Fragile

by Nikki Grahame

  Despite all our previous differences, I admire my sister so much as a mother. I couldn’t have imagined her in the role until I saw it with my own eyes but Natalie is an amazing mum. She and I now attend family therapy with our mum a couple of times a month. These sessions have shown me that my relationship with my sister has been destroyed, probably irreparably. It makes me so incredibly sad. We are united by the love we share for Sunny and he will always provide a reason for us to continue to try and work through our differences, though.

  I loved going to the music festivals, it was my way of escaping the real world. At The Big Chill I almost fainted when I spotted Thom Yorke, lead singer of Radiohead. To say Radiohead are my favourite band would be a huge understatement; their lyrics resonate so much with me and often seem to express the things I am incapable of saying. I have some of their artwork from the album OK Computer and lyrics from their song ‘The Bends’ tattooed on my wrist. I’m not usually shy, but it took ages for Sarah, a friend of mine, to persuade me to go over and tell Thom how much his music has helped me over the years. Luckily for me, he seemed a little mesmerised by Sarah’s astonishing beauty and, to my excitement, invited us both to watch the sun rise with him. In the end, though, we were all too tired to actually go through with the plan but the offer was enough. I’ll treasure the memory of meeting Thom forever.

  Glastonbury was a different experience entirely. For four days I hardly ate, instead surviving on vodka with diet mixers. I developed severe sunstroke and felt really unwell. On the Sunday I took two sleeping pills and slept for 12 hours in a baking hot tent. When I woke up, I had to wring what seemed like bucket-loads of sweat out of my top before being driven home.

  Whether I consciously realised it or not, anorexia was gripping me more tightly at this stage. Perhaps I was too preoccupied by the events of that summer to notice. Whatever the truth, a psychologist pronounced me mentally stable enough to go into the Ultimate Big Brother house, which I did on 24 August 2010.

  Ultimate Big Brother bore no comparison to my first time in the house. Instead I found the whole experience intensely difficult to cope with. I was apprehensive even before entering the show and hyper-aware of what had happened with the late Jade Goody, who’d been accused of racism and seen her popularity plummet after an altercation with Bollywood star Shilpa Shetty when she returned to the house. Naturally I was terrified of unintentionally saying or doing something that might have a similar effect. After Big Brother, the public had warmed to me – now I felt I’d placed myself at risk of losing the acceptance and love which was so important to me.

  Soon I began to miss the people I’d become close to in the original Big Brother – I just didn’t have the same affinity with my fellow Ultimate Big Brother housemates. For a start, because most of the housemates had seen footage of me in the original show, there was a preconception that I was going to be a nightmare to live with and that I’d constantly throw tantrums, which didn’t particularly help any of us to bond. Then there were the sleeping arrangements: the bedroom in the house was like a barnyard, noisy and smelly. As a result, I began to suffer sleep deprivation, which put me even more on edge than I’d been to begin with. Just as when I’d tried to share my flat with past boyfriends, I found it difficult to share living quarters with the other contestants. I’m not sure why it was harder for me than first time around – perhaps it was simply that I was younger and more carefree back then.

  The situation was further exacerbated by everyone’s insistence on forming cliques, most of which I felt totally excluded from. These were formed either by people who had originally been in the house during the same year, or by those who liked to bitch about, or intimidate, other contestants. I found the American rapper Coolio the most difficult housemate to get along with. He bullied anyone in whom he could detect a sign of weakness. I was extremely vulnerable, both emotionally and physically during this time so of course his attentions were often focussed on me. Swedish presenter Ulrika Jonsson was also challenging – she seemed more interested in catching and maintaining the interest of the men in the house than actually forming a real bond with anyone. With her displays of jealous behaviour, she managed to isolate most of the female contestants.

