I am sure there may have been many hidden psychological triggers before what I consider to be the main trigger, but I remember the day it all started.

 I was asked by my university to get some passport photographs for my enrollment. Before I left home to get them, I inspected my face in the mirror and, for the first time in my life, adjusted my eyebrows because I thought they were asymmetrical. They were probably fine, but I noticed a slight imperfection. This was the start of seven months of despair.

 It got worse and worse. In one month, I went from 10 seconds in front of the mirror to two minutes in the morning, to ten minutes, to twenty, to forty, within two months. The disease was crippling me, and I fell into a deep depression. Starting university and moving away from home was probably a step too far me because the onset of the illness coincided with my first days in a new city, with new people, finally away from home.

 I was sharing a house with three other people and I think they must have been a bit confused by some of my behaviour. I was withdrawn, anti-social and bound to the bathroom. One morning I heard one of the girls mutter  'What is he doing in there?' Baring in mind that university started in September, by December I was really struggling to maintain an existence. It was not uncommon for me to spend an hour to ninety minutes ritualising in front of the mirror, studying my eyebrows and picking the skin behind and around them with the ends of my comb. I was also picking my forehead and became obsessive with using E45 cream. But I always thought it would be better after I had performed the rituals in the bathroom. Next time it would be better. But one minute later I could be back in the bathroom doing the same thing again. I think it is easy to go into a trance where you lose concept of time. Time more than flies. I think I hit rock bottom in January 2004 one Saturday when I returned home from university. I was in the bathroom from 10pm - 2.15am. I know my parents were hovering outside during this time but the trance ensured that I did not lose my focus. I could not come out of the bathroom. This was a horrible experience.

 I got on quite well with the guy in my house. He knew I was battling depression and some obsessive illness, though I did not go into detail about my rituals. I had little to keep me going really. No friends. I hated my university course and walking to campus. My dad drank a lot so that made going home even more painful. And BDD had overtaken me completely. By January, I was spending almost half of my day in front of the mirror. I had never seriously contemplated suicide because deep down I knew that I had a lot inside me to be successful one day. I was probably talented at a lot of things and I did not want to let that go. But when you are spending half of your day in front of the mirror and only really look forward to falling asleep, you wonder what the point is in carrying on.

By March, there were signs of a turnaround. Spring sunshine gave me some hope. I was prescribed citalopram and, whatever side effects that drug gave me, I am convinced that it got me out of a big big hole. By May, I was able to function quite well and the time in front of the mirror was manageable. It got better. My second year at university was great. I had a few friends. I could get up in the morning and not have to carry out the rituals any more. I played a lot of snooker. It helped me forgot the problems I had in my first year. I went out at night and sang in karaoke bars and felt free.

 Fighting BDD is not all down to a drug. I had to find my own methods to cope with it. I sometimes wore gloves in the house. It REALLY helps. Of course it might be strange if someone sees it. But we have to fight our own battles. I was able to battle the compulsions. Sometimes the line 'The more you touch it the worse it gets' runs through my head and it is true. I was making my skin and eyebrows worse.  One time I had lost most of one of my eyebrows because of my behaviour and although it recovered again I knew what I was doing was irrational.

 In the last few years, I have had some problems with picking my scalp. I may have lost some hair, but I think genetics has played its part and my pattern would suggest that. In the last few months I have been fighting it well -'THE MORE YOU TOUCH IT THE WORSE IT GETS'. This silent line in my mind is helping me again.

 Life is not so bad.