I had surgery after I was raped

Monday 26th January 2009

Heidi Moore, 50, spent £97,000 creating the perfect body. But what were her new looks hiding?

I felt like a fish out of water. I was in an addiction treatment centre and all around me, people were weeping openly. Fidgeting, I tried not to make eye contact with any of them.
'That's when I realised I was an alcoholic,' one man was saying.
I sank into my chair. All around me were people with real problems. Drug addicts, anorexics, compulsive gamblers… What was I doing here?

A month earlier, I'd been a normal woman working as a tour guide. Then on impulse, I applied to appear on a reality show called Intervention. Do you have an obsession with shopping? Can you not get enough of cosmetic surgery? Then you could be part of our new show, said the advert. I'd looked down at my fake 36DD boobs sitting in my new Calvin Klein top, at the Chanel shopping bags, and my Jimmy Choo sandals. I applied straight away.

I've been having cosmetic surgery since my early 30s, I wrote. It started with chemical peels, Botox and collagen in my lips…
I'd carried on writing about my procedures, the liposuction on my neck, my cheek sculpting, tummy tuck and two breast enlargements. It had cost me £97,000. I'd think nothing of spending thousands at a time. My mum thinks I'm mad but I just like to look my best, I wrote.

A month later, I was accepted. It was quite fun really. A TV crew filmed me as I dragged them to my favourite shops and went for a Botox session.
'What woman doesn't want to look her best?' I smiled.
Some people thought I was going too far. And they had their say as I was led to a room where my mum, Anne, and two of my friends, Karen and Mayra, were waiting, solemn-faced.
'This is the intervention part,' the producer explained. 'Try to listen to what your loved-ones tell you.'
'You need help,' Mum cried. 'You can't keep living like this.'
She sobbed as she told me I was beautiful anyway, and that I didn't need the surgery.
'Your debt is terrifying,' she added. 'I was so hurt when you took out credit cards in my name.'

My cheeks burned. It was true, I'd stolen Mum's identity to get credit for surgery. I'd always paid off the cards, but when Mum found out, I was crushed. The next step was a treatment centre for help with my addiction. Looking at Mum, I had no choice. So here I was, a week in, feeling like a fraud. Then it was my turn to speak at group therapy. Oh, help…
'Heidi has a shopping and surgery addiction,' the therapist said.
I told them about the debts and stealing Mum's identity. Saying the words out loud, I realised just how awful it sounded.
'Why do you think you have so much surgery?' the therapist said.
I felt my blood run cold. I knew the answer. But could I really say it in front of all these strangers?

Then a tiny voice I hardly recognised came out of my mouth.
'I had plastic surgery because I was raped when I was 16,' I said. 'I've been trying ever since to make myself worthwhile with surgery.'
There. It was out. By now, tears were falling. My tears. Back in my room that night
I looked in the mirror. Just a day earlier, I'd looked in admiration at my smooth forehead, large, firm breasts and washboard stomach. Now I saw them for what they were. A mask. A £97,000 full body mask to cover the shame of that attack. During the following few days of therapy, three decades of shame came pouring out.
'I was only 16 and I was walking home with my boyfriend,' I said shakily. 'Two men in a van stopped and knocked my boyfriend out.'

With every word I said, I relived the fear of that hideous ordeal.
'They drove me to a deserted beach and took it in turns to rape me.'
I felt their knife at my throat, their breath as they barked threats at me.
'You were so brave to share that,' the counsellor told me.
I had the courage to stand in court and see my attackers jailed. Everyone thought I was fine. But I wasn't. During my last weeks of counselling, I came to see how that attack had driven me to surgery.
'I thought I was only good for sex,' I said. 'I thought that's all men wanted so I made myself sexy.'

By the time my stay ended, my therapist had even contacted the credit card company to explain, and my debts were wiped out. I'm incredibly lucky. I've got a real chance to be happy. I don't regret the surgery but I know now there's no point trying to change the past.
So next time you see someone with a face full of surgery, please don't judge. They'll have their reasons.

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