  During the programme, each housemate was given a message from home. Mine was from my mum and friend Carly, but I had nothing from Natalie. We’d quarrelled prior to me entering the house and I knew she must have been asked by the producers to participate and had refused. I have since found out that she religiously tuned into the show. She also made the dress I wore when I was evicted from the house – it’s a 1960s-inspired design made of flowery, yellow fabric and remains a favourite. In spite of this the absence of a message from my sister definitely hurt. The incident didn’t help my mindset or do anything to quell feelings of loneliness.

  That isn’t to suggest that I didn’t make any friends at all. I became close to the broadcaster Vanessa Feltz for the short period she was in the house. She was kind and understanding, so I felt I could confide in her. I told her about my struggles with food and with my body. Vanessa empathised because she herself has battled with her own body image, albeit in another way. I also identified with Nadia, Big Brother’s only-ever transgender contestant. She, too, was a little different and knew what it was like to feel isolated and lonely. I appreciated Nadia’s truthfulness and straightforwardness – I never felt as though I was competing with her or that our altercations were in any way superficial or false. With some of the other contestants, I felt as though they only ever spoke to me in order to gather ammunition for a future dispute. However, I share the same taste in music as Preston, which gave us an area of synergy; I also adored Brian.

  Most of all, being in the Ultimate Big Brother house allowed me to see clearly just how much my eating and exercise habits had deteriorated. Whereas during my first time in the house I’d been relatively relaxed about sharing an evening meal, this time I insisted on cooking all my own food, separate from everyone else. Usually I’d have grilled chicken or fish with vegetables, a ‘safe’ option for me. I knew the foods I wanted would always be available to me since I’d made it a condition of my contract with Big Brother that we wouldn’t be put on rations of any kind, as we had first time around. But I couldn’t exercise in the way that I would ideally have liked whilst confined to the Big Brother house. There was no gym or pool in the house so I’d attempt to silence anorexia’s constant nagging by running up and down the garden for 20 minutes each day. It helped to a degree but I was still incredibly frustrated. Even despite my strict portion control and attempts to exercise, I knew I was gaining weight. When I discovered I’d gained 3kg during the weeks I was in the Big Brother house, I was horrified. The papers were all saying how much better I looked a little curvier (I even made it into a few ‘best dressed’ columns, which is unusual for a Big Brother housemate), but this wasn’t enough to curb my despair. All I was able to focus on was how alien my body felt to me, how I longed to be back to my former, more slender self.

  Ultimate Big Brother was largely a negative experience for me. I suppose I’d had such a life-changing experience during the original Big Brother, the Ultimate version was never going to match up to my expectations. In the aftermath of the programme, I couldn’t help feeling deflated. However, it did reassure me that the public were still behind me when I was voted the most popular female Big Brother contestant for the entire 11 years of the show. I’m still not sure what it is about me that the public relate to, but I’m very grateful and humbled they do.

  After leaving Ultimate Big Brother, I focussed harder than ever on losing the weight I’d gained and my behaviour towards food and exercise became increasingly extreme. I found myself exercising harder than ever while restricting my calorie in take to 200 per meal. It was as though I’d boarded a train and it was hurtling towards a place where I’d be once more completely controlled by anorexia; I didn’t know how I’d ever get off. I knew Mum was concerned about the amount of exercise I was doing and that
I was sacrificing all the hard work I’d put in towards conquering my illness, so I decided to find myself a therapist. Soon I began seeing Kaumari, a counsellor at St Vincents – all the while mindful that I must combat the constant barrage of guilt and anger I was doing my best to vent through exercise, if I was ever going to get better again.

  ***

  As I hurtled into 2011, I had no idea that the year would prove to be one of my most challenging yet. The obstacles to my happiness started in the very first month. On 12 January, I underwent an operation on my left foot to have my toe realigned. The damaged bone was cut and a section shaved off before a metal pin was put in its place to straighten it. As the doctors operated, a nerve in my foot became inflamed and had to be taken out. Knowing all these gruesome details played havoc with my already-squeamish mind. I was slung out of hospital at 1pm on the day of the procedure and Mum drove us directly to her house. At first I wasn’t aware of the pain because I’d been put on such a high dosage of morphine but as the drugs wore off, it became so bad that I began to vomit uncontrollably.

