“Listen,” says the Doc, “I have migraines too, and the advice I’m going to give you isn’t really anything I learned in medical school, but its advice that I’ve gotten from my own experience. When I have a migraine, I go home, get in a nice hot bathtub, and soak for a while. Then I have my wife sponge me off with the hottest water I can stand, especially around the forehead. This helps a little. Then I get out of the tub, take her into the bedroom, and even if my head is killing me, I force myself to have sex with her. Almost always, the headache is immediately gone. Now, give it a try, and come back and see me in six weeks.”

Six weeks later, the patient returns with a big grin.

“Doc! I took your advice and it works! It REALLY WORKS! I’ve had migraines for 17 years and this is the FIRST time anyone has ever helped me!”

“Well,” says the physician, “I’m glad I could help.”

“By the way, Doc,” the patient adds, “you have a REALLY nice house.”

My mum Lindy, 52, wanted to help. “Maybe try a tailor-made diet,” she said. So I saw a doctor trained in nutrition. The fee for the consultation was £150.

“I’ll check if you’re intolerant to any foods,” the doctor said. “If your body isn’t digesting some foods well, or it reacts badly to them, it can cause anything from migraines to weight gain.”

She used a pinprick blood test called the Food Detective. It shoes if you’re producing antibodies to food your body is having problems with.

As I didn’t have any symptoms, the doctor was surprised my test showed intolerance to foods such as wheat, eggs and yeast.

“What should I eat?” I asked.

It was mainly fruit and veg. The doctor asked me to detox for a month, to kick start weight loss.

No caffines was hard. Quitting tea caused a two day headache. But after, I felt more refreshed, and soon lost 10 pounds.

A month on, I was allowed meat stir-fries. I also took a probiotic tablet before every meal.

The diet was surprisingly easy. I’d no cravings and more energy. In 10 months I shed four stone. Now I’m 11st 3lb, a size 14.

This diet isn’t for everyone, but it worked for me.

My Tip
Exercise to music. It cheers you up and makes the workouts seem a lot easier.

I was walking down the corridor from one end when I saw a young boy approach from the other. Although there were plenty of room for him to pass, he flattened himself against a wall and said to his friend: “Watch out! Wide load coming through.”

I hid my bushing cheeks with my files and hurried past. Once I reached the safety of the staff room, I slammed the door behind me and muttered: 2How would he like it if I pointed out his faults?”

I was a teacher in a boy’s school and had put up with taunts about my weight. I didn’t see the point in telling them off- because their comments were true. I was morbidly obese. I’d been brought up on fried food, butter and lard. At nine years old I was referred to a dietician, who said: “This whole family needs to change to a healthier diet.”

My dad wouldn’t hear of it. He said: “I like things the way they are.” So Mum carried on frying food, and I grew bigger and bigger.

When I married my husband Steve, I was a size 26. My wedding gown looked like a tent and I joked to the guests: “I could have hosted the reception inside this thing. It’s like a marquee.” They smiled politely.

Steve and I settled into married life, and he never minded if I ate seven bags of crisps, or ten sandwiches in one go. In the six months after the wedding I put on seven stone. I couldn’t drive because I wasn’t able to fasten the seat belt over my tummy. In clothing stores, assistants said: “We don’t have anything in your size.” And at school the teasing was relentless.

I was a qualified teacher of business studies and computing, and taught pupils from 11 to 18.

The boys would laugh and say: “who at all the school dinners, Miss?”

I just wanted to hide. I turned 32 and was constantly out of breath and hot and sweaty. I had asthma, my periods had stopped and I became incontinent. I’d reached 32st 8lb.

One day Steve and I went out for a meal and a chair collapsed under me. I realised I could no longer ignore my weight problem- I was an intelligent woman with a teaching degree. I had a responsible role in preparing youngsters for the world outside. Yet I had such a disregard for myself. How could I inspire them to make something of their lives when I was throwing mine away?

Things had to change… I visited my doctor, he told me: “You need to lose weight. You’re a heart attack waiting to happen.”

I broke down sobbing.

“But I’m only 32,” I cried. “I don’t want to die.” He looked at me wearily.

“If you really mean that,” He said, “I’ll send you to an obesity clinic. They’ll be able to help you.”

I said: “I really do mean it.”

I went along and a consultant put me on a special liquid diet. One month later I had lost two stone. Over the next two years I lost 13 stone. It was wonderful, but the consultant still has concerns.

He said: “I’m worried that long term you’ll slip back into your old eating habits. Your best bet is surgery.”

I agreed to have a gastric band fitted. It wasn’t a quick solution. I still had to watch what I ate but the results were dramatic. By then I’d started teaching at another school. As I began slimming down, the pupils took a renewed interest in me. I would stride into class and they’d look up from their desks.

Then it started…

Miss, isn’t that a new look for you?

