Starving For Help

Chapter Nine

   I spent most of my life in therapy. They always wanted to talk about my PTSD and try to get me to open up about being molested when I was younger. I guess in a way my body image issues always led back to that. They said once I find closure, I can cope with it. Truth is, I'll never find closure. Because the memories that haunt me, aren't the ones that I remember. The ones that people know about. That were documented by police. No. Not those. You can't find closure in something that you're not even sure really happened.
   I drank a lot as teenager. Trying to numb the pain from a horrible childhood. I did anything to find acceptance and approval. I needed attention. I never got any at home so I went looking for it. I always felt worthless like I was in the way. So I started partying. A lot. I slept around a lot. Usually not by choice. I was always drunk and afraid to say "no" so I'd just let it happen. On the occasions that I did try to say no, they never listened and forced themselves on me anyway until I gave in because I was too embarrassed to yell for help and afraid of what they might do if I did. Until one night. I did say "no." It didn't go in my favor. 

   I was at a party with older guys. Much older. I was 16. They were in their mid twenties. The guy that I went there with had a friend. His friend kept making sure my drink was filled all night. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Later that night I went upstairs with the guy who had brought me there. I willingly had sex with him. I knew him pretty well and I trusted him. Afterwards, he left the room and said he'd be back in a minute. I was so drunk I didn't even realize that his friend had come in the room while we were having sex. He walked over to where I was lying down and suddenly I felt hands on me. At first I didn't know what to think. The room was spinning and so dark. Then he climbed on top of me and I saw his face. I said "No." He put his finger over my lips and said "Shh. I know you want it." That was all I remember. When I woke up in the morning I was laying next to the guy that I went to the party with and his friend was gone. He would never hurt me. I know he wouldn't let anything happen to me that I didn't want. Questions raced in my mind. Did I have sex with his friend? Does he know? Did I give in? Did I continue to say no? Did he rape me? Did someone stop it? Unfortunately I'll never know because I never had the guts to ask. I never wanted to think about it ever again.

   There was another time that I was at a party with guys I didn't even really know. Stupid right? Yeah, it really was. The only thing I remember from that night is taking a sip or 2 of some drink in a red plastic cup. It was Southern Comfort. I hated Southern Comfort. That's what my mother drank that made her an evil drunk. I woke up in the morning, completely naked in a room with 5 guys. I was laying on a bed with 2 of them. The other 3 were on couches and the floor in the same room. None of them had clothes on. They tried to assure me that I only had sex with one of the guys and that I wanted to. They said I was walking around the apartment naked all night. That's not me. I would never do that. I'm way too self conscious. Nothing made sense. I was so nervous about the whole situation. I'll never know what really happened to me that night and it kills me. The looks on their faces were that of guilt. Like there was a lot more to this story and they weren't about to just say it out loud, but they knew that I would have no memory of it. They started to tell me things before I even asked any questions. Like, they expected me not to know what occurred the night before. I can't help but think that they drugged me. I've never completely blacked out an entire night. I'm not a "light weight" when it comes to drinking. 2 sips of a drink would not get me wasted. Especially not that fast. I know in my heart something happened to me that night. It tears me apart that I will never find out exactly what it was. It destroys me even more that I know something definitely did happen that I didn't want to happen. I remember only bits and pieces of the night but from those few memories that flash in my mind, I remember crying. I remember sitting on the floor of the shower saying over and over that I just wanted to go home. I remember two of the guys standing on the other side of the shower door smiling at me as I cried. Something happened to me that night. Honestly, it changed me. 

   I never told anyone about any of it. I was so afraid that they would blame me. Say it was all my fault and I should be ashamed. Even more, I was afraid that no one would believe me. So I held on to that secret, even though it was killing me inside every single day since the night it happened.

   Sex made me feel beautiful. It made me feel like, for a couple of minutes I was worth something. I realize that it sounds ridiculous but it was how I coped with my body dysmorphia and my fear of abandonment thanks to my dear old dad. That's about the time I turned to bulimia for self acceptance instead of sex.