Lack of Control. Destruction of my sense of self. It all translates into a perceived physical manifestation. For me this is body dysmorphia. What you see, is not what I see. I’ve been told over and over what wonderful shape I’m in, how great my body is, how beautiful, how this, how that… and I smile politely and say ‘thank you’. If I’m having a particularly good day, I may even believe the compliment. Or I should say, I do believe that whomever is telling me these things believes it, I, however do not see it. If I’m not having a good day, the voice in the back of my head finds ulterior motives for such compliments. Especially if they come from men – as a means to get into my pants, or get something else from me. I know I don’t look so good, how could someone else really believe what they’re saying, they must want something. Maybe it’s a little paranoid.
You may see someone pretty. All I see are my flaws. I can’t see myself as a whole picture most days. I see pieces in a shattered mirror, amplified, multiplied until that’s all that is in focus. If everything isn’t perfect, the whole picture is flawed. And nothing is ever perfect unless I am in control. Control of my body, my body image, is key. If I can control what I eat, how good my work outs are, they manifest physically into a very lovely physical result. My hard work is rewarded with results I can see and I feel wonderful for the accomplishment. If I slip a little, indulge just a bit too much, I see it the next day, amplified grotesquely. All I can do is obsess over what I must do to correct what I’ve done to myself. All the while hiding from those around me so they won’t see my shame in what I’ve done as my anxiety rages out of control. How I’ve lost control.
Everything is about control.