We are all struggling. But for people with eating disorders the effect is compounded by both practical considerations and the impact on mental health. It’s anxiety provoking, hugely challenging, and really tough.

For a start, being underweight means that my immune system is supressed, and I am more at risk than healthy individuals. I am angry at myself for being in this situation, and struggling to give myself the compassion that says that this is an illness, and one I am working hard to fight. I’m washing my hands regularly, keeping away from people as much as humanly possible, and doing my best to limit contact with any object outside my house. But the concern is still there.

Like many people with or in recovery from an eating disorder, I have quite a limited diet. There are the foods I feel comfortable with – my ‘safe’ foods – and those I find more challenging – the ‘fear’ foods. I am terrified of going into a supermarket and finding the shelves stripped bear of those safe foods that enable me to get through the day. Whilst I would like to think that I could be more flexible if this situation occurs, really I fear I would use this as an opportunity to cut back even more, unable to face a challenge. We are being told to only shop for essentials. It’s very easy for the anorexic voice to convince me that my food is not an essential, and it would be perfectly justifiable for me to spend months hidden away with only cereal bars to eat.

The supermarket is a daunting place for me at the best of times. With panic buying, lengthy queues, product restrictions and militant frontline workers (who are doing a brilliant job) the anxiety is made worse, and the experience far from easy. One thing that is good is that supermarkets are streamlining their ranges a little, so the anxiety that comes from an overwhelming choice is lessened – as long as that streamlining doesn’t come from removing my ‘safe’ foods.

When in the weight restoration phase of anorexia recovery, individuals need much more to eat than people of a ‘normal’ weight – often thousands of calories. What might look like stock piling is actually only food for a few days. The voice telling me I’m greedy and overeating is exacerbated and amplified, the idea that I shouldn’t be eating so much reinforced in my head.

I have come a long way from the days when only an intense and lengthy gym session or run would allow me to let even a meagre portion of food to pass my lips. But I do still rely on my daily walks, just as much for mental health as to allow my body to move a little. Despite protestations from the public, we are still under a fairly limited lockdown in the UK, and allowed out for daily walks. I worry this freedom will be curtailed as people flout the rules and take advantage of our freedom (is sunbathing and having a picnic in the park really necessary?) and am terrified that I might not be even allowed out for my regular amble around the streets near where I live.

Social distancing, which whilst entirely necessary, isn’t helping. In recent months I have been doing really well at trying to go out for dinner and drinks with friends. Now I am at home, and those challenges ceased. We are having regular video calls and checking in, but it’s just not the same. The great steps I have taken feel like they are being curtailed.

If you’re in treatment and used to seeing a therapist or nurse regularly, all this will have stopped. Most therapists are doing online or phone check ins, so that people have some continuity of contact. But a lot of the benefit that comes from sessions is the in person relationship, some of which is lost online. And monitoring of weight and physical symptoms through blood tests can’t happen, so there is a risk that any deterioration will not be noticed.

Diet culture is all pervasive, even at the best of times. But at the moment there are numerous posts and memes about gaining weight and overeating during lockdown. The idea that this would be the worst thing to befall us doesn’t help with the notion that weight gain is bad and being thin is good, which, whilst not the cause of my anorexia, certainly doesn’t aid in my recovery. Everyone is doing home workouts and bragging about it, and it would be all too easy to fall down a rabbit hole of home exercise videos. That is something I need to steer away from.

Having anorexia at any time really sucks. It’s the biggest killer of any psychiatric illness. It ruins lives. But during a global health pandemic it’s even harder. I know I have to keep fighting, to be healthy and strong during this period, and to come out of it able to keep on going, working on my recovery. Maybe I can use this opportunity to be forced to be more flexible, adapting my meals, challenging myself, and working on what matters to me.

But right now, it all feels a bit much.

A ‘haystack of buttered toast’ as in Great Expectations, Graves’ eve of battle mince pies, rich full milk like Hardy’s Tess, Virginia Woolf’s hot tea and currant teacakes, the ‘stuff of life’ bubble and squeak from The Wind in the Willows – these were all experiences lost to Laura when she was ill. They were ones that her favourite authors wrote about with ‘giddy extended encomium’ but that anorexia wouldn’t allow her.

Until, slowly, the shackles of anorexia loosened, Laura’s strength was rebuilt, and she managed, like her mother told her, to eat enough to keep ‘body and soul together.’

A far more voracious reader than she ever was eater, it was words that proved to be Laura’s saviour. Anorexia manifested itself for Laura as an illusion of control. Reading was escape from the confines.

She both lost herself in them when the anorexic voices got too loud, and found her own voice in them as they strengthened her.

The book does describe the wonderous and marvellous meals that Laura and the characters in the novels devour. But it’s more about the experiences that those novels are part of that matter. About the friendships, evenings with family, holidays, long walks and relaxed evenings that food is such a part of, and a starved body and miserable mind can never have.

Laura is a detailed writer, and whilst not overtly triggering, some of the accounts of how her illness manifested itself could prove tricky to read. She’s honest. She still struggles and has to maintain her weight and food above that tricky spot where the voices – which she calls a ‘Jabberwock’ – take over her mind and body.

But the book is hopeful. It’s a reminder to keep on fighting. Because there’s a whole library of reasons to live.