I have a battled an obsessive compulsive disorder related to body dismorphic disorder and eating disorders since i was about 15.  I have been diagnosed with OCD as opposed to an eating disorder or BDD specifically becuase of the cyclical nature of my complusions. This is a note for myself as much as it is a note for the general public, it is a celebration of my path to recovery and my new found freedom from the all consuming fear that is OCD.

As a girl it is often hard to explain to people that my obsession with my body is abnormal.For many years I struggled with being unable to think about anything else but my appearance. It sounds incredibly shallow, however it wasn't that i didn't try to think about other things and concentrate on more pressing issues, i just simply could not. It is becuase of these things that to most others this sounds like a typical woman struggling with the media's ideals; and my mom told me such when i brought up my concerns. My mom also has an obsession with her body, this she denies.  However I think my sister and i were the only girls in junior high eating yogurt and protein powder for lunch or following a Susans Summer diet program.  It is my belief that her obsessions were passed down to me and my sister, who also battled anorexia when she was 14.

I had many rituals, some which i still practice only becuase they are such habit that i do them without even knowing. I would go to the bathroom probably 20 times a day minimum, just to spend a couple more minutes in front of a mirror to 1. check if i really was "fat" 2. to make sure that i was beautiful. I try to use the expression fat sparingly. I never thought i was grotesquely over weight, it was more so a fear of being unproportionate or mishapen or imperfect. My checking for beauty was also less for vainity and more becuase i was so confused as to what beauty was and if i had it, or if i would lose it. My next ritual was done every morning and evening. Before i could wake up and start my day or go to bed i would have to take off my clothes and inspect every inch of my body in the long mirror i had in my room. Depending on the outcome of this event i would either feel somewhat content or fight my internal voice for hours on end. I would blame myself and wonder how i let myself go. I would actually be able to feel my body growing (though i know this is impossible) while i was laying in bed. I could probably write a small novel on my rituals.

What would essentially happen, is something would trigger incredible panic in me and i would have a very strict talk with myself. I would carry on some sort of extreme diet/exercise program for some length of time until the panic had ceased and felt only slight unease. This process just continued to flow, and as you can imagine was very frustrating. It was the feeling of finally getting control and thinking you had an understanding with yourself, only to then realize that nothing had really changed and that you were still just as disorderly as you began.  People would often ask me why i didn't just remain on a realistic diet and learn to live with myself. This is the difference between being unhappy with your body, and having OCD. There was no time to lose the weight. It was a mad panic, i would have tantrums and scream and cry (all when no one was there). It was just slight discomfort it was life consuming, dizzying, paralyzing.

It was not until i met my boyfriend that i began to understand that a lot of the things i felt and did were abnormal.  My boyfriend is also obsessive compulsive. On valentines day we were talking and i started to tell him about my struggle and how i felt bad that i couldn't enjoy moments with him becuase i wasnt even mentally there. He told me he dealt with something very similair, and he told me the facts. Naturally i didn't believe him. I couldn't possibly have a real problem, all girls deal with this right? Besides, it wasn't like i was anorexic, i still looked fairly healthy (about 2 months before that day i was on a diet binge, i only weight about 110 pounds). It wasn't until i went to Vancouver with my girlfriends that i realized i wanted to get help. It was the first time i started purging. At that point i realized...healthy girls don't throw up their meals.

I was very nervous for my appointment with the university psychiatrist. I didn't think she would believe me. I had been trying to explain my depression and my difficulties to my mom for around 3 years now, and she certainly didn't believe me.  I wrote a list. A beautiful two sided page list of all the reasons why i thought that i had an anxiety disorder. The appointment was only 10 minutes.  My boyfriend joked that she would have to believe me just on merit that i took the time to write such an extensive list for a 10 minute appointment.  In the end, she believed me, and i started on my way of treatment.

I would like to now dispell a popular myth. Anti-depressants are not happy pills. They do not simply make problems stop happening for fix your existing ones. They are for people who don't have the ability to cope with things in life in the first place. Anti-depressants give you the power to cope.  I experienced quite a bit of reaproach (especially from my mother who still wasn't convinced) for taking anti-depressants. Everyone has this idea that we're weak if we need help, there is a definate stigma.  I won't bore you with the details of the next few months, essentially I started taking two different types of medication, they worked very well together.  I wasn't sure if i was really changing. Things were very difficult at home because my mom was recovering from an auto-immune condition (vasculitis) and my boyfriend and i were having problems becuase of his OCD and mine colliding. We eventually broke up. I was very hard. I was very worried that i may not make it.

Ironically this is when everything started to change. I let everything go from my grip of constantly trying to control. I figured it wasn't going so well anyways so why not try. Being beautiful began to matter less, I was okay with not being admired. Embarrassing moments were less terrifying and stopped conjuring up thoughts of self mutilation when i got home. I was learning to assert myself. I stood up to my mother.  My boyfriend and i talked again. We both agreed that while being soulmates, we both needed to find ourselves as people. We needed to grow up and learn how to be whole people even though we have this disorder.  He is still my best friend and my lover, but these days i now have the time to learn who myself is.  When all you can think about is your calorie intake for the day, you don't really develop much of a sense of self.

The end of my story is the most relative to this blog. I now work out 3 times a week with a friend of mine. My mom (who used to do body building), developed a full body strength training work out. We do high reps to start cardio while doing weights and then maximize our cardio at the end for about half an hour. I am not on a crazy diet. I eat healthier, becuase it makes me happy, but i still have my treats. I don't drink as much, becuase i can now be sober and be free of thoughts. I am seeing results.  What i realized is that i perpetuated my anxiety becuase when my positive body image was a result of extreme dieting and exercise, that positive recognition was also laced with fear. I knew i couldn't keep that up. I feared with a sinking, nauseating fear that soon i would be back to the start, with no control, all over agian. Now I have healthy body image that i know is sustainable. Its built on my lifestyle and my own respect of self. Thats not to say i don't ever feel bad about my body, or feel flawed as we all do. But when i look in the mirror now it is not a matter of flawed or unflawed, i look at the muscles i have sculpted and i am proud.  My body is now a tribute to the disorderly would i have escaped and the sufferin i have overcome.