If I were a woman, I think my eating disorder would have been diagnosed sooner

• Twenty-five years ago, at the age of 13, I developed bulimia.
• Bullying at school made me hide in the bathroom stalls, which triggered my eating disorder.

It was nearly one-quarter of a century ago when I developed bulimia, at 13. Fifteen years into recovery, it still surprises people that I was a man with an eating disorder.

I don't remember the first time I made myself sick. But what I do remember was the buildup to it. From age 11, I was relentlessly bullied. It was obvious to my fellow pupils that I was "different" for a variety of reasons. I was bright and studious, and it was apparent that I could be gay, though I had no idea of my sexuality until I was a bit older.

Midway through high school, the bullying was beginning to take a toll on me. I'd walk out of class or avoid going completely and hide in the boys' bathroom, as it was the only safe space where I knew I wouldn't be found.

Out of sight, I'd lock myself into a toilet cubicle, where I'd comfort-eat the contents of my lunch box — usually cookies and chips. Feeling disgusted with myself, my instinct was to get the food out of me by sticking my fingers down my throat and vomiting. The buildup of tension and anxiety was flushed down the toilet, giving me an immense sense of relief.

This cycle of bingeing and purging became my coping mechanism for several years. As the bullying got worse, my episodes became more regular and frantic.

I read about bulimia in a magazine

One day, I was bored at home and looking through one of my mother's magazines when I began reading an advice column. I read a letter from a newly single mother saying she would binge and purge after putting her kids to bed. She'd recently split up from her partner and found this transition challenging.

Being only 15, I couldn't relate to her situation, but I certainly identified with her behavior. In the reply, the advice columnist described her condition as "bulimia." She warned about the dangers, like her stomach rupturing or cardiac arrest, if she didn't seek urgent help.

Up until then, I didn't know anything about eating disorders. I thought what I was doing was personal to me — something I'd invented even. It hadn't occurred to me that I was causing myself serious physical harm that could be life-threatening. But because of the way the bullies had made me feel, I believed I deserved to die from this illness.

Instead of speaking with someone about it, I kept it quiet. My mother would notice food going missing, but I guess she thought I was just a "hungry teenager." People with bulimia are notoriously secretive and will go out of their way to cover their tracks.

I asked for help at school

In the early 2000s, we barely spoke about anorexia at school — let alone bulimia. I don't remember any lessons on eating disorders. The only time I ever heard about eating disorders in the media was in relation to Princess Diana. Being a man with bulimia added to my isolation, which reinforced my ill-informed belief that men weren't meant to have eating disorders.

Two days after the last day of school, I eventually plucked up the courage to speak with someone. I was now 16, desperately worried about the future and feeling suicidal.

Sitting in my doctor's office, I told him about my bulimia and burst into tears. I can't remember what I said exactly. But I do remember he was extremely concerned. He referred me for an emergency counseling assessment with the local mental-health service for children and adolescents, which he arranged for the following day. I attended both appointments without my mother's knowledge, though she found out soon after. Unfortunately, because of conflicts at home, I couldn't get the support I desperately needed at that time.

When I turned 18 and was old enough to seek help without parental consent, I tried to get support a second time from a different doctor. To my surprise, instead of asking questions about my bulimia, she focused on my depression and anxiety. She put me on antidepressants and referred me for counseling, which had a two-year waiting list.

Looking back, I believe if I were a woman presenting with the same severe symptoms, she would have responded differently. In those days, it was virtually unheard of for men to have eating disorders — especially bulimia, which is often less visible than anorexia.

Nowadays, it's widely speculated that the number of men with eating disorders is massively underestimated, with one out of three people affected being men, according to the National Eating Disorders Association. I've campaigned tirelessly with my charity, "Men Get Eating Disorders Too," for over 10 years, and it's my view that there's still a distinct lack of support for men. I know this from the scores of men who contact me on social media and tell me they feel like a minority when they try to access mainstream support.

While my last binge and purge was at 21, after I established alternative coping strategies and support networks like writing and volunteering, I did go on to "swap" addictions by developing a problem with alcohol.

I've often wondered if I'd gotten help earlier for my bulimia whether that would have averted this problem. What I've learned, having recently completed a course in trauma therapy, is that if you pick a weed only by the leaves and not by its root, it will simply grow back. In other words, you will switch from one unhealthy coping mechanism to another.

After many years of hard work, I'm now free from both my bulimia and my alcoholism, which were different manifestations of the same issues. I can now finally say I'm in recovery.

Sam Thomas is an award-winning writer, campaigner, and public speaker. His first memoir, "Smashed Not Wasted," is out with Guts Publishing in April. He tweets about his recovery journey, and his Twitter handle is @sam_thomas86. He lives in Brighton, UK.