In regards to tomorrow.. 

I don’t go to Hampton Wick every month anymore. I don’t mention what the day represents for me anymore. I know he doesn’t.

However every night I smile at the scan photo, pride of place next to the picture of my daughter, my two, there, together, in the only way that is possible. God that used to rip my heart into a million pieces for the longest time.

I guess the antidepressants have helped numb that, too.

Most likely sounds so stupid to you all. I recently handed in my dissertation, and any online references that I sourced, I said I sourced them on ’23/09/17′. Just felt so right to in some way factor in baby, you know? After all I mentioned my daughter in the acknowledgements. 

Ah, I don’t even know. Breaks my heart that I know his copy of the scan photo is most likely shoved in a drawer, fuck, probably never even was a copy, I wouldn’t put it past him to be so disgustingly low to lie about that either.

Anyway, brightest star, I may not vocalise it tomorrow, but I love you and still ache for you. I never realised the pain of missing a child you never got to meet.

Keep shining for me and your sister and we’ll keep shining for you.



Remember I said I would wait to weigh myself today?

Well, I did.

2lbs down. I did want 3, but I’m fairly content with that; rather, I have to be.

That’s an old picture. When you could lift up my top and ribs would be there. It scared me at first; how noticeable they were. I love it now, the shadows, the depth.

I purged one time today also, I think I hid it well enough, although when I arrived home I did notice my mum had book called ‘Lighter than my shadow’ on her bed, yep you guessed it, all about anorexia.

I’ll stop when I get my BMI down. I started and it was 19.4 apparently that’s healthy.

Fucking hideous if you ask me.

I’ve been thinking about the rape a lot today. Perhaps because today I sat at the very table where he first told me he loved me. I remember how I felt in that moment. So safe, so happy.

Then I forced myself to remember how I felt during the rape. His ‘mistake’ – more like his attack.

Vicious cycle to be trapped in, that’s for sure. 

Strong women.

The news at the moment is brimming with reports of Hollywood tales of rape and sexual assault. It’s incredibly upsetting, but also, awe inspiring as to how unbelievably strong these women are being. It makes me incredibly proud that they are finding their voices again, and reclaiming their power.

It makes me sad when I read their reports and I immediately can identify with how they felt, the anger, the guilt, the self blame and hatred. The belief that it was down to them. It breaks my heart that I understand how they felt in those few moments, you know?

I wonder if all this sexual assault and rape has ever once made ‘him’ feel bad about what he did to me; whether the guilt suddenly hit him in the stomach when he realises that he is no better than the monster in the news, because he isn’t, is he? Down to the bare bones of it.

Anyway, I won’t allow him to ruin yet another one of my days.

But strong women reclaiming their souls and fire; what a beautiful thing indeed. 


Hardly surprising considering I was under 700kcal yesterday. Pretty happy with myself, I’ll do the same today as well. I’m on a 13 hour shift again, but should be fine. I’ve had 100g of zero fat yoghurt this morning, half a banana and a cup of black tea. I’ve made myself a litre bottle of lemon infused water for my shift today, as long as I drink enough that should stop the headache from building too much.

I’m refusing to weigh myself until Sunday at least, I’m hoping to have lost min 3lbs by then, I’m in a huge deficit after all, and doing min of around 17,000 steps a day (ward life).

Hmm, a better take another banana with me, just in case!

Then perhaps half a salmon salad for lunch.


A..B..C, just modified.

So, feeling fat, feeling horrific and just a pathetic, weak rape victim.

I need to regain control properly, my God I mean properly! No restricting for a week but then binging and having to purge, like a pathetic fat cow. I have been conducting some research about some Pro Ana diet plans that I can work into my day to day routine.

I like the sound of the ABC modified diet. The original one boasts fasting days as well, which are not feasible for me, due to being a bloody diabetic. This one, the modified one, has no fast days but still allows for some pretty big restrictions.

Here it is:


I feel that tomorrow is a fantastic time to start, yes I am at work for 13 hours, but sitting down on a training day. A nifty little fruity breakfast and 1/2 a can of weight watchers soup for lunch; roughly 38kcals and then a nice salad for dinner…

I’m actually super excited to stop having to purge, and now have a basis to get back in control of what goes in my body, MY body.

Having been raped stays with you, you know. Daily you feel well, not in control and you CRAVE the feeling of being in control of your body once again, because I wasn’t in control was I? If I was he would have never been able to do what he did to me.  I, and only I now controls what goes in my body.

I will never lose control again. Not ever.


I feel like shit. I look like shit. I am shit.

Those are horrible things to think about yourself, aren’t they? Constantly, nonstop. Day in and day out. 

I had been doing better, much better recently. My moods had improved, I was finding enjoyment in things that I haven’t for a while, and I was really championing myself again.

