When I was a teenager, members of my family – parents and aunts – grumbled daily about what they alleged was wrong with me. This included my weight and size. “Hefty” and “solid” are to this day words that make me wince.

I have heard this sentence so many times over the years: 'You’re not skinny enough to have an eating disorder.' But excuse me, who are you to say my mental state is determined by the number on the scale? Who are you to question whether or not I'm struggling?

Christmas has always been a very busy and exciting time for me. Singing with my church choir, playing at events with the school orchestra – there was an endless number of things that I looked forward to. Many involved food and going out for meals, which I also loved to do.

All of a sudden, those good intentions have turned into an obsession. You look at the numbers, fixate on them. The number of calories eaten, the number of calories burned, and the amount of time exercised, the number on the scale, the number on the food scale, the number on your clothes.

If there’s such a thing as a typical anorexic patient, then I’m not that person. I’m a man with an illness broadly estimated to be 80-90% female.

Just like every other human emotion and experience, eating disorders are full of colour, chemicals, and different combinations. No two experiences are the same.

For many years, I kept my struggles with eating disorders as private as I could. Only a couple of close friends knew about my struggles with anorexia and bulimia throughout my late teens and early twenties.

I want to start this post by taking you back two years. It’s the summer of 2015 and I’m about to start my first year of sixth form. I can’t say I was particularly excited by the prospect, as like many decisions I have made in my life it wasn’t actually something I really wanted to do.

Zero is the number I am driven to reach by the 'friend' in my mind. I am to eat zero of this and that, and I am to take up zero space.

There I was, sitting in front of the GP, age going on 33, a decade of anorexia behind me. Was I going to tell the whole story? 'I’ve had a chest infection for six weeks and I’m scared I’m losing my hearing. Pause. Deep breath. “The real reason I’m so ill is anorexia. I’ve got anorexia.'

You lied to me; you twisted and warped my reality. Isolating me. Tormenting me. You told me that all I needed was to lose a few more pounds. But you were never happy. You made me hate myself.

That person who conforms to all of society's expectations may be hiding a secret.

Read Joe's poem on his personal battle with anorexia, 'A day in the life of us'.

You know my friend is scared but you don’t know how strong she is. She’s tough, really tough. She’s got good people around her who love and support her.

But what is it like to live with an eating disorder? I often hear 'you don’t look like you have an eating disorder'.

Knowing it takes a long time can be miserable, but what I think I & fellow sufferers have to keep at the forefront of their minds is their motivations.

I've seen both sides of this awful spectrum & every stage in between. But hey, I’m still here. I’m still smiling and I’m still fighting.

The thought of recovery is scary, but I’ve got further than I ever dreamed of, and you can too.

Once upon a time I'd be writing this letter to a friend. Comfort me. Tell me it will be OK. Whisper words into my ear that I can still succeed.

Eating disorders can't be defined precisely; everyone’s illness is different and it's impossible for anyone to understand every symptom and every struggle.