The summer of 2005 was baking hot. Wimbledon was over, and Bob Geldof was telling the world how to make poverty history. Somewhere among all this, I was wrapped within my own little world. I knew these things were happening, but like the AS levels I was about to take and my part-time job stacking shelves in Waitrose, they were on the edge of my vision, almost a different place in another world. While most of the boys in my class were going out drinking and having fun, I was fixed rigidly in a solitary regime of weight loss.
Every morning I would wake before anyone else in the house, swing myself out of bed, drop to the floor and perform 60 press-ups. I focused my eyes on the dull blue carpet, getting nearer then further, nearer then further, trying to ignore the pain. Next came 100 sit-ups. By the time I had finished, my back would bleed but I didn't care. Breakfast was one Weetabix with skimmed milk, eaten on my own in the front room before another 60 press-ups while the rest of the house began their day around me. At school I couldn't concentrate and I spent my time between lessons walking around the town, trying to keep moving in order to burn more calories. Lunch was an apple; the sandwiches my parents made me take with me in the hope that I might eat them went to the pigeons in the square. In the evening I would eat only vegetables before more press-ups, sit-ups, and exercises with the dumbbells I had liberated from my elder brother's room. I followed this ritual every day, religiously, relentlessly, alone and scared. I think I knew what was happening, but didn't know what to do about it.
The common perception of anorexia is that it is a "women's problem", largely the preserve of teenage girls. Newspapers have been full of stories about the dangerous effects of stick-thin models and skeletal celebrities on young women. However, eating disorders in men are widespread and on the increase. Many cases go undiagnosed because no one realises that it is even a problem. All the literature and self-help guides on the subject, their weight tables and lists of symptoms are written for women. At the time when I was looking for help, this only enhanced my feelings of isolation and shame: I was motivated by a desire to appear manlier, but society seemed to view my illness as inherently feminine.
I didn't want to be thin. I wanted to be lean and muscular. Specifically, I wanted to look like Christian Bale in American Psycho, which I had seen earlier that year at a friend's house. I think we all admired his muscularity, but only I really wanted it. I lusted after a six-pack and massive arms. It wasn't about wanting to emulate skinny models in magazines but about trying to be more self-assured. I associated all those gleaming, chiselled torsos with masculinity and confidence as well as discipline and focus. I had been overweight when I was younger, which had made me an easy target for bullies at my all boys' school where athleticism and machismo were highly prized and being in the rugby team seemed the greatest service to the school. I always felt unattractive and worthless; even after I dieted and lost weight the label of being "the fat one" never really went away.
When I arrived in the sixth form the stresses multiplied. I wanted to be an actor, and to show everyone that I was worth something. Like the rest of my peers, I started taking some of my lessons at the local girls' school but this only made me feel worse. Girls never seemed to talk to me, something I had not yet worked out was connected to the fact that I never talked to them, being too shy. I still saw myself as physically undesirable. At 17, the pain of this was exquisite, like a fine needle threading through the heart. Achieving the perfect body would stop all these problems, would somehow transform me.
That was when I began cutting back on what I ate, slowly swearing off more and more food. I also started to exercise more. I saw myself as a model of healthy living - superior to all my lazy friends. I stopped going out at night and didn't see anyone outside school. I wanted to concentrate only on pushing myself to the limit, to find out where the limit was. I was entirely alone and I never revealed my problem (by now, at over a stone underweight I had recognised it as such) to any of my friends or colleagues. It was my mother who first realised I had anorexia. I just wanted to ignore it and pretend there was nothing wrong. Inside I was terrified and so, so alone, but I refused to show it: it seemed like another sign of my weakness.
When people at school mentioned that I had lost weight I merely told them I was wearing a belt, or just denied it. Most of my classmates and teachers didn't notice and I was just living in my own little bubble. All my problems seemed to disappear, so intently was I focusing on weight loss, and in a way life became much simpler - but at a price. I became so ill that my body began cannibalising its own organs for protein and I could barely get up the stairs. I looked like someone from a POW camp; every bone stuck out and I had no muscle left. I couldn't see a way out and could think only about the terrible hunger; it was what drove me on, relentlessly, towards catastrophe. It felt as though time had stopped for me but the world was still going, as though my life was standing still, stretching out on every side. It is still all a bit of a haze but I can remember thinking that I was going to die, and hoping that I would collapse and be taken to hospital before I did. I was at death's door, and so close that I could look through his letterbox.
I still don't know exactly why I made the decision to change. It was a warm and sunny day, and there was no one about to see my moment of awakening. I was walking down the street, making my way to music class at school. But I never did get there. I suddenly realised that all I needed to do was eat, so I did. I rushed home and ate everything I could lay my hands on - cheese, bread, cereal, jam. The feeling was exhilarating, like tasting food for the first time.
I was soon put on a re-feeding programme but I hated being told what to eat so I ignored it. Instead I was determined to recover my own way and although this made things difficult, I am glad I did. With the help of my doctor and family, I slowly put on weight, which was physically very painful at first as my body adapted, but I persevered. I was very lucky - had I carried on as I was, I would almost certainly have collapsed as a result of the massive strain my organs were under.
Nearly two years on, I still haven't told most of my friends what happened and I rarely mention it to those who do know. Most people are still oblivious to there ever having been a problem. This is not because I am embarrassed or ashamed but more because I feel that it is something people would view as "weird". Most think that, because of the close association of anorexia with women, any men who have it are some sort of freakish anomaly. I hope that in sharing my experiences I have opened some people's eyes.
I am 19 now and taking a diploma to become a personal trainer. Obviously, exercise and healthy eating are still a big part of my life and anorexia never goes away. You don't recover from it, you merely learn to live with and control it. I still exercise a huge amount, working out with weights four to five times a week to help me bulk up, and I have trouble sitting still for a long period of time even now. I have to be constantly vigilant for any sign that my old ways are returning.
I suppose I am still unhappy with my body - I now think it is too skinny so I guess I just can't win. In the past couple of months, though, I have put on about half a stone of muscle and I am getting a bit bigger every day. I don't want to look like Christian Bale any more, though. I know I have my own unique body with its own strengths. Unfortunately, I am still pretty rubbish with women, but am not quite as self-conscious as I was. I have also not given up on acting entirely but it is such a hard industry to succeed in that I am not sure I can make it. I will just have to wait and see. I feel that I have learned a lot about myself and what I am capable of - and to have survived is an accomplishment in itself.
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