Quite a while ago I wrote a post that stood on its own I was 18. A drama in two acts. Act I. While I fully intended to write a follow up post...it has not been forthcoming.
That first post dealt with a sexual assault that happened to me as a freshman in college. It was not a hard post to write. I can be quite straight forward about it. It's always been that way... since the day it happened I've been quite detached from it. So no, it was not hard to write about.
The ensuing months and years, however... they are quite difficult to delve into. That's where things get really messy.
I believe it is a certain kind of person that detaches when something happens. A person, perhaps, that has always had tentative attachments as is. I am that kind of person. Always have been. I've always been a bit apart... a bit aloof... in my head. I didn't often have best friends, and generally they were about as unattached as I was. Often the third wheel... often on the periphery. Somewhat a drifter, I guess.
And I was never real with anyone. I always kept something hidden. No one could know that I binged... or that I starved... or took diet pills... or threw up. No one could know I was cutting... burning... or taking pills... It's these outlets that I clinged to because they were stable and calming whereas human relationships were unsure and scary.
So really, now that I think about it, the reaction to my sexual assault was just my throwing myself into what I felt safest.. which was to say that I felt safest in my eating disorder and my self-harm... and not in friendships.
Months after the assault, I left the school I had been attending and moved back home, with the intention to start school again in my hometown. So I lived in my parents house and did start school. I was accidentally placed in an upperclassmen dorm but shortly after resettled. But as my eating disorder was thriving, schoolwork fell by the wayside and I did not last long. In fact, before I really was into the first term I made a call to a psychologist my parents had once referred me to, and got myself admitted to the eating disorder unit for a couple months.
This inpatient hospital setting was scary, but bursting with commoradorie. For the first time in my life I could be real with people. Well, mostly real.. I don't think I'd regale anyone with the accounts of my latest 24 hour binge/purge session.
But there, I made headway. I started to understand why I felt such lack of self esteem and worked out physically to empower myself. And, I'd made headway with a guy friend - which suddenly looked to be a boy friend. BUT, just as suddenly this boy friend went back to 'just friend status' and that was just too much for me to handle. Losing the dream of 'boy friend', and having my only true friend (my eating disorder) taken away from me spiraled me into depression.
The story continues with I was 18. A drama in two acts. Epilogue - Healing.
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