Then I missed ten antidepressant doses in the trot. 

I’m not sure why I did that. I think at the start it was because I was busy rushing around after everyone else, overtired from night shifts and then day shifts without an adequate break to adjust… but then the apathy set in, the ‘what’s the point’ view crept back that I had fought off before. The flashbacks reappeared and kept me up, the headaches and the withdrawing from the world took hold. 

I’ve really not missed the flashbacks. They are so prominent and it’s like I’m right back there again, with him on top of me, me sinking into the sofa, pushing at his arms, begging him not to, the shearing pain, the smells, the rain on the window, all of it. The flashbacks are even more horrendous than they sound. They make me cry for hours afterwards and hate myself even more.

My eating also took a complete nosedive as well. Back to restricting, craving control over what goes into my body, obsessing over tiny details in private, while acting normal in front of everyone else concerned. The meds had stopped that, they had brought my appetite back, they stopped the destructive cycle of self hatred that I was committed to.

I have started taking them again and now trying to rebalance everything.  Why does everything have to be such a fucking struggle, I didn’t ask for any of this, you know?

If I’m on the way up, then just let me keep going in one direction. 

Him, totally down the rabbit hole, again.

I have been meaning to write this for a few days, now. To feel that release of having it out of my mind, but my depression took over big style and all my energy has been used up trying to claim my mind back again.

A real constant battle, I tell you.

I have been down, very down the past few days and could not work out why, then I realised it has been an exact year since we broke up, me and the man who I realise now was/IS just evil. Its a funny one because, I’m not sitting here upset that its been a year without him around, not at all, I’m upset because its a year of my life that had still be robbed, because of his actions finally hitting me, he managed to steal my year without even being around. Some may say that its my doing, I could stop it, but to those people I would say that they have clearly never experienced something like I have; and I hope that they never do.

I kinda went radio silence regarding the rape and the police involvement, I know. I went along with their police involvement and sent them all the evidence that I have; which is more than ‘he’ seems to know. His confession where he states that it was a rape and nothing else is one thing, yes they can trace it back to his phone number and the location, but theres more.

Emails between us where I mention it and he doesn’t deny it, he mentions it as well, a text message from his sister even on my old phone, stating how shocked she is that he slapped me – do me a favour.

But yes, there is much more than he realises. I might have been completely, completely in love with him, but I was never stupid.

They were about to go and bring him in for questioning, and my depression took a total nosedive, I mean, I wasn’t functioning. In 13 weeks I will be finishing my degree and qualifying as a staff nurse, I need to ensure I complete it, for my sake and my daughters. It was not the right time to be dealing with the CPS, even though its the only thing I want. I decided to put it on the back burner until after Christmas, that does not mean he has gotten away with what he did to me at all.

Lets not get it mistaken here, I am the one holding all the cards, not him, not at all. I can have him rotting in a cell for however long, or signing a sex offenders register every single day for the next however many years, I can do that to him.

I don’t know if I am happy about that or not, though. Recently I have found myself wondering if he ever thinks about what he did to me. If he ever curls up in bed and cries about it, like I do. If that sinking feeling fills his stomach at random moments sometimes, when he thinks about the damage he has caused someone who he once claimed to love, you know what I mean? But those are human emotions and I’m just not so sure he possesses them anymore.

I owe him nothing at all, I realise that, but, I suppose that’s the issues with indoctrinating behaviour isn’t it? He laid the ground work pretty well; I struggle only thinking of the bad things even now, because he was a blessing the rest of the time and made me feel like I was flying nonstop. I, certainly was in love and truthfully, I hate that now. I do hate that it took a further 7 months to really allow it to hit me, what he had done to me, and that I had told him a few times that it doesn’t matter, that it was a mistake and that I’m alright, he must have thought his luck was right in.

Because its not fine, its not. Its not fine that my daughter has to have a severely depressed Mother. One who fucks up her eating and has PTSD, just because of what one piece of shit did to her.

I don’t think that’s fine.

His family and friends most likely telling him that he’s done nothing wrong, acting as if I’m the bad one most likely, when in reality, they are protecting a rapist and someone who thought it was ok to slap me when I had a child on my lap. I wonder if they ever look at him and it dawns on them that he’s a piece of shit? And actually there is other stuff he has kept hidden from his family too; why is he so comfortable thinking that I am still going to protect him and keep quiet? I owe him nothing after all.

The case, I will come back to, most definitely. I need to, its the right thing to do, I can’t allow him to get away with raping me, and what issues its caused me? Its life altering and life ruining quite frankly.

It eats me up daily and I wish I got the chance to face him, just to show him that I am strong now, stronger, and he’s not won. He’s NOT won. I want to look him in the eye and tell him just how much he disgusts me and that I regret ever, ever allowing a piece of vermin like him into my life.

