When I was in high school, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. In my university stint I was diagnosed with anticipatory anxiety, social anxiety and PTSD. I got diagnosed with PTSD from childhood trauma. I remember specifically telling them if I eat one bowl of pasta I have to puke. Damn basil. I wonder if my stomach never bothered me if I would still have bulimia at all. At age 28, I got the bipolar diagnosis. I call it the fake bipolar. That hospital refused to acknowledge my PTSD. I’m currently working with a nice psychiatrist trying to prove I’m just PTSD. I’ve been raped. I’ve been humiliated. I’ve been hit. I have trauma. I also worked very closely with the psychiatrist who labelled me PTSD; I trust him more.
My first sexual assault I was eleven years old. I was at a sleepover with my grandma. Her boyfriend at the time took us and his son fishing that weekend. I woke up in the middle of the night with him naked on top of me. He made me do everything except actual sex. He eventually pouted and told me he was going to sleep in bed with his dad and my grandma. He was a few years older than me. I’m sure he thought he would see me again. He didn’t. I didn’t tell a soul for years, but he did.
A year later I was hanging out with a friend of mine from school. She told me not to worry, she had sex with him too. I stared at her horrified. I was worried he raped her. I think they were just dating. After the conversation didn’t go as planned, I was threatened at school. Two older boys wrapped fishing wire around my neck on the playground. They just did it enough to leave a mark that lasted a week. I told the principle who simply said to watch where I’m walking. I said nothing about the assault.
Somehow word got out that I wasn’t a virgin anymore, when I still was. A boy a year younger than me tried to take off my jacket and have sex with me in a stairwell. I resisted, and he got mad. I left. This I did tell the principle. Our mothers came in for a meeting and leaving my mother said the boy was more believable. I remember thinking thank God I didn’t tell her about the first boy.
When I was twenty, I was raped. I had a loser of a boyfriend. He asked if we could do anal and when I said no, he held me down and did it. It was horrible. I hated him. It was over.