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Saved by my fairy Godmother

At just 4.5 stone and anorexic, could anyone save me...?


Published by: Laura Hinton
Published on: 19th January 2011

This was it, my time to shine! Backstage, I adjusted my costume and took a deep breath. It was panto season and I was about to go on stage.
I could hear kids giggling and cheering. But as I appeared in my shaggy dog costume and barked, I hardly felt like a superstar.
Although I’d been trying for the glamorous lead roles for years, I’d never bagged one. Instead, I’d played the cat, jester or fourth elf from the left.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t try. I’d been acting since I was 14 and went to two drama clubs. I put so much effort into it, I could recite my lines in my sleep – if I’d had any!
Plus, my mum Valerie, 67, and my dad David, 71, ran St Mark’s Players theatre group in Croydon, Surrey. Acting was in my blood.
With a bark, I bounded off stage, and went to my dressing room. Stood in front of my mirror, I pulled off my mask, tugged my hair out of its bun, and inspected my features. I wasn’t bad looking. With a bit of greasepaint, I’d have made a great fairy-tale princess.
Letting my baggy costume fall to the floor, I then took in my skeletal arms and emaciated frame.
My collarbone jutted out, and you could see every ridge of my breastbone. As for my cheeks, they were grey and hollow.
I looked 44, not 24!
Maybe that was why I never got the starring roles, but was picked for parts with the baggiest costumes – they wanted to hide me!
And to think a simple remark from another actor when I was 14 had left me like this. It was silly that an off-hand comment could have affected me so badly. I couldn’t even remember what we’d been talking about, but one sentence had haunted me.
‘You’re the fattest in your family aren’t you, Christine?’ he’d said.
‘Y-you what?’ I’d stuttered, sucking in my tummy.
I’d had a bit of puppy fat perhaps, but nothing to worry about.
‘I’m joking,’ he’d giggled, nudging me.
It hadn’t felt very funny. At 5ft 6in, I weighed 8½st and was a size 12. I’d always been happy with myself before, but that comment made me think I was fat, and those Hollywood stars were all slim…
Later, when Mum had asked if I’d wanted dinner, I hadn’t been able to face it.
‘I had a big lunch,’ I’d lied, my belly gurgling at the smell of beef.
‘Really?’ she’d said, eyeing me suspiciously. ‘I’ve done a roast.’
‘I’m fine,’ I’d shrugged. That’s when I’d begun missing meals.
I’d made sure I got up too late for breakfast. Mum always gave me a packed lunch of sandwiches, chocolate bar, crisps and fruit to take to school, but I threw it away.
Whenever I got home, dinner would be in the oven. But I became really good at making excuses.
‘I feel sick’, ‘I’m not hungry’, ‘I popped round my mate’s after school and her mum fed me’….
For the next four years, I’d skipped meals and dropped half a stone or so. It was only after someone had mentioned to my dad that I was getting thinner that my parents noticed.
From then on, they’d tried to encourage me to eat more.
‘I’ve made your favourite,’ Mum had ventured. ‘You loved fish fingers when you were a kid.’
‘I’m going out with mates, I’ll get something in town,’ I’d say.
‘Fancy nibbling some biccies while we watch telly?’ Dad used to suggest.
‘I’ve got homework,’ I’d say, hiding in my room.
It got worse in my twenties. Everyone knows the older you get the harder it is to lose weight – and that terrified me.
So, I’d whittled down what I ate to an apple, a mint, and a glass of milk.
For seven months, I’d starved myself and my weight had plummeted from 8st 7lb to 4st 7lb – the average weight of a nine year old. Brilliant!
Now, at 24, my periods had stopped, my hair was thin and lifeless, I felt dizzy constantly, and suffered stomach cramps. Although I’d left home, there was no way my parents couldn’t have noticed my dramatic weight loss.
After all, I was wearing trousers for children aged 11 to 12, and size zero tops.
‘You need help,’ my mum worried. ‘I think you’re anorexic.’
‘I’m just skinny,’ I’d tell her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘We can’t help you until you see what you’re doing to yourself,’ my dad told me. ‘You need to accept you have a problem.’
But if I started eating again, I’d put on weight and get fat. The thought set my heart racing.
Suddenly, the phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. Bundling the shaggy dog costume into a bag, I answered it.
‘Fancy coming over for dinner?’ asked my friend Christine, 36.
‘I’ve eaten,’ I lied.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she chuckled. ‘I’m doing pasta. I’ll see you in 15 minutes. Don’t be late.’
Christine had only joined St Mark’s Players the week before, but we’d really hit it off. We had so much in common – even the same name and birthday. Pulling on my coat, I went to her house. ‘Honestly, I ate earlier,’ I told her when I arrived. 
‘Nonsense! After racing about on that stage you need feeding,’ she tutted, plonking down a plate of steaming pasta in front of me.
Poking at the spaghetti with my fork, I tried keeping the conversation flowing so she wouldn’t notice me not eating.
‘So, what would your perfect panto role be?’ I asked.
‘I’m not bothered,’ she smiled, tearing into a piece of garlic bread. ‘I’m happy with whatever part, as long as I can have a giggle.’
‘B-but wouldn’t you love to dress up as a princess?’ I asked, stunned. ‘I would.’
‘Nah,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m just happy to be on stage.’
‘Seems that’s one thing we don’t have in common,’ I chuckled.
‘You know, Christine,’ she said, putting down her fork. ‘There’s another thing different between us – I eat and you don’t.’
Mortified, I went bright red. Only my parents had ever spoken to me about my eating problem.
‘I think you’re anorexic,’ she said.
No, no, no, I was fine – I was thin and beautiful.
I looked at my spindly hands, red and cracked from lack of vitamins, and thought about what I’d seen in the mirror that afternoon – the ribs, the collarbone, the dead eyes.
It was a lightbulb moment – suddenly, I could see what everyone else saw.
I was horribly thin. I was sick. I was anorexic!
Christine smiled gently. ‘We’ll get you those principal parts,’ she promised. ‘But I’ve got to put some meat on you first!’
She was right. If I didn’t get help soon I’d never get a lead role…because I was killing myself.
Taking me under her wing, Christine invited me over for dinner every night. She increased my portion size once a week, making sure I ate plenty of chicken and fish to build up my strength.
Within a year, I’d returned to a healthy 8st and size 10.
‘I’m going to try for the part of the Fairy Godmother,’ I told her.
When I got the part, I burst into tears. Not only had my pal saved my life, she’d made my dream come true, too.
As I twirled in my beautiful white gown, the audience were whooping and applauding… me!
Now I’m happy in my own skin, thanks to Christine – my very own Fairy Godmother!
Christine Forshaw, 39, Epsom, Surrey