If the average person’s career was a line graph, there would be several stand-out moments that jut up above the line.
We all know them: the time you impressed the boss by solving something others couldn’t, the time you handed in that project you toiled over, the work social where someone drank too much.
I won’t begin to try and convince you that my career, as a member of The Vamps, is the norm, but bear with me. Like everyone else, I’ve been lucky enough to experience especially memorable moments over the years – including releasing five top 10 singles and a number one album, and being the first band to headline London’s O2 Arena five years in a row.
But for me, those stand-out moments were completely overshadowed by an eating disorder.
In the thousands of interviews we’ve had since 2011, we frequently get asked if any of us have any major regrets. Typically, I tend to brush this off with something playful and hollow; something like ‘not trying to date half of LA’, or ‘forgetting to pack my toothbrush when we toured with Taylor Swift’.
The truth? I regret running, pretending, denying that I had a problem with food. For each of those career highlights that I remember, there’s a mountain of dread that hangs underneath. The line chart is merely a series of peaks disguising a darker reality beneath the surface.
To the public, the pictures printed in the press when we celebrated our number one album in 2016 looked like success. Champagne, posh London hotel, laughter. The Vamps boys were on top of the world.
Looking back now kills me, because I can finally see just how wasted that whole period was for me. I might have physically been there but my mind wasn’t – it was echoing around empty corridors in my head, questioning whether I could get to the gym later to burn off the extra alcoholic calories, or better yet, whether I could skip the celebratory dinner with the record label to shave off an extra 1000.
I may as well have not even been in The Vamps then. I was a shell of my former self: short-tempered, bad mannered, and shallow. I was obsessed with myself, critiquing every angle in the mirror, judging my happiness on whether my arms looked toned enough on a given morning.
Ironically, I was so transfixed on myself that I failed to register how much I was neglecting my overall wellbeing. I added ‘creatine powder’ to ‘lifting weights’ and came up with happiness as the answer. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Happiness is not obsessing over food and supplements from the moment you wake up; it’s not spending two hours a day in the gym in the hope to be accepted. It took me a long time to realise that the genuine key to happiness is accepting yourself.
Happiness is not obsessing over food and supplements from the moment you wake up
It took me 24 years to recognise that spiralling around a vicious cycle of food and lifting weights was never going to result in genuine satisfaction. I could always lift more and eat less, and I’d still find myself staring disappointedly staring into a mirror.
Acknowledging the flaws in severe dieting and obsessive work-out plans was fundamental to my recovery. Sure, I can still enjoy eating healthily and going to the gym, but I have to constantly remain conscious of when that obsession begins creeping in again – which it so frequently does.
Ultimately, I see this issue as an addiction, and it must therefore be viewed with the appropriate seriousness.
I realised recently that I fell into a slightly obscure category of society. Primarily, I’m a musician. However, in the wonderfully weird world of social media, I find myself approaching 2020 with approximately 3,000,000 ‘followers’. That apparently makes me influential. Like my mental health, I ignored the importance of this for years.
Vocalising my emotions caused an immediate ripple across my social channels, spurring me to research male mental health.
I was shocked, particularly with the statistics around men and eating disorders. The fact that 45 per cent of men in the UK are dissatisfied with their body image and that 17 per cent of men in the UK are on an extreme diet because of this is staggering.
Actively addressing my own situation was the only way I was eventually able to break out of my self-perpetuating rut. Communication was the key for me, and that’s why I’m so keen to partner with TOMs and The Mix.
Together we’re launching the Body and Soul Club, a digital community where young people can talk about healthy approaches to body image and masculinity.
We must campaign for change, and encourage more men to air their struggles.
More support
If you suspect you, a family member or friend has an eating disorder, contact Beat on 0808 801 0677 or at help@beateatingdisorders.org.uk, for information and advice on the best way to get appropriate treatment
The Mix offers essential support for under-25s, covering a broad spectrum of issues including drug abuse, homelessness, and mental health. Get in touch with them here.
Find out how you can get involved in the Body and Soul Club here.
MORE: Yes, men get eating disorders – my brother died from his
MORE: How can social media have a less toxic effect on our body image and mental health?
MORE: Kids will keep developing eating disorders until we address our relationship with food
source https://metro.co.uk/2019/11/02/i-was-so-consumed-by-my-eating-disorder-i-forgot-to-enjoy-being-in-the-vamps-11025121/
0 Comments