Rape made me fat...why won't recovery make me thin?

[Stillavictim]

OK, this is going to be long. I have not ever discussed all of this before (just some of the parts to some people), but I made a big connection this morning and I realized that I have been torturing myself with my weight for years. So bear with me if you can, and offer your advice at the end, or just skip it. I understand. I just wanted this to be out of me.

So here is the history:

I was 13 the first time a man came at me. He was a former babysitter and the son of a neighbor. He had just gotten out of prison and saw me watering the lawn. He spoke with me and told me about times when I was little that I did not remember. I did not at the time know he had been to prison. That night, I awoke to that same drunken man on top of me, trying to take off my top. I screamed and kicked at him. He fell off the bed and I ran to my mom's room. Unfortunatly, my mom is a seriously depressed alcoholic, and in her drunken state, told me that he had just made a mistake and helped him out the door. I was told to just go to sleep.

This is how I learned "We don't talk about it."

When I was 14, I was walking to the library after school. I saw some boys outside the school laughing and hanging out near the dumpster. When I walked past them, they grabbed me, pulled me down, and started fondling me and laughing and grabbing me everywhere. I fought and kicked and bit and I guess I wasn't as much fun as they thought I would be, so they let me up and I ran to the library.

This is when I learned, "I'm never safe."

Still, I had been lucky so far. Until my old friend of 8 years stopped by one summer day and offered to let me ride his bike. We were having a great time, but I messed up and wrecked the bike. I wiped out so hard that I was bleeding from my head and all extremities, and one of the spokes had impaled my calf. My mom was not in a good phase, and had become very, well let's say, disciplinarian. I was terrified, because I had not been allowed to leave the house for any reason during the summer when she was gone at work. If she found out, I would have been really hurt. Especially since money was involved and I knew we were broke. I cried and cried, and my dear close friend, who knew all about my crazy mom, felt very bad. He had a solution for me. He would lie to his parents and say he wrecked the bike, so I would not get in trouble. All I had to do was let him do some things. I was crazy with guilt and terror and in pain all over my body. I lay on my mother's bed with him, sobbing, as he took of my shirt and my bra and started kissing me and rubbing my crotch. I guess after about 10 minutes he felt guilty enough, and got off of me. He creid and said he was sorry and we never spoke of it again. That was the first man to see my naked body. From him I learned that men will do horrible things to see my body.

When I was 15, a went on my second date with a senior. He was so hot, and smart, and popular. We were kissing in a park after dark. My friend was over on the swings, out of eyesight, but close. Things got heated and I let him got ahead and take my pants off and finger me. I was still a virgin, but I had gone this far a couple of times with another boy, so it was not anything super suprising to me. Until I felt him fidgeting around near his belt. I asked him what he was doing. He said, "readjusting." I felt something start to go into me, and I knew it wasn't a finger. I asked him what he was doing, clearly shocked. He told me to relax,and that it was just his finger. I didn't relax. I knew he was trying to have sex, and I did not want to have sex. I told him to stop, and he kept trying to put himself into me, telling me to relax, and how much I would like it, over and over again. Finally, my screaming and my freind coming over stopped him.

That day, I learned that men will lie to me.

So I quit men. I started dressing like a man, people called me a lesbian, I didn't care. I was pretty, but I didn't want to be.

When I was sixteen, my step-brother crawled into bed with me and started feeling me. I tried to act like it wasn't happening. I tried to act like I was still asleep. He stopped and left when he heard his sister coming down the hall.

I learned that even with family, I was in danger.

So I dressed worse. I stopped dating anyone. For two years, I was isolated from men. I was tired of it all. In my short dating life, I had already been cheated on by a man who didn't like that I wouldn't "put out." I had been held at gunpoint by a boyfreind that didn't like being broken up with. I had gone on numerous dates with men, only to find out that they had a girlfriend, and were hoping that I would give them a little on the side. Hell, I even got a ride from someone who was in theater with me to a show we were doing at school. In the parking lot, he whipped out his thing while my back was turned and I guess expected me to do something with it. I just left the car.

