Have you ever tried to open a pack of biscuits quietly with one hand while using your phone as a torch with the other?

I have. I was 11 when first I started sneaking into the kitchen at 2am seeking snacks, and eating them in the shadow. I would do this every night, on top of eating three meals a day of course, but no one told me at the time that this was more than teenage cravings or gluttony. Maybe if someone had, I would not be the obese 25-year-old man who today still obsesses over food in the middle of the night, reaching for my pack of Oreos without making too much noise and waking up my roommates.

For as long as I can remember, food has always been the answer to everything. When kids bullied me in middle school, I had food to comfort me while I spent my lunch break hidden in the library. When I upset my parents because I chose another path but the one they designed for me, at least I had food at night to keep me company. When I left home and failed at uni, food was the only thing I could turn to without feeling ashamed.

But it has also made my life a nightmare. When I binge, I put my body through such pain that I need at least 24 hours to recover. How could I show up for a class at 8am after spending the night eating pasta, pizzas, chips, two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s and drinking Coke? Well, I could not and therefore did not.

Was I in the best mood to attend this friend’s birthday party? Of course not – my stomach was a mess, and as usual binge crisis meant diarrhoea for hours. My parents want to Skype, should I answer? I can’t. They would see my studio flat surrounded by empty bottles of soda. One can’t even see the floor’s colour because of McDonald’s bags and sweets wrappings. The food turned me into this anti-social, shy, scared person that I did not even know I could be. It made me a lousy friend, son, student and professional.

However, I’d never put a name on this problem; I just knew it was a part of me. So when moving to London and seeing how my life was getting worse because of food, I decided to do something about it. I knew some facilities existed for obese people. I knew therapists could use hypnosis to cure obsessive behaviours but I had no money for that – I spent so much on groceries and takeout that my salary turned into nothing within two to three weeks. I also knew support groups existed thanks to those hours in front of the TV (thanks This Is Us), and so one day I googled “eating disorder support groups London” and hoped for the best.

That’s how I found Addictive Eaters Anonymous (AEA). The introduction said it was the same program as Alcoholics Anonymous, but with food. To me, it meant everything was free, and everyone was welcome. I sent an email and got an answer with the address of the next meeting and instruction to arrive a few minutes earlier.

That Tuesday evening, last February, in an East London library meeting room, I attended my first AEA meeting. The referent of the London group welcomed me and started telling me her own story, from her struggles and her first steps in AEA to her being sober for several years. She seemed so relaxed, and at peace, I could not even picture her being an obsessed eater.

The meeting is quite simple: everyone takes turns introducing themselves, then there is a quick reading from the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous (we replace the word alcohol with food). Someone reminds the twelve steps of the program to become sober, and then each person shares for a few minutes.

Listening to other people sharing, I realised for the first time I truly wasn’t alone. I was not the only one who let down friends and family because of a binge crisis. They too had put leftovers in the bin but woken up in the middle of the night to take them out and eat them. We had all avoided eating in public, lying about not being hungry.

The referent introduced me afterwards to the whole program, which was born in New Zealand and had become international. One time a month, every single member of the ‘fellowship’, as she calls it, gathers for a web-event. In real life, the meeting takes place once a week, but everyone attends regular Alcoholics Anonymous meetings as well. Apart from the meetings, we have to ask for a sponsor. Then we need to ring him or her every day, as well as other sober members of the fellowship.

When I attended my first AA meeting, I felt like a fraud. I don’t even like alcohol and considered leaving. But when the first person to talk started saying that he used to lie to people daily, hiding bottles, drinking first thing in the morning, turning this luxury into a necessity, it struck me I had been doing the same with food for years. I am an alcoholic too. The disease at stake, for people who struggle with drinking, eating, taking drugs, gambling or sex is the same: addiction.

Early at the beginning of my journey with AEA, I understood addiction has no antidote. It’s a dominating disease. The people from the fellowship keep coming and volunteer to help other newbies because it helps them in their ongoing journey. There is also a spiritual awakening that everyone is talking about and which I don’t understand for now – growing up in a very religious family as a child turned me into a staunch atheist adult.

I’m far from achieving sobriety. I struggle every day. Calling my sponsor terrifies me because I know I have to listen to him and not fail. Phoning sober people pisses me off because I want their life, I want the peace they have – but I’m not willing to do the work to reach it. Going to meetings take time and schedule, it’s annoying sometimes, but I keep going. Listening to other people putting words on what we are experiencing helps me. Recently someone said our eating was nothing but self-harm: instead of cutting ourselves or drinking into oblivion, we eat until sick and bleed from the inside, but no one sees it.

Recovering will be a long process. But I’m not the lonely kid in the kitchen any more. I’m getting better. I have people I can talk to, people I can share with, and we are all trying to free ourselves from the addiction — one day at a time.

Dan Hastings is a freelance writer. For more information on Addictive Eaters Anonymous, visit their website here.

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Useful websites and helplines:

• Beat, Adult Helpline: 0808 801 0677 and Youthline: 0808 801 0711 or email help@beateatingdisorders.org.uk (adults) fyp@beateatingdisorders.org.uk (youth support) 
  Samaritans, open 24 hours a day, on 08457 90 90 90
  Mind, open Monday to Friday, 9am-6pm on 0300 123 3393