I was away at uni, hit an all time low as far as depression and anorexia, near lifelong problems for me. I stopped eating altogether and would only get out of bed in the wee hours to go for a run or make myself exercise until the point of collapse. Started getting psychotic and seeing things, shadows following me and shit. Eventually I made solid plans for suicide, although the whole starvation thing was, in hindsight, probably also an attempt to die.

My mental health problems as far as food and depression were already known to my family, although as I was living away from home and didn't want to burden them, they didn't know how bad things had gotten. Meanwhile, my brother was getting into trouble with drugs and the police and shit. It was hard for all my family at home.

I finally (and I still don't know how) found the strength/courage/mystery ingredient to tell my parents I needed help; that I wasn't coping at all and that I felt if I stayed here I was going to die. I broke down on skype and everything I'd been trying to hide just came out.

Mum told me to come home immediately.

Dad waited for mum to leave the room, then told me he'd be more disappointed in me if I dropped out than he would be for anything my brother was doing. Cheers, cunt.

Never quite regained my respect after that.