Body Dismorphia Disorder - Anon
Updated: May 2, 2019
Everyday is a battle. Its like that cliche saying: ’A war raging inside my head.’
It really is.
Morning hits and somedays I can easily slip out of bed, drink my coffee. No sugar and no milk. Extra calories that I don’t need. Eat the same breakfast of oatmeal with no milk and one banana. I feel a sense of ‘happiness’ eating something with so few calories. I wont get fat that way right? Other days... they take a different route. Waking up is a struggle. Seeing the sun filter through the windows makes me wish dusk would arrive already so I have an excuse to not get up.
But I can’t let my petty thoughts get the best of me. The rational part of my mind perks up.
I begrudgingly get up, leaving the safe haven of my room. I plug in my earphones and play some music but it doesn’t give me the same high like it used to, no matter what I play. It’s just white noise in my ears. I know I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening but the thoughts of my body eating itself away... makes me feel better?
That’s messed up. You’re going to leave your body in a permanent state of damage which is going to take years to recover from.
Thats when I reluctantly proceed to make my breakfast, feeling dread with every bite I take.
Showering... the point where my day takes a downward spiral. Every step I take towards that god damn mirror makes me want to turn around, walk away and go back to bed. Facing my reflection, the want to gauge my eyes out amplifies with every second I look. The thoughts come back.
Then again; they never really left.
I stand there, scrutinising every detail, every curve, roll, discolouration... I turn and twist around to give the illusion that maybe I am smaller than what I see but of course, that never works.
‘Is my stomach that big?’
‘My arms are so fucking flabby.’
‘You look like a square.’
‘Your hip dips are disgusting.’
‘Thighs are way too large.’
Before I know it, I already feel the urge to cover up and cry, the vision of my body solidified in my mind and it’s ugly"
I try to go back, remember those months ago where I didn’t hate every single thing about my body. I try to picture what I looked like then and I look back into the mirror. It’s just more disappointment.
‘I look so fat.’
You weren’t saying that a few months ago. What changed?
‘I gained weight!’
It's only 1.5 kg. It’s not a visible change.
And now it’s a battle. A battle between my mind and my eyes. Is what I am seeing really what I’m seeing? Are my negatives thoughts really manifesting into a physical image? Is it really affecting my vision? Do I really look like that? Am I that ugly in real life?
Is it my body dysmorphia messing with me?
The remainder of the day is passing by any reflective surface, trying to see any change in my body. Obsessing over every single detail, morphing my body in every single pose so I can see the ridges of ribs, the jutting of my hipbones and the bumps of my sternum. I stare down at my legs, a little satisfied by the small gap in between the lower parts of my thighs when I stand far from the mirror. I slip my hand against the surface of my stomach. Sometimes it feels flat, other times is slightly bloated. I sigh every time, wishing it was flatter.
It’s such a waste of time. Change doesn’t happen in minutes.
It shuts my mind up temporarily though. That’s all I want.
I hate my face as well. I hate that oval shape that just looks awkward every time I look at it. I hate my cheeks that are just way to big for my liking. I hate the weird acne scars that are scattered around, made worse by the chickenpox I had to go through. I hate my jawline that I wish was more pronounced. I hate the fact that my left eye is bigger than the right and my eyelid slightly droops. I hate my smile that looks crooked and fake in every picture I have taken. In pictures and moments that are supposed to be the happiest parts in people’s lives.
I know I make myself worse with my obsessive nature. This need to be perfect. Not perfect in other’s eyes because well... you can’t please everybody so who really cares what others think?
It’s the need to be perfect in my eyes. Become the picture-perfect person I want to be but I can’t.
It's only made worse by social media. Going to that explore page and scrolling down, seeing people with perfect bodies and faces, smooth skin and great hair. Why can’t I be that? Why can’t I look like that? Why do I have to be stuck looking like this? Feeling like this?
It's social media. It's not reality
The rest of the day just passes by. Almost at a fast-forward pace. I don’t remember much. Only the things I have eaten and drunk. Logging every single thing in my head so I don’t lose track of how much I have eaten. I carefully portion my lunch. One and a half spoons of rice and a little larger portion of vegetable. If I want to eat an egg, it has to be hard-boiled. More calories from oil if it was fried. Somedays there are fried potatoes and I know I have to eat it. When I do, it just makes me feel so much worse. The thoughts come in rampages. On ‘good’ days, I have ice- cream. Those small cups that are approximately 200 calories per cup. Maybe even less, especially when I feed my mum some. On ‘bad’ days, I have a little fruit or nothing at all.
I chug cups of tea and coffee. It suppresses my appetite. Well, it used to. Nowadays, I don’t even feel hunger. I’m certain I could go days without eating and not feel anything. Is it because of the damage I have done to my body? Probably but I’m just to obsessed to care about my health and well-being.
That’s rich coming from a future med student.
I complain about being at home all the time. Never having the opportunity to go out but when a chance does come by, I try to avoid it with any means necessary. Am I a walking paradox? Maybe. Am I confusing and annoying? Definitely.
Going out with friends means eating. Eating foods that are probably doused in calories. The thought of that makes my anxiety peak and my head spin. What do I do? I can’t not go because I want to meet my friends and spend time with them but on the other hand, I can’t go and not eat. It’s strange.
They will know. They can’t know.
So I skip breakfast, lunch even if the plan is later in the day. I make sure nothing is in my stomach. Just water, tea and coffee. I go, act normal, eat ‘normally’. Eat the foods I usually eat before my obsession took over. Sometimes, I spend minutes looking at the menu, calculating and estimating in my head the calories and the fat-content. I order my drinks with no sugar. I eat my fries with no ketchup and my salads with no dressing. I take the vegetarian options even. Meat has more fat. If there is cheese, I secretly remove it. Extra calories
Then I go home and change into a huge shirt and baggy pants. I avoid mirrors as much as I can, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to resist scrutinising my self. If I’m feeling particularly bad... I purge. I won’t call myself bulimic because it’s not something I do everyday. It’s not a part of my routine. It’s just an extreme measure I take to make myself feel less shitty. The process isn’t fun and definitely not glamorous as people try to make it to be. Its disgusting but I’m to weak to not do it. I put my music on blast so no one can hear the repeated flushing and the gagging noise. I vigorously brush my teeth, to erase the acid and bile. I chug gallons of water, wash my face and leave to talk with my family, pretending nothing ever happened.
I know I am in too deep. I’m too fixated on my physical appearance. To most it would seem so petty and shallow. In reality it is. I know that but I just can’t let it go. I wish I could. I wish I could go one day without my thoughts trying to consume me with negativity about how ugly and disgusting I look. I’ve tried everything possible. I try to focus on any positive aspect but somehow I seem to turn into something negative. It’s like my mind is consumed in darkness and hate and it changes everything it focuses on and I just can’t seem to stop it. I can’t destroy the thoughts and self-doubt. All I can do is ignore and hope one day it would go away.
Maybe I’m just destined to a life like this. A life where I can’t be fixed.
It would be easier if I was just dead.