This blog is more of a reflection for myself, but I wanted to go ahead and make it public in case anyone else is struggling like I have been, because I know what the statistics look like.
Feb 13 was the 3 year anniversary of a brutal sexual assault. Up until a couple months ago, I wouldn't have even told anyone that. It was a shameful secret, I carried a lot of the responsibility for what happened.
After the assault, I gained a total of 65lbs. It was my way to protect myself. Plus, I had gained a full blown phobia of working out. Something to this day, I am still learning to overcome. And for nearly 3 years, I allowed myself to carry that weight. I allowed myself to hate my body, because if I hated it, then others would too. I lived every day in a state of constant fear. And while I never saw my attackers again, ultimately I gave them the satisfaction of gaining control over my life, and getting the upper hand, which is ultimately what rape is all about.
But then, I saw the promos for The Biggest Loser. I decided to watch, something I hadn't done in years. I was introduced to Jen Widerstrom, and all the sudden things started to click. Yes, I was nearing that point on my own anyway through finally having friends who cared about me, a therapist who was fighting for me, and a burning desire to gain my life back, even if it seemed impossible. I had already lost about 15lbs due to highly disordered eating (a common symptom of PTSD and post-rape syndrome) and boderline hyperthyroidism. But I knew that wasn't how I was going to finish the game anymore.
I got myself moved out on my own (I am 20), I started eating healthy, and clean. I don't keep any processed food in my house, I started drinking water. And I started repeating to myself daily that I loved myself, and I was worth it. Things went well. I dropped 8lbs in a month. I slowly introduced exercises into my life to overcome my phobia. I started gaining an inner strength. But I didn't know how I would react as I got closer to the 3 year mark.
On February 11, I hardly ate. I had panic attacks so bad I couldn't breathe, but I was reminded to not give up. I told myself one bad day wouldn't ruin me. I went to bed shortly after work, and told myself I was going in on the 12th (a Friday) even though I wanted to call in sick.
The 12th went worse, I ate breakfast, and ended up throwing it back up because of the stress. This happened multiple times. Before noon I was mentally and phsically exhausted from the way my body was reacting. Every noise, every footstep, every person who got too close to me, caused a panic attack. I asked to leave work, and they would not let me leave. I disassociated. I have a 3hour block of time at work that I don't remember at all, just that when I came back I was hungry, and had self harmed for the first time in over 8 months.
When I went to my appointment that afternoon my blood pressure (on anxiety reducing meds) was 148/98. My norm is 110/70. By the time I got home, I turned on the TV and fell asleep before I'd taken a single pill. My body, as my psych had explained to me, was basically overwhelmed by my adrenals and the level of cortisol in my body, and it was collapsing under itself. And as soon as I got home, that's what it did.
Yet, I still didn't feel like a failure. Which was new to me. I felt like my body reacted the way it knew how to stimuli, and that was why I was in therapy, but that I would get through it. That maybe, just maybe, those 2 strangers no longer had power over me.
Then came Feb 13. The dreaded day. But instead of it being some horrible mess of a day, I woke up feeling like the 13th was something to be celebrated in a sense. Yes I was mourning still over the change in my life, yes I was angry still that they had committed such evil acts, and yes I was frustrated they are still free, but I also felt like it was a celebration in a sense. That I survived what they did. Because, in reality, they easily could have killed me that day, but they didn't.
I ate a full breakfast, drank green tea, snuggled with my kitty while watching Hulu. I allowed myself to indugle in a couple slices of pizza, and a few bites of ice cream. And I allowed myself to feel what I felt, but not take on the identity of any of the feelings, other than survivorship.
Now, I am sitting here a day later, still with PTSD, still tired, still confused, still trying to make sense of what happened to me, and how to recover. But Im allowing myself to love myself, even if its still forced at times. Im allowing myself to go after my passions again, Im allowing myself the freedom to be healthy and have the body I want. I'm allowing myself to be me.
Ive dropped 25lbs since I initially started losing weight. Im trying not to hide behind my body, and Im accepting that accomplishment, and all the others, as hard as it is for me. Because while I may not feel powerful, and I may not feel good enough, those are feelings and not fact, and I refuse to spend the rest of my life believing they are facts.
I intend to finish my DietBet strong. I intend to continue on after this DietBet. I intend to find a workout passion again, and stick to it. To not let my phobia over take me. And I intend to keep reaching out for support as needed. Because I know that I can't do this on my own. But I don't believe life was ever meant to be lived on your own.
And on the off chance Jen reads this, I just want to say thank you. You have shown me an easy, doable way for me to choose healthy, and live an empowered life, and reminded me that a little failure along the way means that Im going somewhere, and Im succeeding so I need to get my butt back up. Without knowing it, you've shown me I can workout, even when its scary, even when the panic starts to set it. But more than anything, you've shown me that I have it within myself to be more and do more. And it makes me want to advocate for others in similar situations as me.
I wish I could tell you all of that in person. But unfortuanately I can't.