Body Dysmorphia. Or Body Dysmorphic Disorder/ BDD. Nearly destroyed my life. And for the doubters; I can assure you that it's very, VERY real.
Basically, it's not entirely disconnected from OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and revolves around an individuals usually (very distorted) perception of their appearance. It can be in part or whole and the most common fixation is with skin. As it was for me, due to acne. That and being underweight and balding by the age of 16. Basically, "pale, frail, ugly and old" was what I saw in the mirror.
It's not just vanity. It's a crippling obsession. Aside from the horrendous impact upon self esteem and subsequent social anxiety, it can result in ritualistic behaviours and often extreme measures to correct the perceived defect. For those that can afford it, that might mean surgery. And as the fixation often then shifts to another "defect" once the main one has been addressed, it can be a very scary, never ending cycle of harmful behaviours.
For me, I was as obsessed with checking in the mirror as I was petrified of seeing my reflection because what I saw repulsed me so much. There I was, supposedly in the prime of my youth, surrounded by pretty young things who were flourishing into adults, socialising as independents and exploring sexuality. Meanwhile, I had acne for about ten years, from the age of 13 onwards. I still get spots in my thirties but my complexion is, for the most part, quite good. I don't even have any scars!
But at the time it was pretty awful. Only on my face, but unrelenting whiteheads and boils, literally appearing by the hour as each day went by. My pale, oily skin shone like a strip-light and I become utterly paralysed by it. I checked mirrors constantly for the latest spot and to reassure myself that it was "tolerable" but was inevitably disgusted by my countenance. I squeezed constantly to try and remove the gunk and plastered my skin in a military regime of chemicals that often dried it out to the point whereby it wrinkled, dried and then pealed off in strips, inevitably making it look worse. I then wore bloody great sticky plasters, to hide the issue but only drew attention to myself. I wore nothing but hoodies and jumpers, pulled tight around my face, even in the height of summer. When coverup didn't work, I was so irrational I even resorted to rubbing my skin with sand paper (you can only imagine the result). My own reflection made me sick. I had nightmares about it, literally waking up in a cold sweat having envisaged my face decomposing.
I wouldn't leave my room. I just locked myself it for days at a time, sneaking out late at night for the bathroom and to get food from the kitchen. When I had to pretend I was going to school, I would walk up the drive and turn left to the fields, instead of right to the bus stop. And I would sit in derelict barns in the pouring rain until it was home time again. I couldn't bare to be seen by others. I had the highest non-attendance rate of more than 200 students in college. Still came out with the best exam results of all of them though!! On the days when I did brave school, I would often end up glancing my reflection in the window of the bus, or in the bathroom mirror and that would be it. Off the bus or leave the building. Anything to avoid being seen by others, who I was convinced would be as repulsed as I was.
In addition to crap skin, I went through the usual growth spurt of teenagers but stress related IBS meant couldn't put on weight, so just looked gaunt. And good old male-pattern- baldness ensured I started losing my hair at the age of 16. All combined - my perspective and the inevitable bullying meant I wanted to be dead. I remember getting a Christmas card one year from another kid and he'd drawn a old man, with no hair and a walking stick in it labelled "[Name] - aged 18". Which kinda just reinforced my belief that it wasn't all in my head.
Whether it caused my depression or was just a bolt-on, I don't know. Probably the latter, because there was several other components. But it was a massive factor.
I barely saw my family. I didn't attend school. And I sure as hell didn't socialise. I either bailed or failed to even turn up to the point where the invites stopped coming. I couldn't cope with the anxiety, so why put myself in those situations?
When I went to Uni, I spent a fortune on events tickets for Freshers Week. And ultimately didn't leave my room for five days, boiling soup in my kettle and eating cereal bars because I couldn't go out to buy food. The anxiety associated with this wicked illness is hard to describe. But I'll endeavour to in another post, as anxiety kinda underpins much of who I am.
Thankfully, a combination or chemicals and drugs for acne, antidepressants and getting older meant that things improved. I'll never be confident of my appearance and there is a period of at least ten years with limited photographic evidence that I ever walked this earth. But things are considerably better. I No longer hide my face. I don't suffer from the crippling social anxiety that I had. I now check the mirror just to make sure I look presentable, nothing more. I can even pose for a photo. But I still have zero confidence and when I socialise, I will enter a pub or restaurant and within seconds, clock every mirror and overhead light in order to conduct my own mini-risk assessment. My other half knows which seats I won't sit in and will warn me if there are large mirrors near the bathrooms, for example. But I get by.
So that's an insight into BDD. Hopefully it brings some perspective to it for those that think it's only for the vain. And if you're there reading this and relating to every aspect of the agony it causes, my heart goes out to you. I wouldn't profess to advise on how it can be dealt with - the circumstances are different for each individual. But I would recommend a book - "The Broken Mirror" by Katharine A Phillips if you think this is impacting you. It really helps make some sense of the nonsense that is body dysmorphia. Hope it's a helpful starting point for you.
