I've been on a diet for about 2 weeks...why does getting thin have to be so much freaking work. It's so much easier when you live by yourself. No one is there to ask you, "have you eaten today?" No one is there to monitor you.

Did I mention I'm a camera whore? I use Photoshop to give myself nose jobs, eye lifts, new eye color, new hair color...new hair, a new body, new face.

My mom had a salon book of haircuts. There was a description talking about why beautiful women are beautiful. Symmetry.

It showed a model and they cut a picture of her face down the middle and then showed her face with both sections connected. She was perfect. Perfectly symmetrical. She looked damn near the same in every photo. And apparently that means your beautiful. Throughout the years of done this experiment many times…it never comes out perfect. Hard as I may try…I just can’t get my face to become symmetrical by looking at it for hours. And I can’t make money that way either.

Damn it.

I’m poor and asymmetrical.

I knew growing up all about the abuse and painful nature of my father’s upbringing. My dad was very open about the abuse, but it always came off very nonchalant in conversation. You can tell whatever torment he had gone through, he was keeping it inside. Whenever he mentions his dad, it's always with some side-note, like, "That crazy old man." or "Psycho." And then he moves on. It's almost like my dad just takes care of those moments as they arise by pointing out to himself, "The man is not right...move on."

My mom grew up with an abusive mother, so having two parents that were abused, a child is bound to grow up with some issues. My folks were very non-confrontational, but as a result, I walked all over them as a kid. Now that I'm older, I have extremely bad guilt about the way I was, with my mom especially. She was abused by her mother and then abused by her daughter...that's how I feel about it anyway. My dad was accused of being an alcoholic every day he was married to my mom...and every day after. I'm not sure if this is extremely accurate or not. I've seen my dad drunk...on more than one occasion. But, when does it become a problem with alcoholism? I like to get drunk…does that make me an alcoholic, too?

I grew up in a game of tug-o-war. Mom said dad was a drunk, dad said mom was neurotic, mom said dad was immature, dad said mom was a gold digger. Back and forth. What's a kid to believe? I directed a lot of my anger at my mom. She was the one that filed for divorce...she was the one that would suffer the consequences in my book.

Where my obsessions come into play, is when I was about eleven years-old. I was in 5th grade. The year before, both my brother and I had caught Giardia from a lake. By the time we were tested by a doctor and diagnosed and treated, we both had lost about 20 pounds from the parasite. As a result, I ballooned up and became a chunky kid when I had always been a slim kid. It was noticed by me and my peers. I started to obsess about my weight around this age. It was later that my fixation with my face would develop.

People would always tell my mom how much we looked alike. I was a "spitting image" of my mother they'd say. It was fine when people would say this in public, but then we'd go home and I would watch my mom go through her 40's in front of the mirror. Tugging on wrinkles and grabbing at her fat. She would talk about how ugly she was getting. How was I to take this? Apparently, I looked just like my mom, and my mom thought she was ugly...does this mean that I am ugly? So then, I started to obsess in front of my own mirror.

I'd lock myself in my bedroom and just sit there...nitpicking. I was 11 when I first started to go through puberty; most of my friends would follow at around age 12 or 13. I started my period when I was 12, most the girls started around age 13 or 14. I was ahead, and my body did not like being the odd "woman" out. That issue connected with my brain and I started to do everything to keep myself from developing further. The first time I tried Anorexia, I was 12. Keep in mind; I grew up with all of my mom's medical books at my disposal. And since she was in psychiatry (psychiatric nurse), I was able to see images of what could have happened had the disease gone too far. I realized right off the bat, I was a bad anorexic. I loved food too much. So, I decided that Bulimia would work much better for me. It worked for a while, but then I just wanted to throw-up everything...all the time. It got to a point where it was almost uncontrollable. I started eating normally and then the weight came back.

By the time I was 15, I was able to drive. I remember being really excited and driving to GNC (General Nutrition Center). I bought diet pills for the first time. I was addicted at that point. I spent all my allowances on diet pills containing Ephedrine. Nobody ever checked my ID (18 was the limit). The diet pills helped me not eat, and they sped up my metabolism. I would continue with the diet pills for years to come. In fact, I still fall back on them from time to time...and I would be lying to you if I didn't admit that I am currently taking diet pills.

