Ups and downs.

This is me. This is the face hiding behind these long, emotional posts.

This is me. A 26 year old who has had enough trauma for an entire fucking life time.

This is me. The woman who holds her own and amazes herself by reaching the end of the day, a little easier every time.

This is me. The woman who decided that she wasn’t fucking scared anymore and actually had a date last night, travelling right through where ‘he’ lives. A few minutes between us. I felt sick, but not scared.

This is me. The woman writing this while on a night shift, no one around me knows how weak I’ve been guilty of being, but also how fucking strong I have also been. Its not something I should feel that I need to hide.

Yes. I was raped. I was the victim of partner rape. He hurt me beyond belief and it is an ongoing process – recovery. But I’m not scared now and furthermore; I’m safe.

Its incredible how once you look inside properly and address the hurt and the wrong doing of someone you loved, the only option left is to showcase how you are the good party. That no matter how much a coward tries to break you down or falsely facts; it is me and only me that can strive to be better and to get better. He isn’t even human.

So, this is me. Strong. I may not look it and I sure as hell don’t feel if. But I’m still here and still trying.

Pretty fucking strong if you ask me.

Its so easy to pretend that I’m not on the way out.

It is so easy to pretend that my life isn’t falling apart.

Its so easy to pretend that everything is ok when no one even bothers to check.

Its so easy to do what I’ve done this morning. To sit on the bed, crying quietly, missed insulin dose, missed breakfast, just wanting everything to fucking stop. I just want it all to stop.
Its just so easy to stay living in a place that you were raped in, that’s what everyone thinks. Apparently I’m hard to talk to, and it’s so way for everyone to not even try.

I just give up. I just give up. 

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:

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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.

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? 

Backwards.

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.

Still not in control. 

I have stated it before; that the thing I really struggle/d with is the feeling of not being in control. It fills me with crippling anxiety, depression, self hatred, disgust and dread, quite frankly. 

I suppose openness and honesty goes some way to regaining a degree of control; but it is still not good enough, not really.

My eating has improved but I’m not happy. Every mouthful I chomp on makes me hate myself slightly more, every time without fail. It reminds me that I am still not in control, just like when he forced himself into me while I was struggling, I wasn’t in control then either.

It’s amazing how the mind works isn’t it, how that feeling has now attached itself to everything that goes into my body, every morsel of food screams out to me that I am not in control. I feel constantly sick and disgusted with myself ever since he did what he did, consumed by self hatred and it is just magnified daily now. 

I feel huge and disgusting. I’m too scared to even weigh myself and haven’t for a couple of weeks now, the thought actually does scare me. Stupid really.  The contradicting factor though, is that my depression numbs me to having any degree of pride in myself, so for example, I won’t want to eat because it makes me feel all of the aforementioned feelings, however depression makes me apathetic to feeling more shit, I guess. I don’t know, makes sense to me, however mad that sounds.

I did not go through with it, but I found myself holding my insulin pen again last night, tempted to dial up a huge dose, act on it and not think twice. Yes, as a Mother that thought disgusts me, but please realise how much it takes to even admit that. I self referred myself to a crisis house this morning. A four day retreat in central london for people that need to get away. I do need to get away, living in the environment where the rape took place is killing me, no doubt about it. The retreat promotes sleep, healthy eating, gorgeous walks and environments, counselling and befriending. It’s free of charge. 

Sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?

So I have made a collage of two pictures of me, the one on the left was my weight loss about two months ago, my ribs stick out and I love that look and feeling. However, the one on the right is today. Fat, disgusting, pig like. Yes, I’m too scared to step foot on those bathroom scales, but that picture will shame me back into a huge calorie deficit, because it’s absolutely vile and triggering as fuck.

Revolting. 

When you’re going through hell, keep going.

Churchill was right, wasn’t he?

I spent the majority of last night awake thinking about things. I mean really thinking about things, about the state of everything, you know? 

Do I really have the energy to prolong hell? I’m stuck in a shit place and shit position. I have been, still am, set on vying for justice, fighting my corner and proving to everyone, especially my daughter that, well that I’m not weak. 

I just don’t think I’ve done very well.

I’m stuck in hell at the moment so by that logic, is it really in my best interests to prolong this shit by slapping on a two year court case..? Now I’m in no way saying that he has gotten away with anything, and believe you me, there is more than one way to skin a cat, but I don’t know, for the first time, ever actually I am looking past the police involvement and court case, and to life afterwards and it still looks pretty damn bleak with this hanging over me, so is there any point in keeping myself in this position?

He will get his dues and it won’t be left to karma, if this situation has taught me anything it’s that I’m fucking vengeful (justifiably so); but I just feel apathetic regarding it right now, the beauty of being strung out to fuck on antidepressants, eh! 

Over it? That’s a foreign concept.

A lot of shit has sprung from the past fifteen months of having to live with this, label. Having to live with the flashbacks of what he did. 

Self destructive behaviours have become my friend throughout this time, and in all honesty that does not even make me sad anymore. Functioning on numb, I was told that I can function on numb, but, who the fuck wants that?

I’m caught between a rock and a hard place now. I don’t feel strong enough to be without my antidepressants, yet they are bringing my appetite back, on the other hand I don’t feel strong enough to stop starving myself or purging, because it distracts me from having to think about what he did.

I’m on my break at the moment and just eaten my snack, and I’m so upset at myself I could cry. I know that’s stupid, like it’s so fucking stupid, but now I don’t have hunger pains distracting me and I am so scared now that I won’t be able to stop those thoughts and flashbacks from happening. I really am scared I’m trying not to cry in the staff room. I hate being like this, I hate him still having this over me. I’m a sack of absolute shit in comparison to the person that I was before. Before being raped. 

I wish I was better, not so pathetically weak.

I really do wish that I was better. I can’t remember the last time that I didn’t hate myself. 

I weighed myself again, another pound gained. I’ve made sure not to keep anything down today, I sloped off to the bathroom and purged quietly, all the food, tea, everything. I can’t even stay in control of something as simple as that. I feel fat and disgusting, inside and out just fucking horrific. 

That little voice inside my head, the one that makes sure I am constantly aware of how pathetic I am, tell me that I still can’t control what goes into my body. I couldn’t control him and now I can’t even control the food. What a fucking pathetic joke I am.

Weak. Disgustingly so.

God, how I wish I had control of one aspect, just one. I hate being so ill because of what some horrendous immoral  coward did to me. 

I hate this. I hate me. Fucking hell I hate me ever since the rape, I am the weak one aren’t I? That rapist isn’t suffering like this. I don’t want to even be here anymore. I just want to go.

Today, this evening. Just look. What a fucking disgusting, fat, weak rape victim.

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?