Well, Margie’s parents have discovered her strange eating habits and have staged an intervention. At a doctor’s appointment, her GP was suspicious of her appearance and decided to weigh her. The outcome? 49 kilos. That’s a BMI of 15.3. A normal BMI is 18.5–24.9, and anything under 18.5 is considered underweight.
Margie is super pissed, for sure! Her mum (I’m going to use the name Kelly) is suddenly watching her every meal and Margie’s been given four weeks to get back up to 55kg, minimum.
I remember when my mum first found out and started an intervention. I threw the food she tried serving me onto the floor and stomped on it, I screamed, I physically wrestled my way past my parents back up to my room, I literally jammed myself under the bird-cage so she and dad couldn’t drag me out back to the table.
Was it traumatic? Yes. Did it work? Hell no! Sure, at the time I put on a little weight, but then I didn’t eat for five days (just sat at the table, eyes closed for five very long days) and I was re-admitted to hospital.
They try their best, but in my experience the eating disorder beats the parents. Sure, we might put weight on, we might start seeming normal again, but underneath the eating disorder is just waiting, biding its time, acting like a ticking bomb.