London was great, I had a great time, but it was also a very dark time. I was very lonely, even with five roommates. I was up early walking to class everyday instead of taking public transportation. I survived on coffee, eggs, and Luna bars. Sometimes if I was starving, I would have some sort of nuts or nut butter to be able to sleep without my stomach feeling like it was eating itself. Before I went to bed every night I would do exercises because I was too weak to do anything else. I went running when I could and practiced yoga to get more in control of my disease and my life.
During this time, I would immerse myself in London culture, art, and other things as I tried to distract myself from how sick I was actually becoming. I would walk miles to go to a drugstore to find a scale where I would pay two pounds to have my weight taken. Looking down at my hipbones poking out of my jeans on either side, the receipt would print out and say that I was at the lowest weight I had ever been. I would revel in this and be terrified at the same time. This would continue throughout my stay in London. I was having trouble putting together sentences in writing class, and grew weaker, but kept on. My blood sugars were great, and I rarely had to think about my diabetes, unless I had a high sugar or had to change my infusion set for my pump.
My roommates started to take notice of my eating habits as I would always have something different from what they were having, always bought my own groceries and spent minimal money on food. Or I would buy the most expensive eggs, or the most expensive peanut butter in a small jar for the sake of quality over quantity.
Some friends and I went to Paris for a weekend, and between the walking and lack of food, this was one of the times where I felt very out of it. I loved every second of it and was invigorated by the city itself, but it was a hard time for me mentally. It was a struggle to keep my cool and I was anxious and on edge a lot of times.
My roommates began to notice, and one day when I got home from writing in a coffee shop, I heard them all talking. They were talking about me and how I wasn’t eating much. My very good friend and roommate said some very hurtful things as I listened behind the door. I immediately opened the door, went in my room, slammed the door and cried. Cried that someone thought I was sick, cried because I had no idea what I was doing, cried because I missed my mom and my family back home, cried because I had a paper due tonight but was too weak to put two thoughts together, cried because I was really hungry after my walk, but I couldn’t eat, cried because I realized I would not let myself eat, cried because I was scared of myself.