Thinking aloud.

So I know I have put a halt on police proceedings until after I qualify in Jan; until I feel strong enough. But I’ve still been gathering up evidence by myself. Yes, the police have most of it, his long confession where he admits he raped me (doesn’t apologise though), various emails where it’s mentioned and not denied by him etc.

Its still very weird because, I still hold all the cards and all the power against him. I have the power to destroy him just like his actions completely destroyed me. Its just, I don’t know, most of the time I’m not so sure I can be bothered anymore. I’m exhausted, I really am. Even now I’d still accept an apology most likely.. just some justification and understanding of what he’s caused me through what he did to me.  He called my home number back in June, I’ve no idea if it was to apologise, to cry down the phone, whatever.  I just so wish I would get a fucking sorry. His family and friends most likely tell him he’s done nothing wrong, I could not even imagine protecting a rapist, being friends with a rapist, being a sibling, parent or cousin of a rapist either. I couldn’t imagine visiting one in prison, either. Amazing how being so cowardly over an apology can lead to such destruction. I write this while sitting on a pub in Kings Cross. Lots of memories in this pub, most of which are bad, I have been back with other people since him, but it certainly leaves a sour taste in ones mouth. Not really sure why I’ve ended up here, I had plans in Acton, but truthfully I guess it’s almost nice to feel something, yep even sadness after being so medically numb to everything. God. Why the fuck was a simple sorry just too much to ask for? The police, a looming court case, none of which he is even fully aware of.. I just want my fucking life back. He stole my entire being in that fifteen seconds, hard to believe but he did. Staying with him after and all those love yous and still feeling so lucky at being in love with this guy.. It makes me feel sick to my stomach now. I feel nauseous every time I think of his hands on me, his lips, shared I love yous or handholding; I just want to be sick and scrub and erase all those memories out.

I just wish I’d been free to hate him from the off.

I want my mind back.


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. 

Urge to purge.

I had a hypo and didn’t treat it. The goal of slipping into a coma seemed pretty attractive to me. I had that hypo because I gave myself too much insulin, knowingly. My folks and daughter arrived back home and my step Dad sat with me until he saw me treat the hypo. Two spoons of sugar and here I am, having to still be here, having to still be on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. 

He sat outside with me while I chain smoked and talked sense. I won’t deny that everything he said makes sense, about moving forward and that they are scared I’m going to hurt myself (again). I kept it to myself that I had just overdosed on insulin.

I’m so sick of this. He gets to have a life, be happy and not have to care about what he’s caused. My god, what he’s caused, it’s fucking carnage.

We all had lunch together but it was mostly silence, down to me being the huge elephant in the room. I’ve broken free and I’m back in the bathroom, door locked and ready to give in again.

I give up, I really do. 

The PC in charge of the case messaged me midst all of this, I revealed just how bad I have gotten. 

I need a lot of help, I need some form of justice. 

Black coffee and adrenaline. 

I feel sick every time I look at that picture of my ribs protruding out that I posted last night. I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed of what the rape has turned me into. Sometimes I sit and wonder if it is down to the rape. Am I just a pathetic person? Was I always a victim? 

I don’t think those things for long though.

I wasn’t. 

I was strong, you know? I mean, how can you be weak while raising a child single handed, smashing one of the hardest degrees all while keeping on top of a chronic illness amongst a few there as well. I wasn’t weak, I just made the mistake of falling in love with a well disgusted monster.

I do feel bad for calling him that. But, how can I not? I hope people realise that it hurts me very much to even call him that, but, yeah, how can I not? This man raped me. He claimed it was a mistake, he claimed he was confused. I believed him for a very long time, but then I questioned how could he possibly have been confused..? I remember the panic in my voice when I said no. I remember how scared I felt when I was telling him to stop it. I remember the hundreds of nights since where I have woken up screaming and crying.

I don’t think these things are very easily confused somehow.

You know, I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping quiet. By that, I mean right by him which is what had mattered to me. Through doing that, I completely ignored that I was breaking apart. I ignored how hollow, dirty, ashamed and upset I felt. It was all cast into the shadows by the fact that I loved this guy. But now, fifteen months on I have forced myself to allow myself to feel what I should have openly felt all along, and it’s hard work.

I say fifteen months. I could tell you how many weeks, days, or even hours it has been since he did what he did, that’s the turmoil it caused me on the quiet. Him? He’s told me before that he doesn’t even remember what day he did it on. That shows a huge deal of remorse, doesn’t it, folks. The spineless coward doesn’t even remember when he did what he did, you know, rape and ruined a life? 

Hardly memorable, I’m sure.

