I stood staring at the magazine article, my heart beating faster and faster.

‘I think I’m too ugly to live’ screamed the headline and I just knew I had to carry on reading.

I had just finished my shift at the old people’s home and as usual had been scouring the local shop for comfort food and something to read.

Now it felt that my life was about to change.

The article featured an attractive middle age lady who had a condition called Body Dysmorphic Disorder or BDD.

She was beautiful, well educated and seemed quite lovely staring back at me from the page, and yet as I read on I learnt she had attempted suicide and undergone countless cosmetic procedures because she felt too ugly to live.

I practically ran home as I felt elated, I knew that this was what I was suffering in silence with, that I wasn’t alone or crazy.

I was 19 years old and life had been hellish so far.

At 15 I dropped out of school as I felt too embarrassed and ashamed of myself to be seen by others.

I became agoraphobic for a year which was mostly spent hidden away in my bedroom where I frequently criticized my reflection in the mirror.

This wasn’t about vanity; I felt like a monster and found it difficult to even face family.

I would have struggled to tell you what it was about me I disliked so much, everything seemed flawed and unattractive and I couldn’t bare to look at photographs of myself.

Sheer will power got me out again and finally I met a guy and life seemed to be looking up.

I managed to work but often had periods of unemployment because I couldn’t leave the house for weeks or months at a time, or just couldn’t bear for people to see my face.

My first job was working in a children’s nursery and as much as I loved my job it was becoming unbearable.

By then I was obsessed with healthy eating believing that the additives etc in food were making me uglier.

I exercised at every opportunity and this obsession led me to pack in work because the anxiety of not being able to exercise was so extreme.

Hours were spent staring at my reflection in the mirror, moving the mirror round the room to see how I looked in different lighting and angles.

Long grooming rituals always followed but if I so much as nicked my leg shaving I would feel hysterical.

Strangely I was regarded by others as attractive and I revelled in the attention I got when I did go out.

I didn’t go out socially but a walk to the shops was all I needed to get my fix for the day, even though as soon as I was home and shut the door, the mirror beckoned and I would feel a fake for hiding the real me with make up and my clothing.

I could lose count of the times I changed jobs or moved away trying to make a ‘fresh start’ and yet all I was really doing was trying to run away from myself.

I knew I wasn’t ‘normal’, I couldn’t interact with people as I would have liked because of how I felt about myself, I couldn’t do normal things like going to the hairdressers because I couldn’t face seeing my face in the mirror.

Of cause I would tell my boyfriend how I felt even though it would raise an eyebrow and he would insist I was beautiful.

I couldn’t tell anyone else however, people wouldn’t take me seriously or think I was insane or perhaps even worse, vain so I thought.

I eventually plucked up the courage to get an appointment with Dr David Veale, a specialist in BDD based in London.

Sat there on his couch I almost couldn’t believe I was there and talking about how bad things were.

When he asked if I ever felt suicidal I pictured all the times I was bunched up on the floor in tears wanting to rip away my face and tear at the imperfections on my body.

But was I suicidal? No, as much as I had longed for the entire struggle to end, I could never contemplate ending my life, I was far too stubborn for any of that after all, what I really wanted was to beat it.

So it seemed I could take medication or Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, but as I left the Priory Hospital I had my head buried in a BDD help book and believed that I could get through this by myself.

One thing I learnt was that asking for help sooner is far better than thinking you can just get over it.

My life became a journey of dark moments and darker moments when I really was at my lowest and nothing mattered anymore, I was merely on autopilot, not living.

I wasn’t like everyone else, I didn’t think like everyone else and being different and struggling to function in a world I felt so uncomfortable in was crippling.

Now I had a tag round my neck, I was a BDD sufferer with social phobia and depression, could it get any worse?

Over the years my thoughts and feelings about myself waxed waned, my ‘flaws’ changed or existing ones got worse.

I picked at every imperfection on my face and magnified every little line on my face or vein on my body.

It could be the tiniest thing that nobody else would particularly notice and yet to be it screamed ‘UGLY’ which when I thought about it, meant deep down to me ‘UNLOVABLE.’