I am addicted. I have an addictive nature. My obsession with my appearance is definitely severe. It ranges from me picking at blemishes on my face, arms and legs to pushing on my vertebrae in my spine to get them to straighten out. I know which foot is bigger than the other, which breast is bigger, which eye is bigger. My ear lobes are weird, my mouth has a new dot on it that won't go away, I have a new freckle here or there....I know everything about my body. I want surgery on almost every part of my body. Poverty is probably the best medicine for me. It keeps from acting on my obsessions. My husband is a great help for me too. Now that I am older, I am able to dismiss a fair amount of my self-perceived flaws and move on. But sometimes, I get so consumed with my flaws I can't leave the house. My depression gets so bad, I won't wake up. I don't dream. I don't understand. My body enables me to do these things, and I forget that someone tried to wake me up 15 times after 31 hours of solid sleep.

My aunts on my mom's side; I tried to speak with them about this issue, and they basically just said, "What woman doesn't hate her thighs?" And I wanted to say back to them, "What woman picks at her thighs with a nail file until they look like ground beef because she hates them that much?"

For some people, there is a disconnection when it comes to understanding mental illness. They don't want to understand it. For me, it has now become my goal to seek out why I am this way and fix it. I'm sick of feeling like a freak. I'm sick of isolating myself and others. I'm sick of being sick and I want to enjoy what youth I have left before I even attempt to become a mother.

Ho-hum. I'm going through an insomnia spell. Wheeee! Those are always fun...and by fun I mean, FUCKING ANNYOING. Josh and I snuggled up to go to bed around 11:00pm and I just could not get my eyes to shut. My neck and back are aching and my mind is wandering. Whatever is going through my head, I need to get it out. Honestly, though...you all don't want to hear about my problems or assumed problems. Trust me. The laundry list is way too long for me to start naming things off that bother, annoy, agitate, disturb and/or plague me.

I'll spare you all by summing it up and saying that I am depressed.

There, I said it. Depression is what is keeping me up. I honestly have nothing to be depressed about. But, I have horrible guilt and shame over things that are beyond my control. I really hope that people feel the effects of my guilt consumption. I imagine I could save someone from despair just by knowing their guilt and absorbing it as my own. It's a problem I have.

If you ever suspect me of stealing from you or murdering a hobo, all you would have to do is ask me. I would swell and sweat and burst into flames and cry a wallow...I would beg for forgiveness and admit my unworthiness...there would be no trial, I would ask for a life sentence without possibility of parole...I'd probably even ask for the death penalty. And I would do all of that...and still NOT be the guilty party.

It seems whatever problem I'm having, I morph into either one of two things; shame or guilt.

Shame usually comes when I skip a meal or eat way too much, pop a pill, drink too much, think evil thoughts, act annoyed when I have no reason to be, become hyper-critical of others, or more commonly, myself....etc.

Guilt usually comes when I skip a meal or eat way too much, pop a pill, drink too much, think evil thoughts, act annoyed when I have no reason to be, become hyper-critical of others, or more commonly, myself....etc.

A pattern? No. They're just the same thing to me. Interchangeable and never changing. I define them as I see fit. Sometimes I feel guilty for skipping a meal, but I get over it. It usually puts me in a bad mood, but I get over it. When I'm ashamed about skipping a meal, I'm really sad about it; as if I've done something bad. It takes me longer to get over it when I'm ashamed about it.

I want to be a better person inside and out, but I always want to work on the outside first...as if looking better will somehow help me to manage my inner-self. What a mess I have made of my life. I guess I just need to count my blessings and move on to the next hurdle.

Blessing #1 - Husband

Blessing #2 - Family

Blessing #3 - Friends

Blessing #4 - My Education

Blessing #5 - My Job/Co-Workers/Boss

Blessing #6 - My Health?

Blessing #7 -

Blessing #8 -

Blessing #9 -

Blessing #10-

How lame...I can't even think of 10 fucking things that make me feel blessed.

Help me out! My alarm clock will be sounding in exactly 2.5 hours. I'm screwed.

I'm trying to figure some things out about why I function the way I do. It's more of a dysfunction rather...


I tend to keep my personal problems to myself, and sharing in this platform is rather unlike my character. However, I am to the point where I feel like sharing and researching are my best methods for a possible recovery.


Last winter, I was seeing a therapist and he seemed to believe that I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder (or BDD). This was the second time in my life that this had been mentioned to me by a therapist. It's somewhat a branch off of obsessive compulsive disorder and deals with a preoccupation with physical appearance (or certain aspects of one’s physical appearance).