Are you doing something different, Miss?

I’d say: “No talking. Get back to your books.”

The next week there’d be more comments.

Are you shrinking, Miss? You’re getting smaller every day.

Around the staff room, other teachers peered over their textbooks to sneak a peak at me. However it was the children who were the most impressed, and as the term went by, something began to happen. They started asking for my advice.

One girl said: “Come on, Miss, tell us your secret.”

“Yes,” added another. “How do you look so good?”

In the end I decided to explain.

I began: “Well, before I would have chosen a cream cake over Brad Pitt any day of the week…”

They chuckled.

Then I said more seriously: “I’m not one of those fat people who say they don’t eat much, or have bad genes. I was fat because I at too much. Doughnuts, éclairs and sweets were my best friends.”

I explained about my upbringing and how I’d learnt to eat unhealthy food.

“I’m not blaming my parents,” I told the kids, “After all; I’ve been an adult for a long time.”

I told them about my diet and my gastric band

One girl said: “I’m going to have a gastric band, and then I’ll be able to eat whatever I want.”

I shook my head.

“It doesn’t work like that,” I explained. “My gastric band means I can only eat a few mouthfuls of food at any meal time. No more plates of chips for me.”

I continued: “I wish I had eaten fatty foods in moderation, then I’d still be able to enjoy them now.”

Another girl pointed to the celebrities in her magazine and said: “I want to be skinny like that.”

I told her: “People don’t look like that in real life. As long as you’re healthy, then you’re gorgeous the way you are.”

She smiled in approval and replied: “Miss, I think you deserve a gold star for what you’ve done.”

“Yes, Miss. I’m giving you a grade A.”

I carried on loosing weight, and soon I was 15 stone. My periods started again and at home in Dunstable, Bedfordshire, I said to Steve: “Perhaps we could think about having a baby.”

Now for the first time I feel like a role model. I can teach the children about achieving their goals. I have a purpose in life again.

At 5ft 10in, I was about 11 stone, but soon lost seven pounds because I was now eating such healthy food.

After Lola was born, I quickly lost two stone or so I’d put on. I was 32. And just over tree years later, when Charlie was arrived, the best baby weight came off again.

Nick and I then decided to wed the same year in Italy. And I wanted to look fantastic.

At 10½. Stone, I was a healthy weight for my height. But I knew I’d be in a bikini on my honeymoon, also in Italy. So I decided to trim down a little more. I joined a gym and resisted carbs. But with Charlie waking at night, I was exhausted. So I munched toast and gave the gym a miss.

Then on the internet one day, I stumbled across hirlicks.co.uk. It suggested getting more sleep could help with weight control.

So I began putting the light out at 9pm – that way, even if Charlie woke up, I’d still get eight hours a night.

The difference was amazing. I woke the next morning with the energy to exercise, didn’t crave carbs and had the willpower to resist snacking.

Within a couple of months, I was down to 9½. Stone, and felt slim and gorgeous for the wedding. Nick said I looked beautiful in my dress- and in my bikini!

Now, a year on, I’m still slim. And I’m sleeping well too. It’s a win-win situation.

My Tip
Prioritise sleep. The effect it has on your life is great.

When, at 19 I met my English boyfriend Paul Flowers, 20, at college, I didn’t consider myself big. Two years on we went to live in England.

Happy and in love, I ate without thinking. I worked with adults with learning disabilities, eating pies and puds with them. But two years later, I realised I’d become a huge size 20! I was 5ft 9in and weighed 18 stone.

I dabbled with diets but gave up when I didn’t get quick results. A year on, a family friend who’s a doctor explained being fat affects fertility. Paul and I wanted kids one day, so I finally woke up to how I was treating my body.

I decided to sign up with a weight-loss-clinic – SureSlim, in nearby Warwick. At £395 it was expensive, but included consultations. Tests showed I was eating too many carbs, which ended as fat on my body. I had to cut them out.

The first two weeks, I had awful cravings, but the flab fell off. My goal was to lose five stone. I lost four and a half stone in six months. The last half stone took another three months to budge.

I’ve bought a slinky swimsuit this summer. If you’ve got it, flaunt it!

My Tip
Dink water to zap cravings.

Telling my story is terrifying. Yet death stand behind me, tapping me on the shoulder, I know I must speak out. What scares me the most is the thought you might look at photographs and envy me.

Does this sound crazy? Well, believe me- there are women out there who’d hail me as a role model for beauty. And the last thing I want is to encourage anyone to follow in my footsteps.

I was 14 when it started. And the ironic thing is, I wanted to be healthy. I loved athletics; I was a highly competitive showjumper.
I loved food too – at 5ft 8in, I was 8½ stone, a normal weight for my age. Yet I was a real perfectionist, convinced myself I needed to lose five pounds.

“If I’m thinner, I’ll go faster,” I thought.

