Hate or indifference..? 

Or just numbness, really.

I was walking home from work late last night and I just wanted to stop and start crying, hysterically out of nowhere. I don’t know how or what to even feel at the moment. People tell me that the best revenge or being strong is to improve, hold my head up high and act like it doesn’t bother me, the rape. That me being depressed is him winning.

Like it’s that fucking easy? Really.

He raped me.

There you go, easy to move past? Someone you love being able to do that? Someone doing that to you, in your home environment, really? Its ok is it?

I struggle every single day. I bet he doesn’t though, he gets to pretend he never did what he did, never having to think about it and gets to be the long distance mate, or the nice guy in the office.

Well that’s not the real him, I saw the real him when he did what he did and that’s something I have to remember daily. When he ignored me trying to push him off. When he ignored me pleading with him to stop, grabbing at his shoulders and trying to push him off me.. And that’s what I struggle with, that.

I’ve most probably been tarnished as a mad ex, and you know what, I would dare any other person to be in that situation and not to act a bit mad, when battling with that. That. 

What he did to me, you’re never going to behave well after finally confronting that serious damage, are you? That’s just human nature after all.

What that piece of vermin did to me, and pretended for months that it was an accident; knowing full well that I was so in love I would buy that excuse and everything would be fine, you know? And I pretended that for a long time, ignoring the pain, depression and anger it caused me. I hid that from everyone because I cared more about him, it’s pathetic and I can see that now.

So, I don’t doubt for a single second that he doesn’t care about what he’s caused, if he did he would be man enough to just say sorry, to ‘his victim’; but he’s a cowardly piece of vermin without a doubt.

So, we’ve been left with bad blood.

Is there a solution? Aside from either a proper and I mean proper face to face admission and apology, or the whole court case. The police already have everything they need to bring him in, it’s me that’s stopping them at the moment, depression and apathy; what a kicker.

I’ve lost another KG as well, the familiar never ending anxiety and apathy is back in full force and I can’t even manage a full meal. Its different from restricting because that makes me feel in control, which I crave; but this? This just fuels the pathetic victim facade that I’ve been hiding behind to stop having to confront how fucked up this all is.

I don’t even have the energy or self belief to make any kind of decision. How can he do what he did and be so inhuman to think he can leave it behind him? The sheer destruction he’s caused by his action(s).

I don’t find that human in the slightest.


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.

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? 


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.



Breakfast this morning was 262kcal worth (fucking pig)

Lunch was 100kcal

Dinner was this.. My home made noodle soup. Only made with eight spaghetti sticks broken into pieces, a few peas, a veg stock cube and two cups of water; that comes to about 36kcals. 

Control is needed. I might not have been in control when something entered my body that I didn’t want there, but now I can be in control, and I will be. 

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. 

My disordered eating time line.

I remember the first time I purged. It was due to the anxiety, my stomach had been in knots. It was eurphoric, a release, soon afterwards just like a drug I wanted to experience that release again. It provided me with an outlet I guess, sounds really odd, I know.

That developed into counting my intake. It was the element of control that I had been missing, my intake went from 1000 to 800kcals, then to around 600kcals per day, some days even lower, some days I would lie about eating anything. I would document everything, nothing went in my mouth without recording it, even a tablespoon of milk would be jotted down.

Soon after I started to find food intimidating, I guess I got used to the bare minimum, my stomach just did not want to know. 

It gives me something else besides the rape to focus on, I like the sharp hunger pangs and the headaches. It means I don’t have to suffer through flashbacks and the like. Weird isn’t it, that self destructing in my mind is helping me get through the day. 

I blame him wholly for what I have become. Eating disorders and other mental health issues are so common after assaults such as this. I wish I had been stronger. I wish I had been braver. I wish I never got this destructive.

These are all of me, from the past month:

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.