Now, I obviously can’t sum up 28 years to you as there’s hardly the space here, but I would like to share with you some memories.

“Standing in the toilet cubicle I felt my heart quicken as I knew it was time to face the day. I had a class of pre school children to look after and yet there I was with tears streaming down my face wondering how I was going to face the day looking like this.

All I could do was wipe the tears away and get through the day as quickly as possible.”

“I had picked and squeezed at my face so much that the resulting redness and blotches were making me feel hysterical.

I was due in to my shift as a carer soon and yet I was stuck at home in the bathroom mirror thinking up excuses why I couldn’t come in.

I cycled out into the darkness to find a phone box; a scarf was wrapped round my face to disguise the damage.

As a car past by, its lights beaming, I bowed my head and prayed the driver wasn’t looking at me and recoiling with disgust.

As I lied down the phone I felt ashamed and disappointed in myself and I knew once again that I was going to run away from my life and reality.”

“I hadn’t been out for months and this last month I hadn’t even bothered to get dressed.

Somehow my skin looked worse than usual and it seemed wearing clothes only exaggerated how bad it was.

Crazy? Well in my mind I felt better naked because with so much other flesh on show there was less emphasis on my face. (Of cause I didn’t see people this way; I didn’t see people at all!)

And so my days were filled walking back and fourth to the mirror and praying that my life would change, that I would.”

“I stood fixated to the mirror, the image in front of me to disgusting to handle.

I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t look like other women, why I had to look so awkward and ugly.

Sometimes if I stared long enough I could convince myself I wasn’t as ugly as I thought, this time however I was convinced I looked much worse.

I was crying now and panicking, life suddenly didn’t feel worth living, I didn’t know how I could go on living in this body that felt like a prison, a place I hated so much.

Hours flew by without my knowledge and now I was even convinced my hair was thinning and that my teeth were loose and going to fall out.

Every little line on my face looked like a hideous scar.

Pacing around I wanted to scream for the world to stop spinning so I could get off.

Instead I threw myself under my bed covers and cried and cried praying that I would fall asleep and wake up beautiful.”

Trust me, I could go on but I think you get the idea ;o)

So, do you want to know what brings me here?

Trying to fight with myself wasn’t getting me anywhere. I held on tightly to the knowledge that this was a mental illness and that the problem wasn’t in the physical, it was about giving me that glimmer of hope.

Armed with the knowledge I was very ill, I devoured every help book out there, BDD, Low Self Esteem, and Depression etc.

I trawled through the internet and learnt as much as I could, arming myself with as much knowledge and power as possible.

I spoke to family and finally told them what I had been going through since being a child.

Being able to get that out in the open was like a cloud shifting and letting the sunshine poke through, I felt like I had let myself free after all this time.

I talked to my GP about how I was feeling and tried medications until I finally found one that alleviated much of my obsessive thinking and distress.

I tried CBT but due to the expense of going private, decided to teach myself it and completed a long distance self esteem course.

Then came along the idea of BDDHELP, as I was desperate to reach out and help others going through what I had.

Being able to deposit my ideas and thoughts to other people was/is empowering and kept me focused on being positive and changing.

It makes everything I have been through feel worthwhile as I can stand up and truthfully say “I understand” “I have felt that way and been through that.”

What I mostly want to say is “There is a light at the end of the tunnel.”

Don’t get me wrong, I am not claiming to be free of my BDD demons, but I have found ways to keep them under control and to get enjoyment out of things I never could before.

It’s a slow process reprogramming your brain to think differently so you eventually feel differently, but it’s worth it! And it can even be fun getting to discover who you really are from the inside too, to see yourself changing for the better by develop new ways of thinking and being. Life is an adventure and that is the only way to look at it.

Some days I struggle and cry and get frustrated because I don’t feel good enough or presentable, it’s to be expected and you pick yourself up and brush yourself down.

I would like to end by saying a big Thank You to all of you that have contacted me since BDDHELP was created.

For me it has been wonderful getting to know others and I also get much support and encouragement from you all too.

Seeing how brave you all are in the face of this disorder is what keeps me here trying to provide you with as much support and information as I can.

Emma