And that simple, innocent thought was how it started.

I switched mums hearty Italian food for low-fat meals. Within weeks, I’d dropped the five pounds, and the buzz I felt was fantastic, euphoric. I never wanted to gain weight again. Instead, I instantly wanted to lose more.

“Just another pound,” I fooled myself.

That’s anorexia for you. For some people, it’s as easy to catch a cold.

At 17, I left home in Chicago for a seasonal job grooming horses in Florida. And I started exercising excessively, surviving on the bare minimum of food.

When my parents came to collect me… “You look like an anorexic!” Mum gasped,

“I’m not,” I retorted. “I eat!”

But she was right – I looked awful, by now I’d dropped to 6 ½ stone. My parents raced me to the hospital; here doctors confirmed what Mum feared.

“We need to admit you for treatment,” they said.

“I don’t ant help!” I said my heart racing with panic. The idea of gaining weight made me feel sick now. I only agreed to have weekly counselling sessions.

Yet after six months I hadn’t gained a pound. “Just eat,” Dad pleaded. But it wasn’t that simple. I couldn’t just be fixed.

Then my counsellors came up with a radical approach, tough love. “Kick her out if she won’t have treatment,” they told me parents. So my weary mum and dad made a tearful ultimatum- treatment or leave. They weren’t being mean; it was just too painful to watch me wither away.

“I’ll move out then!” I said.

I got a flat in Chicago, started waitressing. But my life was lonely and empty. My new friends from school had dwindled away. And boys? A rare man would look twice at my skeletal frame but I’d push him away. How could anyone find me attractive? Besides, they might nag me to eat. I’d only allow one relationship in my life- my abusive love-hate affair with anorexia.

By the age of 21, hitting a new low of 5½ stone, I’d developed osteoporosis. I couldn’t walk without pain searing through my body, every tortured joint creaking. “Your bones are starved of nutrients,” my counsellor said. “It’ll only get worse.”

“But I’m like a 90 year old women already,” I said.

That’s when she gave me the killer blow… “Keep living like this, and you could die,” she warned.

It terrified me so much that, for the first time, the message sank in. Mum and Dad cried with relief when I was admitted to hospital. And I did everything asked of me – ate peanut-butter sandwiches, biscuits between meals… But as I put on five pounds, and flesh filled the hollows of my rib cage, I loathed myself. I didn’t feel fat, because I wasn’t. I as just so uncomfortable in my plumper body, I craved my starved, emaciated one back again.

That’s when I realised… anorexia has won. I’d rather suffer the physical pain of malnutrition. It was the lesser of the two evils.

But leaving the clinic, I felt shame. I’d failed.

I quickly returned to my ‘safe weight’ of 5½ stone- the lowest I could sustain a basic existence on. Too weak to work, I had to claim disability benefits. And my whole body throbbed. I couldn’t sit on a sofa for more than 15 minutes without my bony bottom becoming agony.

It’s hardly the glamorous existence people imagine when they idolise stick-thin fashion models.

I spent the rest of my twenties like that. And while my old mates from school travelled, fell in love, had babies, I filled the hours exercising, planning meals, knitting, drawing, going online. The isolation led me to develop strange compulsions, like having specific places for everything in my flat, or doing exact numbers or exercise every day. And I grew so afraid of dying.

Thinking they were protecting my frail body, I took a few aspirin each day. But aged 29, I woke with crippling stomach cramps. I was used to pain, but this was unbearable, so I phones Mum. She drove over, raced me to hospital. “The pills have ulcerated your stomach,” doctors said.

Now I needed emergency surgery. But I was so weak, the anaesthetic might kill me or leave me in a coma, we’ll tube-feed,” they said.

“No!” I replied. “No tube-feeding, even if I’m unconscious.”

My parents blanched in horror. “Please don’t die!” Dad cried out as I was wheeled into surgery.

Waking eight hours on, I was so relieved, but then… “We’ve been to court to take guardianship of your medical rights,” Mum said. “We can’t let you kill yourself.”

“I’m not a child!” I sighed, frustrated. But I had to accept it.

I’d only sip water, and as my weight plummeted to 4½ stone, my parents transferred me to an eating disorders clinic. Hysterical, I kicked and screamed, begged not to go. “It’s for your own good” they wept.

Hearing I’d have to eat three meals a day, plus snacks, I went berserk. “I hate you!” I yelled at my parents.

“We’ve ordered them to tube-feed if you won’t eat,” they said, they’d trapped me. So I dutiful ate everything. Biscuits, cheese, bread… And I actually enjoyed the delicious flavours, but I loathed how the food changed my body.

“Let me out!” I kept begging

It took months but finally, reaching seven stone, I was allowed home. Of course, I instantly cut back on food, soon returning to 5½ stone again.

