It Gets Better!

I've suffered with BDD for as long as I can remember. When I was very young I used to draw faces and cut them out, wearing them for days until they became as ugly as I thought I was. I wanted to change everything about myself. My name, my face, my body... to some point? I still do.

But I'm getting better. I still struggle to look into the mirror, but I don't cry when I look at my arms anymore. I don't slash my thighs and butt open to try and make them smaller anymore. I don't pull my hair out or cover my face in public anymore. I'm still working on the makeup, but I feel better now, and it all started with my first near-death experience.

I was quite young, must have been about 8-9, when the bullying at school became incessant. I decided one day, after my mother again ignored my cries for help, that I really was hideous and needed to change it. I waited till my parents went to bed (which is hard for 8-year-old me!) and stole a knife from the kitchen drawers. I decided that night that i was going to change my lips first. I hated my smile, and so I lifted my lip and destroyed that little bit of skin that holds your lips to your gums. I nearly bled to death and my mum came in shortly after she heard the screaming. Off I went to hospital. They could never fix it correctly and today my smile is still the most disgusting, repulsive thing anyone could ever see.

I didn't like my new lips and hated myself even more so I just refused to smile.
(it's about here that I'm tearing up a little, jeesus. xD)

in the next few years I would go through periods of ripping the skin off my feet until they bled, chewing my nails off, ripping the skin off my lips, some of which I still do to this day.
Next off I decided that my thighs had to be smaller. I was in year 7 and started pulling my hair out. I was diagnosed with tricholl-something or other and It became an obsession to rip out all my hair. This time, though, I knew I had to do something about my thighs. Puberty hadn't quite hit me yet but I noticed my thighs expanding and couldn't take it.

I smashed my bedroom mirror that night. A gift made by my great grandmother before she died. It was a gorgeous mirror and it used to be this gorgeous, object of my life type thing that made me smile when I looked at it. I still keep a fragment of that mirror; the fragment I used to slice my thigh open with and try to bleed until I was thinner.

Another hospital trip.
This would continue and continue, each time I was getting braver and braver, more used to the pain.

One night, I nearly died, and this was when I knew that I needed help.
I couldn't deal with it anymore. Everything I did to myself made me uglier, everyone teased me more, nothing was working. Eventually I decided that I was just too ugly to exist. So I tried to kill myself. Not quite sure how i'd go about it, I chose mutilation. I still have some scars as a sickening reminder of what happens when you don't get help for something as serious as BDD.

My mother took me to counselling, and after a merry-go-round of psychologists, I found a woman I really loved, named Michelle. She's since passed but this woman taught me what it meant to love myself in the most heartbreaking way. She made every single person in my life make a letter, video, something. Each of them were heartfelt, but the one that got me the most was the one from the same mother who denied I had a problem for years.

I still cry today thinking about it. I've never seen her care so much for me. I, even today, refuse to believe that i deserved any of this.

But one thins I learned from it all is that I need to love myself for other people. I need to love myself for my own health. I took up human biology classes and learned about how the body worked. it's an amazing thing, our body.THAT taught me to just fret about IF it worked, not what it looks like. I learned what it meant to love and lose a child. To love and lose partners. To love and lose pets. In that, I learned that If I'm wanting something else, I'm wanting what I don't have. If i don't have it, chances are I'm not going to get it. There are people out there who would kill for my deformed body or my mutilated smile because they don't have anything at all. Although I'm still broken, I'm still not there yet, I'm getting there.

I guess what I wanted to get out of by draining all your time with my boring story is that it does get better and that you HAVE to believe that it will. You're so beautiful, you really are, and I ache for the women who've had it ingrained in them that they aren't good enough, because God Damnit you are. I really hope that by sharing this, something happened, maybe a light turned on in your head, maybe you decided to get help, maybe you decided not to give up.

Thanks for your time.
ThisIsMediocritiesOldAcc ThisIsMediocritiesOldAcc
18-21, F
Jan 23, 2013