BDD SUCKS

Overcoming Body Dysmorphic Disorder - My Story of Living With BDD

"It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see."
~ Henry David Thoreau

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This is the Story of My Life Living With Body Dysmorphic Disorder

The One Word That Describes Body Dysmorphic Diosrder

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SHAME

Shame is basically the fear of being unlovable – It’s the total opposite of accepting our bodies and feeling worthy.

Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.

Shame keeps worthiness away by convincing us that self acceptance will lead to people thinking less of us.

Shame is all about fear.

We are afraid that people won’t like us if they know the truth about who we are or our “imperfections”.

Shame is something we all experience. it is universal and one of the most primitive human emotions that we experience. The only people who don’t experience shame lack the capacity for empathy and human connection.

While it feels that shame hides in our darkest corners, it actually tends to lurk in all of the familiar places… even those that go far behind the body image concerns that those of us with BDD suffer.

Shame can include family, parenting, money, work, health, addiction, sex, aging and religion.

To feel shame is to be human.

Our struggles with our body image concerns are difficult to own, and if we’ve worked hard to make sure everything looks “just right” on the outside, the stakes are high when it comes to truth-telling.

It’s so easy to just keep quiet.

Hiding Places – The Shame of Body Dysmorphic Disorder

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In My Room

There were several bathrooms on my college campus that I would frequent the most.

I preferred the handicap restrooms as I could lock the door. In here I could fuel my compulsion without the fear of others noticing.

I remember walking out of the bathroom, and within seconds returning, to deconstruct my face again. Only when I was looking closely at my imperfections and hating on myself, was I free. It is bizarre, maybe it became like cutting in a way. In the pain I could feel something, even if it was the feeling of losing my mind.

With each new class I would find a corresponding place on campus to indulge this compulsion. These compulsions would reveal themselves from time to time in my art and in my music. I remember taking an an intro to drawinng class in college, I drew a large black and white charcoal image of an anorexic woman. I got an A+. My only A+.

Although I never particularly understood what it was about this work my teacher liked so much, it is obvious to me now. The best art is an expression of our soul, and this one was honest, possibly my first truly honest piece of work.