I have suffered from BDD for 10 years; it started when I was 18. I became convinced that there was a patch of bumpy, scarred skin on my face and became obsessed with it. I only liked to go out at night as I thought people couldn't see my hideous flaw as well. I lived with it, had a boyfriend but was sure he thought I was disgusting and just didn't say, couldn't look people in the eyes, and had really low self esteem. I tried various creams, would sleep with scar pads on my spot, and would spend hours a day in front of the mirror inspecting it. When I went out, I would cover the spot with makeup (although it still showed through), wash it off and reapply it 4 or 5 times. I was convinced I was disfigured. I was living less than a life, not able to enjoy anything.
It came to a head in 2005. I was breaking up with my boyfriend - totally mutual and friendly, I wasn't really upset about it, but I started panicking because I was convinced I would never find anyone who would overlook my flaw. Finally I broke down and told my best friend about the bumps. I had never told anyone, I was too embarrassed and I thought everyone knew I was very ugly but felt pity for me. It was also like I didn't want to hear "but you're a great person" or "it's not so bad." My best friend came up to my face and peered closely. "What bumps?" She said she didn't see what I was talking about. I thought she was just being nice. Also, I had gotten angry and in a fit of BDD picked at the bumps I saw, which left what I thought was a huge gaping scar. For weeks, it was all I could talk about - I was no longer hiding my flaw but obsessing about it - on the phone to my sister, to my friends, who couldn't understand what I was talking about. They listened patiently though. I was spending about 6 hours a day in front of the mirror - I would feel tears start to come at my desk at work and go into the bathroom and sit in front of the mirror, hating my scarring. I hid in my house for weeks, drinking a lot and making excuses to friends so I didn't have to go out.
Finally, one night I broke down. I couldn't stand it anymore - I was becoming increasingly paranoid that people on the street were talking about my skin. I had mirrors all over the house to look at my face in different angles, lighting, and it always looked horrible. I had a crush on a guy but "knew" I could never get him because he'd only seen me in a dark pub and if I actually went on a date with him or something, he would see how scarred I was. I called my parents in tears, my dad answered; he'd never heard me like this. He knew something was wrong and he told me my mom would fly out the next day to spend some time with me. I cried and told him about the big scar I had and how my skin was ruined, destroyed, and I couldn't stand being so ugly anymore.
My mom came out the next day, she hugged me and I felt a bit better, and took the next two days off work sick. She kept telling me all she saw was a little scratch, but I didn't believe her. We went to emergency and I was given some Ativan, but I just told the nurse I was feeling suicidal and didn't get into the skin problem. My mom tried to help, cheer me up at home, but I felt worse and worse. She forced me to go to emergency with her again, and this time, the psychiatrist came in. I broke down and told him my suicidal thoughts were because of my awful skin problems. He got me to point out what I meant, and then said "We would like to admit you." My mind raced, I hadn't thought that would happen. Still, I had no idea about the BDD; I thought they were admitting me solely because of my suicide risk.
I spent the next 3 days in the common area waiting for a bed in the psych ward. Thank God for my mom, she came every day to visit. That time is very hazy, I was on a lot of Ativan (they just gave it to you whenever you asked) and it wasn't very comfortable. I moved up to the psych ward where I stayed for 7 days. I was assigned a nurse and psychiatrist, who I talked to every day. Despite my extreme embarrassment about my skin, I showed the doctor my problems including this new scar and the bumps and scars I thought I had also. I still had no idea, as at this point the doctors and nurses just listened to me and didn't offer any advice.
My mom and I met with the psychiatrist on the 3rd or 4th day, and he said he had a diagnosis. Body Dysmorphic Disorder - I'd heard about it but didn't know a lot about it. He said it was severe to the point that it was paranoid and delusional - there was NOTHING there and I was beginning to think people on the street were talking about it, etc. I was shocked. I asked him if he was sure, if maybe it wasn't just the lighting in the room or something. He said yes, we're sure. I asked the nurse back on the ward "but can't you see the bumps and redness?" She said, almost sadly, "No, I really can't." It was like a light bulb went on, there was nothing there. Still not convinced, I asked my mother, my friends...they saw nothing.
It was good to have a name for what I was suffering from, and in a way I felt like I had a new chance at life. For 10 years, I had hid my face in shame, thinking that I was scarred, avoiding social situations and opportunities. But it wasn't really there - I was attractive after all! I felt so happy that I wasn't disfigured, but sad that I had wasted so much time thinking that I was. It was difficult because I still really saw the scarring but had to come to terms with the fact it wasn't there. I still have no idea why on earth I would see a patch of bumps and scars on my skin that didn't exist, BDD is still very much a mystery to me.
I was put onto Paxil and Risperidol - an anti-psychotic medication that they said might help with seeing the scarring. I later changed my anti-depressant to Effexor as I found it to be more effective. I was slowly given passes to leave the hospital (the ward is locked as you are certified) and spent days with my mom. I would go back to my apartment and have a shower, play with my cats...I dreaded going back to the ward, where I shared a room with two other women and slept in a skinny, uncomfortable bed. The ward I was on wasn't for dangerous mental patients, mostly depressed, suicidal and a few schizophrenics. I felt bad because the entire time I was there, I never saw any parents or friends come to visit anyone else. My mom would come at the start of visiting hours (2) and stay until the end (9).
It's been a year and a half since that time. I'm slowly weaning off of Effexor, and I gave up the Risperidol a few months ago. I didn't really find that it made much of a difference with what I saw. I have also been able to stop the compulsive mirror checking and reapplying of makeup. I am happy at my job and was married last year to a great guy. I'm not saying everything about my BDD is gone; I still suffer from symptoms if I catch myself in a brightly lit department store, or if someone is close to my face, especially in the daytime. It's like most of the time I realize it's not real, but sometimes my mind is powerful enough to convince myself that this is new scarring, or it is there, even though deep down I know it's not. I also worry about when I start getting lines and wrinkles, because I still inspect my skin carefully and hope that I don't distort that perception either. But all in all, I feel good, and I'm glad for my journey. Although I had to hit rock bottom and struggle for awhile, it made me stronger and I got my life back.
Erin
BDDHELP, As mentioned in the book, Overcoming Body Image Problems including Body Dysmorphic Disorder, by Rob Willson, David Veale, and Alex Clarke. 