I used to think I had suffered with depression before; recent times, this part year and a half really, have taught me otherwise. 

I’ve never known anything like this. Its not a sadness, it’s a numbness. Its a devastating sudden apathy to every single thing that you used to love, the things that made you, you. 

I’m in bed currently, feeling my world closing in, quicker than anything. My diabetes care today has been nonexistent and I’ve eaten nothing – might as well self destruct 100%, no half measures here, ha. 

I want to crumble and cry hysterically, but I can’t. I just feel too numb to even cry, super weird right.

I just want to sleep but I’m too exhausted to, my brain is going as fast as anything as well. Nothing is stopping the flashbacks today, I hate it. I feel myself back there, underneath him, the pressure and the smells. Every nerve ending of mine relieving it and I just hate it so much.

Another afternoon spent in bed, crying, shaking and relieving every tiny detail of what he did. 



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.


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.

Flashbacks leads to destruction.

I have spent this morning crying my eyes out. It sounds so pathetic, I know. I feel kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place currently. I have mentioned before my reasonings behind purging or restricting; to feel in control of what goes into my body; because I wasn’t in control when he raped me, was I? So I have been left with this overwhelming need to have that control, it just shows itself in a destructive way I guess. 

I’m also taking a daily antidepressant, to just get through the day. That tiny little white tablet has made me numb to most things, which I don’t particularly like in all honesty, but I see that it is needed for the time being. It has also brought my appetite back. That, I hate. 

So this morning I stepped on the scales, 135lbs, it broke my heart, because what does that show? It shows that I am still not in control, not really, not properly. I’m still that weak person who couldn’t push someone off, aren’t I? I’m still that weak person who pretended everything was ok even though everything was so far beyond being in control, in my control.

And you know, I don’t like knowing how many calories there are in 7 cherry tomatoes, or in 3/4 of a babybel, I don’t like fixating on things, but I don’t like the lack of control even more.

I feel disgusting. I feel like real vermin, you know? Most days I am able to pin the blame on him and lay all of this shit at his door, where it belongs. But sometimes I throw it at myself; like today and just detest myself, so much. 

What am I even meant to do anymore?

I’m going to curl up and just carry on crying, what else am I actually good for? 


So my phone is out of whack, well, the screen at least. The memory is being downloaded as evidence soon so fingers crossed it holds out..! Anyway I’m sure it will be fine.

I have spent the past two days searching for an old handset of mine that I could use as the one I’m using currently is so shitty, and my house is like a graveyard for old phones that I’ve got bored of etc. 

I found one. I charged it up.

As soon as it switched on I remembered this phone, it was one he got me. The passcode was ‘1402’ our anniversary. The wallpaper was a picture of him with my daughter on his shoulders, and there he was, the man I fell totally in love with, not the monster that I think of him as, now. I wondered if there was messages or any evidence on this phone that might be useful, so I scrolled through. Copious videos and pictures of the three of us, me him and my daughter. He used to call us a trio, a unit. I won’t lie, it was heartbreaking seeing those pictures again, I had deleted or disposed of all of the ones I thought I had, but this phone was just brimming with them. 

Memories upon memories that I have fought so hard to lose came flooding back. Memories of him being amazing with her, memories that now make my stomach churn. Knowing what he is capable of and how long I allowed him to be around her, I don’t know if people even realise how much that upsets me, devastates me, even.

Seeing all of those pictures and videos gave me a huge panic attack. I was trembling by the end of it. It sounds weird but I had even forgotten what his voice sounds like, I was so happy about that, but hearing it again made me purge. Mental, eh. I just had to do something destructive to combat all this panic that was erupting in me. 

As soon as I feel I start making progress, something like this throws me way back into a corner. I hate it, I hate hate hate it. 

A parasite 

That’s what it feels like, this depression due to what he did to me. People try to excuse it, people have said to me that it wasn’t proper rape because we were in a relationship, people have told me that I don’t have a right to be so ruined by something that took less than a minute.