Every experience led me to believe that NO MAN would ever want me for anything but to be a wet hole. One boy did finaly did break through, and he was my first boyfriend. I was 18 and happy, finally. I felt confident. We later broke up after a year, because he felt like the long distance thing would not hold up any more. On Christmas break from college, we ended it. I was devestated. He was my first boyfriend. I wanted to marry him. I had given up my virginity to him.

I started to try to make friends with people on the debate team with me. There were only three other freshmen, and one of them was a scholarship winner. He was so good looking and sexy, and SO SMART! I was smitten. I went to parties with the debaters, and there was frequently drinking. Most of my life I had been the designated driver, but I had gotten tanked a few times before, so drinking was not a new thing. I felt so lucky when after one party, three months after my boyfreind and I broke up, I was too drunk to drive and the hot golden boy of the team offered to drive me back to my dorm. He was so polite. He walked me up to my room and watched as I unlocked the door to let me in. It was a weekend, so almost no one was on the floor. I flopped on the bed and started to fall asleep before I realized he was still there. I thought maybe he would kiss me, and I was excited. He walked over to me and he did started kissing me. But I got an attack of conscience. You see, he had a girlfriend. I had met here once. She lived in another state, but I knew of her and guiltily, I asked him to stop and leave. I said it wouldn't be right. That's the last I remember, because he started strangling me. I've got pieces, like a blurry puzzle, of that night. The pain was unbearable. I tried to scream, but his hand was always either around my neck or over my mouth. I was sufffocating, drunk, terrified. I passed out. I woke up the next morning, naked in my bed. I went past my mirror and saw what he did. My neck was swollen with fingerprint bruises. I breast looked like they had been slashed repeatedly with a sharp nail or glass. I was covered in reddish blue bite marks. I had dried blood on my lips and down my inner thighs. I don't think there was a part of me lower than my chin that was not purple and black with bruises from the beating. I showered for what seemed to be hours, alternating between crying and being almost comatose.

It had finally happened. What I had fought my whole life against had happened and I was powerless to stop it. In fact, I had invited it in. I couldn't tell anyone. The debaters knew I left the party with him. He was the golden boy. He was going ot be a juge one day, maybe on the supreame Court. He would be fmmous, they all said. He had a girlfriend. No one would believe me. No one would listen. I convinced myself of this and wore turtlenecks for the nexxt three weeks to hide my wounds.

I stopped caring about anything. If I actually talked to a guy and we went out, I would hook up with him. Didn't matter. I would feel nothing but shame, and I would never see them again. Everythime, I would think back on the sex we had and I would become nauseous. Sometimes I threw up from the memories. Sex was nothing and a horror at the same time. I was nothing. I married a guy, cause he asked me to marry him, when I was 20. When I told him I never wanted kids 6 months into the marriage, he seemed to take it well, but kept pushing it. He finally settled for when I graduated college. I thought. Until one night, I guess he REALLY wanted to have kids. He was having sex with me, but he didn't do what he normally did, which was to start for a bit, and then pull out and put on a condom. He kept going. I told him to get one on before it was too late. He kept going, saying he would. Finally, I could tell me was going to come, and I screamed at him to stop, to pull out. He didn't. He later apologized, but reiterated his strong desire for a child. I was done with men forever.

I never had sex with him again. Within two months, I had gained 70 pounds. I always said it was some horomonal thing. That I must have a thyroid condition that the many many tests had all missed. It wasn't my fault I was fat and ugly.

We finally divorced about 3 months later. I went further into my downward spiral. I gained more weight. I dropped out of school after I got a class that was headed by a TA in the Speech department...a certain golden boy from my freshman year. After two weeks of staring at his horrible face every tuesday and thursday, I was almost insane. I barely made it through that semester, and failed every class I was enrolled in due to absences. Every class but his, that his. He was sweet enough to giv e me a "B."

I did all the drugs I could. I screwed and I got wasted and I gave up everything. College, my dreams, everything.

After two years in this life, I finally started to heal from all of the damage. I finally talked about my rapes with my friends. I quit the drugs, went back to college (a different one, of course), got a degree, and became a social worker and then, a high school teacher. I even told my mom 2 years ago about what happened in college. I was becoming a "survivor."