I hate myself for EVER telling him that I am ok and that’s the end of it, because its not.

He can enjoy the radio silence while I get my life seemingly back on track; but this is never going away, I hold all the cards and power. I’ve been told the evidence that I have is very, very good, better than the police usually have to work with. Its been a year now.

You know, I’m laughing now because I remember him saying to me once, ‘You’re just doing this so no one else will want me’

Like, no, I’m doing this because you’re guilty of raping me, you stupid, immoral, unpleasant, abdominal maggot.

A disgusting maggot who robbed me of my peace of mind and soul. A piece of vermin that made me hate myself, for being a rape victim. Because I do, I absolutely hate myself.

He’s not getting away with it anymore. He’s not. You’re not.

You have not won.

Hatred starts at 2am

Woke up at 2am, crept downstairs. Had a cold shower because apparently that suppresses appetite? Put my Fitbit on and made sure I did 800 steps before the kettle finished boiling. Treated myself to a cup of tea while watching a show on Netflix. 

Tried to focus but my attention was stuck on the way my t shirt was gripping to a big roll of fucking fat wrapped around my torso. 

Trying not to purge, trying not to purge. What to have for lunch..? Hmm well, if I sit in Starbucks while my little one is at nursery then I can have a cup of boiling water and add soup power to it, that’s 63kcals, that’s ok, right?

Feeling fat. Antidepressant taken, can’t purge, that needs to stay down just so I can bloody cope with the day. I had a dream about him last night; that’s what made me wake up wanting to purge, wanting to feel empty, wanting control, desperately wanting to feel in control of MY BODY. He makes me feel sick, he makes me feel worthless. 

He makes me feel guilty over not being able to get him off me that one time.

Please, please don’t stay torturing me for the entire day, I can’t take another day of it. 

All of these disgusting photos are this morning. Yeah I know, fucking disgusting. You don’t need to tell me.

I can’t even scroll through them. They’re so disgusting I am actually holding back tears. How did I ever let myself get so big and horrific? 

Close to my heart.

So, recently I’ve noticed something close to my heart getting a lot of media attention – Diabulimia. 

Diabulimia is when a type one diabetic omits or reduces their insulin to achieve weight loss. This was an activity, no, a way of life that I embraced on the sly years ago. 

Was I stupid? Yep. 

Was I naive? Yep.

 Was I selfish? Yep. 

Was I ill? More than I realised at the time.

Amazingly, instances of this mental health+ physical condition go missed by family, friends, medical teams even.  I remember my day to day when I was actively partaking in this. Palpitations would wake me up, but would not worry me enough to make me do the full 33 units of lantus; 8 units would do me. Every time you eat, you’re meant to do another injection – I wouldn’t. Soon my head would spin, my mouth would be dry and my eyesight 50% non existent. I was diagnosed with severe retinopathy a few years ago which I have amazingly freed myself of with better glycemic control, but others aren’t so lucky. A friend of one went blind at 17 years old, and another lost her life at 22. 

Typically a diabetic will die if they go two days (max) without their insulin. I did enough to survive, not to live because in hindsight I wasn’t living; in fact I was killing myself incredibly slowly. That’s what Diabulimia is.

I nearly lost my life in 2011 after ending up in DKA. My kidneys had stopped working due to the lack of insulin and ketones in my body. I was 30 minutes away from heart failure, 30 minutes away from death. 

Even that wasn’t enough to make me fix up, pretty fucked up eh.

My pregnancy is what fixed me up. I wanted to do a post regarding Diabulimia, because it’s a huge issue that impacts far too many people.

Knowledge is power. 


People don’t talk to me about what happened anymore because they think I am doing much better.

I’ve just got better at hiding it, I think.

I’ll be honest with you guys, though. I cried my eyes out this morning in private because I ate sugar tablets (to stabilise my blood sugar) and a cereal bar (63kcals). 

I can’t avert my eyes from the rolls of fat from under my top, even if I don’t look at it, I feel it. I’m fighting back tears even now, and panic is settling in my stomach, that familiar feeling of hatred and nausea. 

I’m too scared to weigh myself. So far today I have had 200kcal and a handful of cherry tomatoes. I feel like a pig. 

I finally got around to making an account on a proana site that I have been lurking on for months. I hope to find some like minded people, they all seem pretty supportive and maybe that’s what I need.

But I have got better at hiding it, hatred and overwhelming depression. I have a referral to a suicide crisis house; because I’m not exaggerating when I talk of how difficult it is for me to stay in the same environment, as to where he did what he did.

I’m scared I will hit 800kcals today, would hardly be a surprise for a fat pig like myself. I’m researching how to go about a two day per week water fast as well, anything to get back to that empty feeling, wasting away is what I’m good at.