When I was 16 years old, I weighed about as much as a 10-year-old. A 10-year-old girl, that is.

I was one of the 9 per cent of Australians with an eating disorder.

I’d always been one of the fat kids at school. In an all-boys school where academic achievement took a distant second place to athleticism, being fat was to be out of control. Controlling my weight was my way of controlling my world.

Initially, my rapid weight loss was a source of pride. One teacher even took a moment at the end of class to publicly praise my new look. I was walking on air. Finally, my body was commented upon in a positive way.

My family knew better.

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