  Over the next few weeks I was utterly miserable – confined to the sofa, high on a cocktail of painkillers and the sleeping tablets I was taking to try and escape the whole situation. Around then, I became addicted to Co-codamol and Diazepam, requiring higher and higher doses as my body became used to their anaesthetising effects. I was unable to exercise at all, which was torture for a gym addict like me. Worse still, I’d reasoned since I couldn’t exercise, I’d have to dramatically restrict my food portions. My mum quickly became aware that I was cutting down on my calorie intake and tried to talk me out of it, but there was no dissuading me: I was still terrified of putting on weight.

  By the time I was up and walking (or rather hobbling about) in March, I was accustomed to surviving on hardly any food at all. Anorexia had firmly taken root – again. All that sitting around had left my mind idle and vulnerable to the disease’s destructive voice. I began forcing my mum to drive me to the gym, where I’d use arm weights – the only thing my weakened physical state and the fact that I was still on crutches would allow me to do. The gym instructors and concerned friends would ask what on earth I was doing there, advising me in the strongest possible terms that I should be at home recuperating, but I wouldn’t – or perhaps couldn’t – listen to them. I believed I needed to put myself through the toughest workout I was capable of simply to justify my existence.

  With the help of my counsellor, I came to the realisation that I use exercise to vent my emotions. The gym is my time and I ensure it’s intensely private. Usually, I was delighted when I was recognised in the street or spoken to by fans but if anyone ever tried to talk to me whilst I was working out, they’d receive short shrift. This personal epiphany forced me to ask myself, what am I so angry about? Why do I need to punish my body in order to clear my mind? I still haven’t reached a conclusion on this.

  Despite still requiring a walking stick in order to move, I was determined to begin work and socialise again in March 2011. During those few months, all that resting had left me with cabin fever; I was also feeling isolated and very lonely. At certain times, I even considered getting back together with an ex. I’d lost about 6lb since the beginning of the year, a huge amount for my small and already slender frame. Now I was irrational and emotional, prone to tearful episodes and unable to think coherently.

  I remember attending the International Endangered Species Summit as a representative for Body Gossip that March. It was a hugely prestigious event. Some of the world’s leading experts in body image were attending and all I can recall is feeling insignificant and unworthy to be there. Even filming Gok’s Teens: The Naked Truth, (a documentary about teenagers and body image, which aired in February 2012) as part of the Body Gossip cast, didn’t help me to feel any more valued. Gok couldn’t have been friendlier, and filming the documentary was a wonderful experience, but I knew I needed a break.

  Ill-advised, I once more began going out and often got drunk. Now I was so weak, physically, that if a friend hugged me too tightly it could almost break my already-fragile bones. I suffer from severe osteoporosis as a result of my eating disorder, most acutely in my spine and hips. It has become so bad that I have the frame of an 85-year-old woman and can’t even wash my hair by bending over the side of the bath. Technically speaking, the quickest and easiest solution would be to eat my way to a normal BMI, but for me that’s the hardest challenge of all. On nights out, I have often broken my ribs from dancing around too much or being hugged, and I’m also prone to losing my phone, keys and purse. I knew I was becoming a liability to my friends but my mind was too clouded to see a way out of the situation.

  In April 2011, I decided it might be a good idea to get away from it all and so I booked a trip to the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Annual Festival in the United States. With hindsight, I was trying to escape the one thing I could never run away from: myself. I travelled to LA, Las Vegas and then back to LA again over the course of a few weeks. At first, I felt an immense sense of liberty – I loved the anonymity as I’m usually recognised only by British people. My friend Nadia, who I’d met in her capacity as a journalist for the Daily Mail celebrity pages, took me shopping and on a trip to Universal Studios in a bid to cheer me up – we had a great time.