I’m strong enough now, well, sort of to be able to shout and scream about how wrong that is. Being in a relationship at the time excuses nothing, the fact that we had slept together loads of times doesn’t change what happened on that single time – are peoplemrally dim enough to think that? So it lasted less than a minute, and? Let me say this to everyone, when you are saying no, struggling and attempting to push someone off, someone you trusted with your life a few moments before; then twenty odd seconds feels like hours. 

Allowing myself to confront what he did to me after ignoring it for so long was awful, quite honestly. However the absolutely hardest thing I have ever, ever had to do was walk into the police station and report it, his act, him. I still can’t honestly believe that I got myself to that point, I summoned strength that I was not even aware I possessed really. 

But that is what I feel it is, a parasite. It’s taken over my body until I don’t recognise myself anymore. A weak depressed person. A person who denies herself food sporadically, to torture myself, maybe. To feel in control of something, yes. To distract myself from the flashbacks that still wash over me in waves; I rather feel hunger pains than feeling the physical aspects of those flashbacks. 

I don’t know. I feel like something has taken over me completely. Controlling all of my thoughts and actions, staring bleakly out of my eyes and just viewing everything with black and white glasses these days. I’ve never known low mood and exhaustion like this. I’m so tired, I even feel too tired to keep pushing for justice, but something always spurs me on, the need for him to face what he’s done I guess. The need for his friends and family, and another vulnerable person that he’s fooling, the need for them to know what he has done. Why should my family have to see me suffering, really suffering due to his actions, and his lot get to not have to know what a disgusting rapist they are harbouring? 

The truth.

I wanted to write this down, no not wanted, I need to write this down so I can look back on it and hopefully see a change in me. Hopefully. I wanted to write it for the numerous people in my life that I know also suffer with mental health issues, too.

You know, in my career looking after physically ill people, it is almost expected that a nurse should be in impeccable health, not a external, or indeed internal blemish, but I don’t think that is quite realistic. 

I attended clinical training today. I enjoyed it, it was interesting. I socialised, sat and ate lunch with peers and shared jokes and laughed at how little we all appeared to know. I probably appeared happy and carefree.

Fast forward a few hours.

My brother has just called the house phone fifteen times to try and reach my grandmother because he was worried that I had tried to hurt myself, again. This situation, the rape, what happened, has turned me into someone that I don’t recognise. I don’t like myself one little bit, in fact I detest myself in all honesty. Traumatic events, or fuck, no pissing reason even can instigate depression and its fucking torture. It is torturous. There is no other way to describe it, bleak. To be caught up in cycles of good days and then a big fucker of a bad one that undoes weeks of work is draining, its mentally exhausting. To be functioning on numb is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but when it is your only option, you try and justify it and pretend you are ok with it. It’s all bullshit. Who wants to be numb? I don’t. I want to enjoy life. I want to walk in the park with my daughter and not feel fucking vulnerable all of the time. I want to believe in good people again, not just waiting for them to reveal their bad traits just like he did.  I want to experience a bloody day where I am not completely exhausted by 10am. I just want to be happy again, properly happy not this fake happy that I have adopted to shut everyone up.

My brother who is not an emotional person by any means has spent this evening shaking and terrified about the state I have been in this evening. He said he is heartbroken. I needed to write this down because why should I hide it? Mental health affects most of us at some point and I for one don’t think I need to hide that fact away. Admitting struggles openly shows that I am human, vulnerable to whatever unfair shit life throws in my direction, and boy oh boy has it thrown some major shit my way.

People don’t need to be ashamed or indeed made to feel ashamed of any mental health issues that they are battling with, god only knows I have collected quite a bundle over the past year: PTSD, Depression, OCD, Anxiety, Eating disorder… lest we forget the constant feelings of self hated and guilt left over from the rape.