Basically, it's not entirely disconnected from OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and revolves around an individuals usually (very distorted) perception of their appearance. It can be in part or whole and the most common fixation is with skin. As it was for me, due to acne. That and being underweight and balding by the age of 16. Basically, "pale, frail, ugly and old" was what I saw in the mirror.
It's not just vanity. It's a crippling obsession. Aside from the horrendous impact upon self esteem and subsequent social anxiety, it can result in ritualistic behaviours and often extreme measures to correct the perceived defect. For those that can afford it, that might mean surgery. And as the fixation often then shifts to another "defect" once the main one has been addressed, it can be a very scary, never ending cycle of harmful behaviours.
For me, I was as obsessed with checking in the mirror as I was petrified of seeing my reflection because what I saw repulsed me so much. There I was, supposedly in the prime of my youth, surrounded by pretty young things who were flourishing into adults, socialising as independents and exploring sexuality. Meanwhile, I had acne for about ten years, from the age of 13 onwards. I still get spots in my thirties but my complexion is, for the most part, quite good. I don't even have any scars!
But at the time it was pretty awful. Only on my face, but unrelenting whiteheads and boils, literally appearing by the hour as each day went by. My pale, oily skin shone like a strip-light and I become utterly paralysed by it. I checked mirrors constantly for the latest spot and to reassure myself that it was "tolerable" but was inevitably disgusted by my countenance. I squeezed constantly to try and remove the gunk and plastered my skin in a military regime of chemicals that often dried it out to the point whereby it wrinkled, dried and then pealed off in strips, inevitably making it look worse. I then wore bloody great sticky plasters, to hide the issue but only drew attention to myself. I wore nothing but hoodies and jumpers, pulled tight around my face, even in the height of summer. When coverup didn't work, I was so irrational I even resorted to rubbing my skin with sand paper (you can only imagine the result). My own reflection made me sick. I had nightmares about it, literally waking up in a cold sweat having envisaged my face decomposing.
I wouldn't leave my room. I just locked myself it for days at a time, sneaking out late at night for the bathroom and to get food from the kitchen. When I had to pretend I was going to school, I would walk up the drive and turn left to the fields, instead of right to the bus stop. And I would sit in derelict barns in the pouring rain until it was home time again. I couldn't bare to be seen by others. I had the highest non-attendance rate of more than 200 students in college. Still came out with the best exam results of all of them though!! On the days when I did brave school, I would often end up glancing my reflection in the window of the bus, or in the bathroom mirror and that would be it. Off the bus or leave the building. Anything to avoid being seen by others, who I was convinced would be as repulsed as I was.
In addition to crap skin, I went through the usual growth spurt of teenagers but stress related IBS meant couldn't put on weight, so just looked gaunt. And good old male-pattern- baldness ensured I started losing my hair at the age of 16. All combined - my perspective and the inevitable bullying meant I wanted to be dead. I remember getting a Christmas card one year from another kid and he'd drawn a old man, with no hair and a walking stick in it labelled "[Name] - aged 18". Which kinda just reinforced my belief that it wasn't all in my head.
Whether it caused my depression or was just a bolt-on, I don't know. Probably the latter, because there was several other components. But it was a massive factor.
I barely saw my family. I didn't attend school. And I sure as hell didn't socialise. I either bailed or failed to even turn up to the point where the invites stopped coming. I couldn't cope with the anxiety, so why put myself in those situations?
When I went to Uni, I spent a fortune on events tickets for Freshers Week. And ultimately didn't leave my room for five days, boiling soup in my kettle and eating cereal bars because I couldn't go out to buy food. The anxiety associated with this wicked illness is hard to describe. But I'll endeavour to in another post, as anxiety kinda underpins much of who I am.
Thankfully, a combination or chemicals and drugs for acne, antidepressants and getting older meant that things improved. I'll never be confident of my appearance and there is a period of at least ten years with limited photographic evidence that I ever walked this earth. But things are considerably better. I No longer hide my face. I don't suffer from the crippling social anxiety that I had. I now check the mirror just to make sure I look presentable, nothing more. I can even pose for a photo. But I still have zero confidence and when I socialise, I will enter a pub or restaurant and within seconds, clock every mirror and overhead light in order to conduct my own mini-risk assessment. My other half knows which seats I won't sit in and will warn me if there are large mirrors near the bathrooms, for example. But I get by.
So that's an insight into BDD. Hopefully it brings some perspective to it for those that think it's only for the vain. And if you're there reading this and relating to every aspect of the agony it causes, my heart goes out to you. I wouldn't profess to advise on how it can be dealt with - the circumstances are different for each individual. But I would recommend a book - "The Broken Mirror" by Katharine A Phillips if you think this is impacting you. It really helps make some sense of the nonsense that is body dysmorphia. Hope it's a helpful starting point for you.