I wish I could waste away faster. Barely eaten. I’ve had one packet of crisps and a chicken wrap today that I purged not long afterwards. Dinner was waiting for me in the oven when I got in from work this evening (long day). I wolfed it down like a pig, but I mentioned what I deserved last blog post, didn’t I – damage.

To damage myself is to be in control. Just a worthless rape victim anyways; remember that. If I was a worthwhile person then what happened to me would not have happened. 

Raped and not even worth apologising to. This, from the man who claimed to always love me. If I had the energy to laugh then I would, but that’s what 500kcals a day does to you, eh. How can you like yourself knowing that you and only you are responsible for ripping someone’s entire world apart? I couldn’t do that, I just couldn’t. But then again, I have morals, perhaps that is what really separates us, and the fact that I’m not a pathetic coward with a rape under their belt, right?

I’m sure that egotistical ‘man’ and to be honest, some of his friends most likely think that me reaching out, being suicidal, being depressed, disordered eating etc is to do with him walking away.

Let me stop you there with that hysterical train of thought.

Nah, seriously. Nah.

The situation I find myself in currently has to do with two things and two things only:

  1. That coward raping me.
  2. How badly I was treating after saying goodbye to Baby.

Do I love him? No. Do I care about his life? No. Do I miss him? No. 

Am I angry about what he did? Yes, very. Am I gunning for justice? Yes, very much so.

And to think, readers, this could have been nipped in the bud if he wasn’t so pathetic and actually just apologised for what he did to me. For what he has done to me, because th damage is very much ongoing. I am ill. Very ill, and why should I be the only one living with the turmoil that his heinous actions have caused? Why. Not. Him? 

I’m going to go and purge until that euphoric feeling of slowly wasting away hits me once more. 

Rape in 13 lines.

That day wasn’t love.

It wasn’t sensual or passionate.

My repeated no and stop its did not mean ‘convince me’.

My pushing at your shoulders as hard as I could manage was not me playing hard to get.

I was scared.

I was frightened.

Frightened of you.

My smile afterwards and telling you everything was alright was misplaced love, and only that.

My hiding it away was misplaced love, and only that.

My worrying about you was misplaced love, and only that.

Me finding my voice is regaining control, not attention.

Me telling the truth is right, not wrong. 

You are in the wrong, not me.

Bon Anniversaire.

I’ve been dreading this week. His birthday week.

God damn, you have no clue how hard it has been not to post a birthday card, haha. Not a nice one, I mean. Christ alive. 

For the past two years I have celebrated his birthday. The first year I took him to a jazz restaurant and show in Camden, I bought him a ridiculously expensive watch (I have no money) and paid for a lovely little hotel for the night as well, it was magical. The second birthday, money for me was really tight. I bought a glass jar and filled it with messages, all to do with our memories, what I loved about him, cherished photos of us, all that sort of bollocks. 

Laughable. I mean, that was post rape. I’m so pathetic aren’t I. 

I presented him with that and he loved it, so much so that he had no issue handing it back a few months later, nice eh.

Anyway, I digress. 

I did however write him a birthday email, while I was in Hampton floating my letter to baby. It is fairly obvious that my emails are all blocked etc, because he’s a pussy and is running from what he’s done. What a man, eh. 

So, here is his birthday wish, from the one person who will ensure that the truth will out:

“So, I’m in Hampton, just after floating a letter in which I apologised for what you are and I just want you to know something. 

This will never go away. Even if I have to wait five, ten years until I can face getting justice then I will, but I promise you that I will get to that point. I cried when floating that letter because all those chances I gave for you to apologise meant nothing to you did that, and I did it out of respect for baby. But you having no remorse for what you did isn’t respecting me as baby’s mum, is it? 

And you know what else? I will not always be your victim but you will always, always be a rapist and I hope that fact alone haunts you for life. 

What you did to me will always be there, when you have sex, when you welcome a child into the world, when you tell someone that you love them. Just remember that you told me that thousands of times, and it didn’t stop you from doing what you did. You can ignore the fact that you raped me all you want, I won’t let it be forgotten. Mark my words. I will get justice. For me, for Baby, and for the daughter you raised from eight months old. 

What you did and what you are will never, ever change. 

You make my blood boil. I have done nothing wrong, you have and I will make damn sure that it is not forgotten. All you ever had to do was just say that you are sorry. That would have been it. 

That baby I carried. Our baby. Remember that next time you pretend to love someone only to ruin their life. 

You are the one who deserves the life sentence. Not me. Never me. 

I won’t always be your victim, you however, will always be a rapist.”