 Aren’t I a barrel of laughs.

My head is banging and I’m all cried out this evening. I write my blog posts because it is cathartic and it helps me. But tonight I have written this during a huge panic attack and contemplating some destructive behaviours. I don’t like feeling weak all the time, but to turn it on it’s head, am I weak or am I actually being really fucking strong, because I’m still here, and lord only knows that I have tried my upmost not to be. 

Mental health affects anyone, with or without cause. Be compassionate, be listening always, be ready to offer help, you don’t know how might actually be in need of it. 

Self destructing with a fake smile attached.

  • Breakfast was 90kcal
  • Lunch will be non existent because I’ll be with the police and my stomach is already in knots
  • Dinner I’ve premise some cabbage soup, that’ll be around 100kcal due to some other ingredients.
  • Day time snacks I’ll allow for another 100kcal.

Coming in under 300kcal for the day.

I should find that upsetting or wrong even, but I just don’t. I like knowing that my focus will be on crippling stomach/hunger pains and not playing the rape over and over. Th antidepressants don’t stop that, I wish they did. I don’t know how to get it to stop. It’s on repeat in my mind, nothing makes it go away, even concentrating on something else it is still there, perhaps not at the forefront but fuck me, it is still as damaging being in the background even. 

Anyway this picture I have attached is me this morning. I’ve lost more weight but the real big change is the trousers. They are a size 12 and used to be so tight on me, not now. When I lay down earlier there was so much room in them that I could have wriggled out even!

Break time thoughts.

I was looking forward to escaping to work, being able to concentrate and think of other things. Unfortunately for me, it hasn’t really worked out that way.

I had to inform a senior nurse and my matron of the situation, when I had to leave work last week, it just all got too much. I could not deal with the intrusive thoughts swirling around in my head while trying to work for 13 hours, especially with three missed calls from the police happening in my scrub pocket as well. I’m not the sort of person who enjoys telling people about this situation, yes writing about it is cathartic to an extent, but, talking about it? Hearing the words come out of my mouth detailing it all, no, no I hate it. 

I don’t want to appear negatively and when I told them I did it with a smile. A sort of manner that said ‘yeah, this happened to me but I’ve handed it over to the police now, I’m fine’. I’m not quite sure it came across like that though. In fact my voice shook, that tell tale wobble when the lump in your throat forms and the tears collect in the corner of your eyes. 

Office doors were immediately closed and hugs were given. People I have worked with for two weeks, who barely even know me were showering me with support and my god was that what I needed in that moment.

I am full of nerves regarding this video statement. God, was I ever expecting this to happen? All I ever wanted was a sorry, but he couldn’t even give me a simple apology so now look where we are.

  Ill. Damaged. Fucked up.

Actually, not just nervous of it, I’m terrified of it. Sitting and talking about it, but being recorded, knowing that officers are going to pick apart what I say and question him about it. Literally going and getting him from home or work. That thought fills me with two feelings in all honesty.

  1. Happy because it is what he god damn deserves. To be scared, like I was. To be made to confront what he is guilty of, no longer being able to run from it like the coward he truly is.
  2. Upset. I absolutely loved this guy. First love never fully, fully goes away I guess, even considering what he did to me, hardly seems fair. I mean, I hate him, a lot, but there is always that lingering caring, admittedly it is decreasing very fast, but still, I do wish it was fully, fully gone. He was my world, my daughters world and now I have enlisted the police to get him. What he deserves, yes. But I spent so long protecting him, always putting him first and now, the complete opposite. It’s just, different. It’s horrible in all honesty.

Stronger than before, most definitely. Whether that’s actually due to being stronger or heavy duty antidepressants numbing me to everything, I’m not so sure really. 

An open letter to the onlookers.

I used to be so upset about what you were thinking of me. I reasoned with myself that I had been painted out to be some mad ex, as character assassination is the first thing a coward would do, and a coward he is. I lost a lot of sleep over that actually because I am not a bad person. Not at all, but I am somebody who is looking for a degree of justice.

