normal, and a breakthrough. Whether or not his words are rehearsed or genuine, I soak them up.

He has lifted a weight from me that I never knew was there. In the first session I wasn't even hypnotised nor did I ever mention my mother or her bulimia. I just assumed I was clued in enough not to associate her illness with my problem. I was an intelligent person who always grew up with her and what she did, so I always thought that because I saw how destructive she was being to herself that she was doing no harm to anyone else, least of all me.

I don't blame her, she was never to know.

I don't blame anyone, but now I have the knowledge to put right the things I felt powerless against. I gave up cigarettes over night, but could not fix my over eating the same way and never knew why. It's a cliche and I apologise for using it, but the emptiness I was trying to fill with food is gone.

It's been two weeks and I only eat when I'm hungry and when I'm full I stop. The most liberating thing happened the other day when I didn't finish a meal. I knew that I always would have before, but the new part of me knew that the food would still be there later if I still wanted it.

I feel free.

I'm not totally over it, it takes time to change a life of wrong behaviour, especially when you weren't aware it was wrong in the first place. but I'll get there and I'm happier than ever.

I won't blame you if you make jokes, I probably would. I was always the first to make fat jokes, even at other people's expense. I'd also be the first to make fun of hypnosis or therapy of any kind but it has helped me.

This is out of the usual context of the site, I know.

Thank you for reading.