I think this is about the 5th blog I've attempted to start. I just can't see them through (like so much else in my life). I've been reading some really good blogs lately though, I hope they keep me at it. It's so therapeutic, considering how much I don't tell people. Theres such a lot I just need to get out of my head!
I don't really know where to start. Erm, background info would probably be useful.
I'm 19, second year university, have a boyfriend of 3 months (we were together for 8, then apart for 8, and now back, but thats a long story), live in a house of six girls and have somewhat anorexic tendancies (but more on that later).
At this particular moment in time I am procrastinating on starting my three essays which are due in two weeks time by writing this blog, shopping for christmas presents and looking for a cage for my baby hedgehog I'm getting for christmas.
I don't know what else to tell you before I dive into all the heavy stuff so I may as well get on with it I guess.
When I am single, I am something of a slut, it's a running joke among my friends about how "experienced" I am. I didn't really mind, but it did mean that when two guys came back with me and my friend H after a night out one time, (bearing in mind I was completely out of it, and hadn't actually spoken to the guy she was getting with's mate) and he followed me back into my room, she never thought that I didn't know he was following me. I had gone into my room to use the bathroom (en-suite, I'm not a tramp) and when I came out he was in there. I don't remember much, through a combination of the alcohol and repression I think, but I do remember him grabbing me, pushing me down on the bed and ignoring me telling him to get off me (even when I drew blood from scratching him). I remember crying. In the morning I was alone. I tried to tell a couple of the girls I lived with, but everyone just figured it was another notch on my bedpost, nothing important. I didn't know if I'd been raped, and no-one believed me anyway so I never reported him. I told my best guy mate, J, and he told me to go the police. But he's never mentioned it since. I saw the guy (I can't think of him as 'my rapist') out one night, and I didn't even recognise his face - my friend H recognised the guy she'd slept with that night, and then later him. They came over, joking and laughing, even showing us the scratch marks I'd left on his chest. I felt so sick.
I pretty much thought I'd forced it into a little box in my head, but just before Halloween I went out and got absolutely trashed, ended up sat in a park with one of my housemates just crying and crying about it. In the morning everyone laughed, saying it was just me being a messy drunk yet again, nothing to worry about. I feel like it's not important. I don't know who to go to about it, I'm sure rape-helplines and whatnot have more serious cases to deal with, where people get properly attacked, and weren't drunk. They'd probably think what my friends do - that I just regretted sleeping with him in the morning. I told my boyfriend about it and he seemed to take it seriously, but we've only spoken about it twice. I told him not long after it happened (We weren't together at this point but I needed someone to talk to that I trusted) and he was so angry at him, but obviously couldn't do anything. Then we never spoke about it again until we got back together and I was staying at his one night. Ever noticed how its easier to tell secrets in the dark? He asked me about it and I told him everything I could remember. He didn't say much, but he was there. Since then, we've not mentioned it again. But I feel like its constantly a part of me. Gnawing away slowly inside, never quite forgotten. How much of a slut must I have been for none of my closest friends to believe that I'd said no? I sicken myself.
For some reason this had the opposite affect on me that it probably would on most people. Instead of never letting another guy touch me, I felt like the only thing that numbed the pain was to get off my face and let guys do whatever they wanted to me. Somehow it gave me some validation to be the one who got to pick who to let do that to me, I couldn't stop it from happening anyway, I could at least try and choose who could.
This ties into another of my issues - the only way I ever feel attractive is if guys hit on me on nights out. If no-one tries it on, then I automatically assume I look like shit. Even though I know my boyfriend thinks I'm beautiful (even when in my cat onesie, with no make-up and greasy hair, as I am now). I literally cannot feel pretty unless other people are saying it. Even then I don't believe them. I mean, I know I'm not like obese or anything, but i pick flaws everywhere in myself, fat thighs, huge stomach, flabby arms, bad teeth, lank hair, spots, big hands and feet. The only body part I actually like is my nails. I have long, strong nails. But even they have to have polish on, otherwise I don't like them. I make myself feel better by meticulously monitoring what I put into my body. I failed miserably today and ate a huge chinese, meaning that now I feel so fat its unreal. And I'm seeing my boyfriend and going out tomorrow night so I'm meant to look good :/ It worries me. I'm so pathetic I can't even be anorexic properly. And I can't purge - literally cannot make myself sick ever.
The only times I ever feel good about myself are when I get hit on (last wednesday at the union was a good night - three guys had a go), when I successfully eat small amounts and when my boyfriend tells me I'm good in bed. They are literally the only things that give me self-worth.
I think thats quite enough of an introduction for now. I'm gonna sign off here, sorry for the major ramble, this wasn't meant to be quite so morbid.