I realise that it must be hard to admit that you are friends with a rapist. I suppose it is easier to believe that the victim is the wrong party, that way you don’t have to think badly of a friend, know what I mean?

I used to be so concerned about that. I felt so angry at the fact that there was no recognition for what he had done by the people close to him. That I was thought badly of when I had literally done nothing, and I mean – nothing. But now I know that it doesn’t matter, for two reasons:

  1. Who the fuck even cares what people that I met what, twice at most think of me? That is really unimportant. I don’t even remember many of their names, just by little comments that he told me about them. But yeah, why would I even be concerned?
  2. It doesn’t matter what they think of me or indeed believe because, I know what he did to me and so does he.

I may look like I thrive on attention, but that is also incorrect. I hate this. I have daily panic attacks, I’m medicated and just in a really bad way, so no, I do not thrive on this situation at all.

Am I jealous that he has potentially moved on? No. Sometimes it gives me a little kick in the stomach, but that is just due to having loved someone as much as I loved him, its always a bit shit, but a perfect remedy for that is to just remember what he did, and how it felt when he forced himself into me. To remember the physical pain that lasted for a good few days afterwards, a constant reminder. That soon deals with that feeling.

I will say this, though. good luck. Good luck once you have fallen for the nice guy routine and the real him is revealed. The emotionally unavailable, moody man who will make you feel as low as anything once you had gotten used to him making you feel as high as the clouds. The man who will compliment you every day until he decides to do something (a slap, a burn, a rape – two of those things with a child present) but because he is so amazing 99% of the time you forgive him. Every time you accept his pitiful reasons, his tears, his self wallowing – you love him and can’t imagine losing him. You will hold him in your arms and ignore what he did, how he’s hurt you, you don’t want to think about it you just focus on how much you love him.

But then he will do something soul destroying – and you won’t come back from it. Rape, for example. Or worse than that, you will need his emotional support more than anything or anyone, and he will tease you with it and never supply it, even though you fell to your knees trying to make sure he was ok, he won’t do it back. In fact he will watch you crumble in front of him, in absolute emotional agony. He will watch you breaking apart and then claim he thought he was acting in your best interest, you know, by watching you teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. I experienced both at the hands of him, rape and the lack of emotional support surrounding our baby. So, good luck. I reckon you will very much need it.

I do feel guilt though. That I left it so long to report it, this whole time he could be on some dating app and be free to do the same thing to someone else who believes his charm offensive. Do I think he could? Well, he managed to do it to me and that was after telling me he loved me for nearly two years, helped to raise my daughter, bought me an engraved wedding ring, fitted in the shop and tried to get me to elope with him so, yeah I think he is capable. Sorry but I do. Also slapping me when I had a child on my lap, its not the actions of a nice person, is it?

Actually I won’t apologise for thinking that. What else am I meant to think exactly? It is not that he is ‘capable’ of doing it, but he has done it. Done it to me and I find it mental that people seem to think that its all done and dusted, everyone move on…when actually, no, justice is needed. End of.

Also, the more time I spend talking about the rape, it has dawned on me just how pathetic it is to claim that he was confused, like, if someone tells you that they don’t want sex – what is there to be confused about? So yes, I feel guilt that he could do it again, but I also realise that his actions are not something that I control.

I am safe now, he hurt me, hurt me terribly but now I am safe.

I can be labelled as whatever people wish to label me as. A liar, a mad ex, a bitch – whatever; because I know the truth of what he did. He knows the truth of what he did. Sometimes I have a mad moment and want to send his confession to everyone and make it known that I was never the bad one, but I refrain. That takes a lot believe me, because it feels like I am still protecting him which I HATE.

Anyway, I take great comfort in knowing that sometime, maybe soon, whenever, that the truth will out and everyone will know exactly what he has done.