That is until this morning. You see, my fiance and I (a great man, and a wonderful partner), are planning a trip to Haiwaii in August, and I resolved that I would NOT go there in a mumu. I wanted to get down to a healthy weight. Not that he has not heard this all before. I have been "going to lose weight" our entire 9 year relationship. But something was always in the way; an event derailed me, the diet didn't work, something something something...However, this time, miracles of miracles, it was working. I was sticking to it. I had lost 11 pounds and was still going strong, despite how hard it was. And last night, I had a dream. In my dream, I was thin. I was a pretty girl again, just like I used to be. And in this dream, a new student to the school sexually assaulted me in front of the classroom (I am a high school teacher). I woke up screaming, which I have not done in years. My fiance, (who is used to my occaisional night terror) spoke to me calmly, held me, and let me cry it out on his shoulder. I sobbed and sobbed, because I realized the lesson that my whole LIFE had taught me: Beauty is Danger.

My BRAIN was making me fat. My brain had connected looking attractive to being used and raped and beaten and scared and it was trying desperatly to keep me safe. My brain couldn't handle any more trauma. My brain sent me a warning in that dream: Lose weight at your own peril.

Now I must face not only this uphill weight battle, but also I must fight against a foe that is probably stronger than my will power. My brain has learned the lessons life has taught it. Subconsiously and consciously, I cannot erase the facts. I have been safe since I got fat.

So how to I fight this battle? No amount of "It wasn't your fault" seems to penetrate my mind and convince me differently.

So, I'm sending this out here. I hope God hears he and helps me, because I can't anymore.

[whichwayisup]

Wow, I am so sorry for all that you've been through..

 

Rely on your partner, seems you have a real good guy.

 

Counselling can help you, cognitive behaviour therapy is very helpful as it teaches you how to control thoughts, negative into positive and gives you a new way of looking at life, way of handling and reacting past issues.

 

Hugs.

[hoping2heal]

Well,

 

FWIW - I actually know exactly how you feel. It wasn't until recently in therapy I discovered what was going on. I started putting on some weight after I was abused as a kid, and I'd always been a little overweight. 10 or 15 pounds or so. It got much worse in my early 20's, but even before the weight, I dressed down a lot. I dressed like a tom boy and very plainly. Didn't do my hair or try to look nice. When I tried to lose weight about a year and a half ago, despite diet and excersize the weight didn't seem to really budge. I learned this year my aunt had hypothyroidism, so I was checked at the DR. It wasn't detected there, but my aunt's also wasn't detected by her G.P. I went along the same wavelength, thinking perhaps this is why I gained so much weight and had trouble losing.

 

I am still going to see an endocrinologist, to have this ruled out. However, this time around I am watching diet and excersize and it's working quite well for me. As I began losing weight, I noticed I was getting attention. This attention was making me feel very angry. When I discussed this with my therapist, we went over my past and arrived at the conclusion; and she informed me that it's very common for people who have been raped or sexually abused/assaulted to associate being attractive with being a victim or making themselves a noticable target.

 

She is dead on. When men start staring with that look, or try to approach me, I begin to feel extremely angry. Like, oh so this motherf*cker is going to try and have sex with me and use me, huh? I mean, I get VERY enraged. I have a partner that I love very much, I wouldn't mind this attention from him because I know he wouldn't use me or abuse me. But, he is the only *safe* man in my life aside from a few select family members.

 

Otherwise, anyone else just seems like someone waiting to hurt me with sex. Maybe a man just thinks I'm pretty, but that's not what I get out of it. I struggled during this recent weight loss to not fall off the wagon, not because of it being hard to eat right or excercise, but because I began having bad anxiety that if I keep losing weight, I'm going to become more and more noticable to other men, and in turn I'm going to be targeted and hurt and attacked.

 

I'm working through that belief, it isn't easy but I know I have too. I just wrote in because I wanted you to know that you aren't alone, and someone understands what you're going through.

[jessicarabbit]

wow what a powerful story, i got the chills when I read the "beauty is danger" part its so true. I am sorry for all you have been threw, I believe that at this point you need to speak with a psycholigist and begin to fight the roots of your trauma, then once you do that you will be able to loose weight. That is something that I would say is too difficult to fight on your own. My heart goes out to you. I am battleing my weight do to trauma right now as well, I am here to talk.