The genesis of my body dysmorphia began as I entered adolescence. I was always this shy introverted who was acutely self conscious around my secondary school peers. Then a tragic event befall our family my mother committed suicide in my first year i attended secondary school the ptsd I incurred and the isolation i surmised exacerbated my body dysmorphia disorder. After losing my mum in harrowing circumstances i began to despise my physical appearance my flat featureless body my ashen face devoid of beauty. Going out to school or socialising with friends became a torturous endeavour i would apply a profusion of makeup to my face to mask my horrid face.
When my disorder started to affect the quality of my life i began to suffer from panic attack in public. Even simply mundane outings like going back and forth from the local shops were torture. When I did venture outside on rare moments apart from attending school i felt intensely self conscious. Feeling the icy wind hit my sweaty face the anxiety pulsating round my body. Then my heart is arcing i cant control my breathing as i walk towards the shop my feet are in a state of paralysis totally then i feel like dying. Desperately i would find a park bench or secluded spot to collapse to hide my anxiety attack. Then rather then braving a brief trip to the shops i would frantically run home to the serene shelter of my bedroom. This type of panic attack happened on countless occasions throughout my teenage years as i was enduring this secret disorder.
Rather than divulging my condition to a close confidant to my father or a doctor i hide my shame the revulsion I had for my grotesque body. Laing awake at night fantasising all the ways i could ameliorate my flaws with exorbitantly expansive plastic surgery. Getting a nose job a augmenting my flat breasts getting botox collagen in my lips whitening my teeth i theorised maybe i could be happy in my skin after a serious of plastic surgery operations. My self loathing caused me to become severely depressed almost suicidal the only way I could assuage my pain was to lacerate my arms in self harm. Taking a sharp piece of glass and disfiguring my arms then hiding the shame of my lacerated arms my wearing long sleeved shirts for weeks afterwards.
As my disorder progressed i developed this fear of mirrors. The trip to the bathroom mirror was this daily excruciating experience to view my face at the onset of a new day. I started to eschew looking into the mirror brushing my teeth or washing my face with my face looking at the taps. Only when i would go on nights out with my friends when I needed to apply a profusion of makeup to my ugly face would i view my reflection in the critical bathroom mirror. Even with layer upon layer of makeup with my red lips looking lustrous i would shudder in disquiet at this monster in the mirror. Then on these sporadic nights out i suffered the hell of seeing my pallid homely face in a mirror in a bar bathroom in a public toilet that horror of my ugliness magnified surrounded by a bevy of strangers would send down a spiral of anxiety and suicidal thoughts. If by chance i caught a glimpse of my face on a drunken night out with my friends i would usually suffer another panic attack hiding in the bathroom stall for minutes unable to breathe with tears cascading down my face. Then making a excuse why i would return to my sanctuary where i wouldn’t subject the general public to my deformed face.
The severe body dysmorphia continued from my adolescence into my tenure as a university student. The severity of my revulsion of my body didn’t abate it grow more acute. I devolved into a increasingly socially withdrawn creature only exposing my face to the world when it was essential to me functioning as a student. Such as attending lectures or going to my part time job. Time after time i turned down incessant requests for nights to go on holidays to attend musical festivals with my university cohorts. The increasing social anxiety and body dysmorphia made socialising with strangers for a protracted time feel like purgatory having unabated anxiety no assuagement from the this untreated hidden disorder. As i lived as a recluse i had these perennial suicidal inclinations as i was becoming isolated from society due to the living hell of my disorder and long term depression.
As this body disorder remained a shameful secret i found the idea of sex a impossibility. In my student years i embarked upon a measly 3 dates with potential lovers. These were agonising experiencing having my every flaw judged my a date having to make staid small talk. Feeling like these dates were a prank or a lost bet why would these alluring young men find me attractive. After the awkward date we exchanged a kiss on the cheek then never conversed as i ghosted these men. The thought of being intimate of having my emaciated ghost like body being naked next to a immaculate toned modern men filled my body with dread. Getting acquainted with conversation was arduous enough but sex kissing touching caressing sexual intercourse would be beyond my capabilities. Even though i fantasised habitually of the ecstasy of a falling in love and engaging in sublime sex with a hairless toned adonis. Despite all the trauma I have incurred in my 23 years when my body anxiety has metastasised into a impairing body disorder I have kept my pain my body dysmorphia hermetically sealed in the recesses of my damaged consciousness.
On umpteen times I have made a appointment for my local gp or seeked the help of a therapist who could treat my disorder. Then the day of the appointment arrives and the overwhelming fear of being vulnerable confiding in a doctor about my fractured mental condition has been too onerous to attend a appointment. I haven’t overcome my fears or talked to another soul about the hell I’m living with. One day if I’m ever going to become a fully functioning member of society with a husband with children with a enriching fulfilling life I’m going to need to disclose my depression my body dysmorphia with a qualified professional.