Hi, my name is Felipe and I used to suffer from BDD and Depression. I don’t know how it started but I think it was at some point when I was between 13 and 15 years old. In my case I felt I had a problem with my speech. I couldn’t explain it to doctors; I knew I didn’t have a stutter or anything and there were times when I spoke normally – mainly when I was with my family. So my problem must be psychological.
“My parents thought it was just their teenage kid going through an undefined crisis”
I struggled on my own for about 6 years, and during this time I got low grades, had almost no social life, lacked the will to do anything, and didn’t attend school very often. In fact the only positive thing I can say about this period is that, while I stayed home, almost all my free time I spent reading, which is a good habit I still have. My parents thought it was just their teenage kid going through an undefined crisis or something, but didn’t think it was very important. Not even when their son remained in the car when they went out, remained in the hotel when they went travelling abroad, and had no social life.
One thing that helped me was Buddhism, and meditation. When I started doing meditation it hit me like a rock that life was very short, and I had to live it no matter what. So, still under the effects of BDD I started making the effort to go out, use the bus and underground, even though I still thought everyone was looking at me for being so utterly hideous and different from other people. Eventually I sought psychiatric help, and went on to have regular therapy. It’s helped me a lot. I’m taking an antidepressant, and it helps too. Knowing that there is an illness with the very symptoms you have is the first step to recovery, I think.
Thank you.
My name is Nicole and I am 20 years old. I was diagnosed with BDD a little over a year ago and have spent my time since then trying to learn about this disorder. When I was first told I had it I felt relieved that there was a name for what was wrong with me, but I also felt sad because there was definitely something wrong with me. I remember when I was only nine years old I thought about cutting off my nose because it was too big. I was already tired of the snide remarks from friends and even strangers about how big it was.
“On school picture days I would come home bawling because I knew that my nose would be posted everywhere”
When I was in junior high, my self-esteem issues went far beyond the average teenager angst. I couldn’t bear to look in a mirror or have my picture taken. On school picture days I would come home bawling, because I knew that my nose would be posted everywhere. I wore a windbreaker with long sleeves so I could use the sleeve to cover up my face. It made me feel better. In high school I discovered my knack for humour. I made fun of myself before anyone else could get to me first. Deep inside the demon was ready to come bursting out. I suffered from anorexia for years, as well as addiction to painkillers.
After I was diagnosed with BDD, along with panic disorder, I was put on an anti-depressant that has saved me. No, it doesn’t take away the thoughts about my nose or body; no, it doesn’t give me hallucinations that I am a supermodel. It helps me to think clearly, and not dwell on my ‘physical problems’. I know that no matter how many times people might tell someone with BDD that you are beautiful, you still won’t believe it. And what if you were absolutely the most gorgeous woman on the inside? Doesn’t that matter too? That’s what I try to tell myself each and every day. It’s sort of my mantra now. I’ve noticed that, once I stopped openly complaining about the way I looked, I began to receive more positive vibes from people. I am still not ready to be photographed, but hopefully with time and my therapy I will make that giant step!
How do you feel when you look in the mirror? Happy? Not fussed? Whenever I saw my face in the mirror, I felt so sick I wanted to smash the glass. I thought I looked like a monster. It all started my first term of secondary school. A bunch of girls and boys in my class began bullying me about my acne, calling me ‘Spotty’. I tried to ignore them, but the insults made me feel really self-conscious. They started taking the mick out of my forehead, saying it was ‘massive’, and that I had a voice like a man just ’cause it was deeper than some of the other girls in the class.
“By the time I was 13 the way I looked was all I thought about”
As the months passed I got more and more upset. When you’re told over and over again that you’re ugly, you start to believe it. I began studying my face in the mirror, worrying about the way I looked. I decided I hated my nose: it was too big. My eyes squinted when I laughed, and my hair was too thin. And I was fat. I’d try holding my stomach in and pulling the skin taut, wondering if I’d be prettier if I was skinny. By the time I was 13 the way I looked was all I thought about.
I tried to talk to my school friends about how I felt. ‘Don’t be silly, Cari,’ they’d say. ‘We all feel like that.’ But I knew they didn’t. It wasn’t like I was having an ‘off day’; I felt like this constantly. If I was going out with mates I’d spend the entire day getting ready, changing my outfit and make-up about 20 times. Each time I’d hate the way I looked, take off my make-up and start again, only to hate what I saw and end up in floods of tears. In the end I’d refuse to go out at all. Gradually my friends stopped including me in their plans, which made me feel even more isolated.
When I was 14 I started self harming. I wanted to punish myself for being so ugly and worthless. Nothing made me feel better about myself. If someone paid me a compliment I wouldn’t believe it. If a boy glanced at me I’d imagine he was looking at me in disgust. As I got older I started finding other ways to hide. I had a fringe cut to hide my forehead and began getting tattoos and piercings. I felt that if I had something beautiful on my body, I wouldn’t be quite so revolting. Plus, if people were looking at my body art they wouldn’t be looking at me.
“You silly girl,’ she told me as she hugged me, ‘there’s nothing wrong with you.”
I knew my family were worried about how withdrawn I’d become, yet when they tried to talk to me I’d just snap at them. But as time passed I found it harder to keep my feelings to myself. Finally, one New Year’s Eve (as usual I was at home instead of out partying), I found myself blurting out everything I felt to Mum. How ugly I was. How I’d cut myself. Mum was shocked. ‘You silly girl,’ she told me as she hugged me, ‘there’s nothing wrong with you.’ She didn’t understand that her words couldn’t make me feel better. I wasn’t just feeling insecure; I hated myself.
Mum was convinced I had depression, so she took me to the doctor who put me on anti-depressants. They made me feel a bit better, but I still couldn’t shake the repulsion I felt about my own appearance. Months passed. Then one day, when I was 17, I sat down in front of the TV and started watching a documentary called Too Ugly for Love. It was about people who couldn’t have relationships because they felt they were so ugly. None of the people in the show were ugly, but their behaviour was like mine: they’d look at themselves for ages and hate what they saw. They all had something called Body Dysmorphic Disorder, or BDD: a condition that meant they couldn’t see themselves the way other people saw them; their self-image was so distorted they thought they were hideously ugly, when they were perfectly normal.
It was like a light bulb going on in my head. I knew this was what I had, too. Weirdly, just knowing what was wrong with me helped me to feel better. I found a counsellor, which meant I had someone to talk to, and having an actual diagnosis made it easier for my family to understand what I was going through. I still struggled to accept my body, but gradually I recognised that I didn’t see it the way other people did, and that it was possible for me to live a normal life. I even said yes when an old friend, Mike, asked me out. I’m working on the way I feel. I hope that one day I’ll feel truly confident in myself.