  Soon, though, Nadia left and I was in the company of another friend with a tendency to get drunk and wander off, leaving me on my own in unfamiliar territory. My foot began to swell in the 100-degree heat and became painful again. Now I started to feel lost and frightened – all I could focus on was getting back. I changed my flight to three days earlier than planned and came home with a huge sense of relief.

  On 28 April 2011, it was my 29th birthday. I’d booked Boogaloo, an indie music venue in Archway, north London, which I absolutely love. It should have been one of the best parties of my life (everyone had the next day off because of the Royal Wedding). I couldn’t seem to dismiss a sense of foreboding, though: I was panicking at the prospect of this being the last year of my twenties. Even the arrival of Alex Zane, my friend and ultimate celebrity crush, couldn’t quell this sense of unease.

  Work kept me busy throughout the summer and for a while I thought perhaps everything would be OK. I filmed Celebrity Coach Trip in June, taking my fellow Big Brother contestant Ashlene as my partner. We toured Italy, Slovenia and Croatia with celebrity passengers Edwina Curry and her husband John, as well as Paul Burrell and his wife Jeanie and Cannon & Ball.

  Anyone who has watched the show will be only too aware of the difficulties I faced in trying to be understood by my fellow passengers. Although everyone involved had been alerted to the fact that I suffer OCD and anorexia and they were asked to be as accommodating and tolerant as possible, that didn’t stop them accusing me of being ‘difficult’ and ‘disruptive’. Every mealtime was an ordeal – the crew refused to tell us where and when we were having dinner. It meant I couldn’t plan my day’s calorie consumption or have any sense of the routine I so desperately need to feel a sense of calm. My mum had packed healthy snacks such as snack bars, crisp breads and tins of tuna in an attempt to try and help me achieve some regularity and routine in my eating habits.

  Every morning we were woken up at 6.30am and given just half an hour to hastily consume our breakfasts. After that, when and where we would eat was anyone’s guess. Often, we’d have our evening meal as late as 10pm after filming. This not only played havoc with my fragile mindset but really set me back in doing the things I knew I must do in order to stop myself from slipping further into my anorexia: eating little and often. Jeanie made it clear that she had an issue with what she perceived to be my ‘peculiar’ eating habits. But Edwina took her distaste for my condition (and me) a step further, shouting that she thought I ‘had issues’ and ‘they weren’t carers’. I knew my fellow passengers thought I was attention seeking and deliberately being difficult, which made me feel resentful and misunderstood in turn. Things were strained between us.

 
Ultimately, I lasted three days on Celebrity Coach Trip before walking out of the show. I was distressed by the idea that my eating disorder had now permeated every element of my life. Friendships were hanging on by a thread, there was no new love interest on the horizon and my food obsession was starting to affect my ability to work.

  On 24 July 2011, the world was shocked and shaken by the news that the immensely talented musician and north London treasure Amy Winehouse had died aged just 27 years old. I was deeply affected by it. Although I never got to know Amy personally, we had many friends in common and people had told me that she was aware of me and liked to watch me on TV. Amy always seemed to me to be an outsider – although adored by millions, she appeared fragile and unsure of herself. I could totally relate to those feelings. For Amy, the struggle was over and she was at peace now and, as guilty as it made me feel, I realised there was a part of me that envied her for that. It was the first time I remember being consciously aware that the suicidal thoughts which have plagued me throughout my lengthy illness were back.

  Either way, I was at one of my lowest ebbs when in August 2011, my mum had a mental breakdown. Throughout my life, she has been my rock – solid, dependable, always there to catch me when I fall. Just as I felt my world was tumbling down around me, the very thing that constantly made me feel secure was taken away. Without Mum, I was utterly adrift.

  My mum tells me her breakdown had been brewing for a long time. She was often tearful in the months preceding the actual event and felt she wasn’t coping. My sister and I knew she was going through the menopause and that this can be a difficult phase for any middle-aged woman but she later told us there were many other contributing factors.