I know a particular person. I’d say I’m very, very close to her. She’s got an awesome personality, she’s intelligent and got the total mental fortitude to do whatever she sets her mind to. She’s gone from strength to strength getting her qualifications and she’s ready to take on the uncertainties of the future.
In a lot of ways I am very proud of her.
The thing is, she’s fat. She’s got an ‘ok’ face, but she has this roll of fat around her lower belly that’s been inherited from all the women in her family, along with her thunder thighs and lard ass. If she could just look normal she’d have an easier time. She’s got these weird boobs; one’s a good two sizes larger than the other and they were already comedy boobs to start with. It’s pretty much all men find attractive in her, because god help the rest of her grotesque body otherwise.
She could go out there and grab the world but her ugly body is holding her back. Everyone says she looks fine, proportionate and well shaped but only she knows the truth staring her back in the mirror; the huge body and the tiny pin head. They’ve all got it wrong or they’re simply just trying to delude her when head to toe she’s dissatisfied with her blobby, horrid body. I look at it and I hate her in an instant.
Who is she to deserve this vitriol? No doubt you’re wondering as you probably can’t believe how I talk about her.
Welcome to my daily life. Welcome to the life of someone that tells everyone to love themselves in the skin they’re in and not to conform. (I do it in the hope that one day I will be able to take my own advice.)
For most of my adult life I have been filled with an intense loathing for my body that I figured was normal for most women exposed to images of what should, in the eyes of the media, be beautiful. I know now that it’s not normal.
I can no longer look in mirrors for any great length of time unless I am applying make-up and am repulsed when I catch my reflection out and about and then have the intense desire to get home and get inside to a safe place. I spend much of my time indoors now, because I am convinced that people will laugh at me if I venture outdoors. When I do go out, I have to spend a lot of time putting make-up on and dressing nice in case people judge me. In my darkest hours I will even pinch and punch the bits I don’t like and cause myself pain as punishment.
Describing this to someone recently, she keenly slapped a label on me, titled “Body Dysmorphia”. Anyone that knows me well knows I don’t do well with labels but I recently looked up the symptoms and it is quite glaringly obvious and all the signs are there.
If I think back on it, I struggled with an eating disorder five years ago and saw the same reflection I see now even though there are three dress sizes between that day and now and currently I’m three dress sizes smaller than I was at my very largest, according to the clothes. But not to my mind.
Where do I go from here? And how do I stop hating my body? How do I change the innermost parts of my mind that seem so intent on wearing me down?
They say admission is the first step so here’s to many more steps in the future.