My preoccupation is with my skin, my nails and calluses, my hair, my nose, my scars, my teeth, and the fact that one of my eyes is significantly larger than the other, and my spine. On a given day, I'll spend anywhere from 2-4+ hours in front of the mirror, "nitpicking".


Right as my therapist and I were making some headway, I did what I always do when I'm making headway...I quit going to counseling. I didn't call my therapist to say I wouldn't show up...and he didn't call me to ask where I was.


I proclaimed that I was better. Seemingly so, I am usually better for about a month or two. Then I start in on the obsessions again. I've never had the strength of will to stick with an eating disorder, but I still continue to try occasionally thinking that I will look better all around if I just lose 30 lbs. I'm always on a different diet, and I'll spend hours in front of the mirror picking at my blackheads and blemishes with a nail file...scouring my face with the newest product on the market. I beat my face up until I can't bear to look at myself in the mirror...and then I just cry. I breakdown. I have a meltdown. I won't leave the house, I'll blow my friends and family off...and even worse...I'll push my wonderful husband away because I feel ugly - inside and out.


I had a bad experience while taking antidepressants a couple years back. I was nearly suicidal and I was quite erratic and moody. I'd cry and laugh; I'd wish evil things on strangers and talk to myself. I sincerely thought I might be schizophrenic. Needless to say, I quit taking antidepressants. Things seemed to get better...briefly.


All I know about our family and our history of mental illness is what my mom has told me about herself and my dad. I know we have depression in our family as well as addiction (two other things that I battle occasionally), but through my research I've learned that disorders like BDD and anorexia can also be genetic. I realize that these are skeletons that most of us would like to keep locked up, but I'm sincerely trying to fix myself and my disorder. If I knew I wasn't alone, it might make it easier for me.


Lately, I've been tossing around the idea of checking into an eating disorder clinic. At times, I just wish I could disappear for 6 months and come back healthy, happy and wise. Instead, I watch myself eat a meal in front of the mirror until my food no longer tastes good. Or I'll take scissors and cut the calluses off my feet until they bleed and I limp around.

Some days are really good for me, and some days are really bad. The other night, I had just finished picking my face and several red spots and welts had appeared on my face; some were even bleeding. Every time I passed the mirror I fought glancing at myself, but I did. I got so upset every time I caught a glimpse of my wrecked face in the mirror.

The night before that I spent about 3 hours on the internet researching plastic surgeons in the area. I compared before and after pictures of celebrities and everyday women who had received nose jobs. I even went as far as taking a picture of my face and doctoring it in Photoshop to make it look like I had a smaller nose. That was probably the worst idea - It reinforced that I would indeed look better with a smaller nose.

Beyond all this, I've been researching BDD and am finding that I truly do have a LOT of characteristics of the disorder. Beyond superficial physical preoccupation, it spoke about this one girl who was convinced her spine was crooked. It was one of those "Ah-Ha!" moments where I realized I wasn't alone, but I was definitely sick in the head. In the last 3 years or so, I'll occasionally beat on my spine with large objects trying to get my spine to straighten out. I dragged my full length mirror into the bathroom one day and fixed it so that I could see my spine in the mirror. I stared at my spine for quite a few hours and used a wooden hair brush to try and push my vertebrae around in my back. As you can imagine, nothing happened except for my spine turning bright red from all the applied pressure.

Another OCD characteristic of mine is whenever I'm exiting a bathroom, I have to check my zipper 3 times before I leave the bathroom. One day I didn't check it because someone was trying to talk to me in the bathroom, so I just walked out. I spent the next few hours after that freaking out thinking that my zipper was down. I'd have to walk behind filing cabinets and behind doors and check my zipper. I checked my zipper SO many times that afternoon I barely got any work done. Finally, I went back to the restroom and when I exited I checked my zipper and I didn't worry about it the rest of the day. I only noticed how crazy I was acting after I had checked my zipper in the office about 20-30 times. I was seriously concerned and weirded out by my antics.

I am a smart girl. That is why this torments me so much. I don't feel like I chose to be this way. I want help, but I'm also extremely stubborn. I feel like I can fix these things on my own.


Seriously, don't feel like you have to spill the beans and tell me your deep dark secrets...and I don't need your pity either. I'm functioning in society and I'm doing things everyday to better myself.



Thanks for reading/listening.

With love and kind regards,

ME