I’m still that weight now, six months on. I survive on fruit, veg, nuts… My BMI is just 11, well below what’s normal for my height. And I suffer regular stress fractures because of my osteoporosis. The doctors say that one day soon my organs will probably start to fail. When that happens, there’s little they can do. But I’ve finally accepted my fate- the anorexic life is all I’ll ever know.

Although my mum is 55, she actually looks younger than me.

“Can we go out for the day?” I asked her recently.
“Yes,” she smiled, looking pleased, “where?”

“The funeral parlour,” I said gently, “I want to pick my coffin.”

It was something I’d already discussed with my counsellor.

“I know I’m going to die before you,” I added. “It’s better that we do this together now than you face it on your own.

“If you think that’s best,” she agreed miserably.

We inspected the coffins in a strange calm. I was so matter-of-fact; Mum could only follow my lead. She didn’t cry.

“I want that one,” I said finally, pointing to a simple wooden coffin with a gold plaque. “Then after I’ve died I want you to go on holiday, have fun,” I joked to Mum. It was either laugh or cry.

So here I am now, aged 30, preparing to die. I’ve never been in love, never made love. I know I won’t have children or a career, or travel the world. Apart from my family, my only company is my pit bull dog Niblet.

And that’s why I’m so angry at the glamorisation of ultra-thinness. Even I find pro-anorexia websites repulsive. Girls boasting about starving themselves, and posting pictures or razor-thin anorexics as ‘thinspiration’. They make me furious. How could anyone try to drag young vulnerable girls into this living hell?

The catwalk shows make me just as mad, glorifying malnourished models as sexy. There’s nothing desirable about being this thin. When I step outside, people stare in disgust.

I try hard to make myself look ‘normal’, but even my few remaining friends prefer to phone than see me in the flesh.

That’s why I’m sharing my story with you. Some people are predisposed to anorexia. It’s like a loaded gun inside them. All it takes is one diet to pull the trigger.

So please, now you’ve read this, sit down and eat a healthy meal. Take it from me – being skinny doesn’t make you happy.

Nicola was asking “so what do you think?”

I screwed the bag up and replied “It’s worth having a go.”

She was telling me about her new diet. She had already lost two stone. I weighed nearly 22 stone and she wanted me to give it a try.

It seemed a good idea. I was 34 years old, fat and unhappy. I envied Nicola’s success and found myself scribbling down notes.  I’d tried diets before but this one was different. It involved healthier eating, light exercise and a natural supplement. I told my boyfriend I’ve decided to draw up a fitness plan. He rolled his eyes and offered me a potato chip, saying I’ve heard it all before. I replied yes, I know, but this time I’m more determined.

The next day I went to the gym. I could only manage 30 minutes of slow walking and I was panting and covered in sweat. Yet despite the exhaustion, I felt a real sense of satisfaction. I went the next day, and the day after that – soon I was going four times a week. I cut down on chocolate and ruled out any foods that weren’t freshly prepared. I reduced my weekend drinking.

The weight began to drop off. I lost three stone in four months. I was thrilled with my progress but then I had a setback. I found out that my boyfriend had been seeing someone else and I broke up with him.

Afterwards I wanted to hide away and it was hard not to slip back into my old ways. However I would not accept defeat.  I decided I would use exercise to keep me positive. I continued regime an after two months I’d dropped another 4 stone. My friends kept telling me I look great. I’d never had so much attention before.

Nicola was excited for me too. We swapped weight-loss tips and went shopping for clothes together. I was now a size 18. It was a far cry from the 28 I used to wear.  A year passed.

One evening I was out with my mates when a young man approached me. He held out his hand and said Hi I’m Lee. Soon we were chatting like old friends. At the end of the night he said, think this is the bit where I take your number. I quickly tapped it into his phone and was delighted when he rang the next day. We began dating. I’d stopped going to the gym but continued to watch what I ate. Being with him made me even more motivated to keep the weight off. Five happy months passed.

One day while I was at work he came into my office and said. Emma, I’ve got a question for you. He got down on one knee in front of everyone and said; I’ve come to ask you for our hand in marriage. When I finally found my voice, I said yes.

We began making plans. We wanted to do things properly so we decided to save up first. I didn’t mind. It gave me more time to slim so I could fit into my dream dress.

I started walking the six mile round trip to work and back every day. I joined the gym again, going four times a week, and attended fitness classes.  The big day arrived.

As the last button was fastened on my wedding dress, a smile spread across my face. I weighed 11 stone and was a size 12. It was the slimmest I’d ever been. Throughout the day everyone told me how well I had done. Some friends said I was an inspiration. It was lovely t hear. But the nicest compliment came from Lee. He said you look stunning Mrs Peters.  It’s been 10 months since the wedding and I’ll soon be a fully trained fitness instructor. I can’t wait to teach my first class this year. I am grateful for the support of my friends and family. I hope I can do the same for others.