An emotional write, that was. It’s all true though, that’s the thing, all of this is true and fifteen months on it is still horrifically terrifying and this cowardly scum bag thinks he has gotten away free, to leave me trying to pick up all the fragments, when I am not even guilty, not even the in who did anything wrong..

And another thing, actually. This upcoming birthday would have been his first as a Daddy. I wonder if that thought will even pass through his mind at all, if he will allow it to? God sake I had to spend my entire birthday knowing that it was my due date, yet another thing he gets to escape, isn’t it.

I dunno, god I just fucking hate the coward and what he did.

It’s just disgusting. I’m not having it, I’m not.

The monthly ritual.

So, as you guys know I was late visiting this month. But here I am again, in my ‘escape to’ place, Hampton Court. I’m armed with my letter but currently sitting out under the trees, having a few quiet moments before I float it, to write this. 

It’s raining. I don’t have a jacket. Time goes on but I’m still an idiot that can’t judge the weather. I’m drenched. I don’t have the energy to care or even to lump my fat arse off of this bench.
I hand wrote my letter while sat at Waterloo station waiting for my train, 3 A4 pages, folded neatly and securely. I noticed a woman, mid 40s I would say, reading it over my shoulder, she struck up a conversation with me. She told me that she recognised my upset sighs and my downbeat manner. Being a typical London at first I thought she was mad and wasn’t going to respond. I’m glad I did, however. She had gone through the same thing, she had dealt with the never ending bad feelings that I project onto myself, she got it. I needed to meet that woman today, I’m sure there was a reason why our paths crossed today. 
I told her that some people have told me that I am silly for doing what I do, that it shouldn’t still cut me up so much, she shook her head and told me to do what I need to do, it is no one else’s issue so why should they even feel the need to voice an opinion. 
She’s right, of course. 
I think it’s the depression and lack of self worth since the rape that makes me doubt everything about myself. This once strong girl now convinced that I do and say everything wrong, that I am not worth a dime, it’s a horrible mentality to have and it is something that I would not wish on anyone, truly. 
Still, this stranger basically voiced everything that I have needed someone to say to me and I appreciated that no end. I thanked her and jumped on the train feeling somewhat lighter less than a minute later.
As I sped off I wished that I had truly thanked her and told her just how much those five minutes of her time made me feel so much better, about myself, guilt and hatred lifted. Sometimes you need to hear things from a total stranger for them to resonate, rather than someone close.
Anyway, I told her about the blog so just in case she (you) have decided to have a peruse while on your train, thank you. Your kind words made a massively depressed and fucked up girl a little less fucked up, for this evening at least.

Much appreciated. 


So, I mentioned before about being impulsive. I kept my food diary today and it was pretty much what I expected, I came in around 800kcal. Didn’t feel bad, didn’t beat myself up about it, didn’t feel starved, didn’t feel disgusted.. in fact, I felt nothing really.

It’s a chore to eat, but I don’t mean that in a eating disorder way at all. It’s more like everything feels like a chore, is that the depression speaking? Eating, moving, drinking, smiling, talking…it all feels like a waste of energy, energy that I do not have at the moment. 

It would be easier if I just didn’t exist, wouldn’t it. 

Keeping track.

I decided to keep a food diary today, out of morbid curiosity really. I’m the sort of person who shovels food in like nothing else. I remember feeling so good about myself when I went low carb and I lost a lot of weight, I really did.

I really want to be able to feel positive about myself again. I feel rotten, inside and out, just disgusting and rotten.

Low self esteem and confidence is a horrible thing to have inflicted on someone through destructive actions, that’s what the rape has left me with. I absolutely hate everything about myself now.

So, thank you.

I’ve kept track so far and today I am on 463kcals.. it’s weird though. I’m a very impulsive person and combined with a mind that tells you how awful you are, well, it’s not a good duo really. Limiting my intake or purging is more about a control and punishment thing, for me anyway. Like I said before, I feel rotten. I feel like my insides and every fibre is just rotten, does that make sense? Purging was easy because I constantly felt nauseated due to depression and anxiety, whereas limiting is more about control, because let’s face it, this year has been anything but in control…

Another purge, an emotional one this time.

I posted him another letter. I wrote it in anger. I didn’t intend to post it, my new thing is to get all my feelings out and then burn the letter etc.

This time it was in the post box in time for the last round before I knew it, to be honest. I also included the screenshot of his confession.

I wrote a simple message on the outside of the envelope as well, I can’t remember it exactly, but something along the lines of him wrecking havoc with his actions etc etc, the truth, basically.

What he deserves to have to hear, basically.

Because it’s true isn’t it, he doesn’t deserve to be able to think of anything else in my opinion, do the crime, do the time, right?