I don’t know where to start, but I think it will be short and sweet. I’ve had body dysmorphia for longer than I can remember. As I build muscle and gain strength in the gym, it’s hard to focus on success, not my flaws. It’s hard to separate my vanity from my actual health needs. It’s awful. I feel trapped in an endless cycle of discontent with myself. That’s where I think most of my panic and anxiety lie. I have this inner child begging for acceptance. But in my pursuit of distance from my past of ridicule, misery, and bullying, I treat this child the same way those bullies and abusers treated him.
I suffer from extreme anxiety. It comes in waves, but when it’s at its worst, a daily panic attack is not uncommon. At this point, they move a little quicker. The severity ranges from mild to average. But when they get bad, they get terrible. I think my heart will stop, I can’t be present in my body, and I’m convinced I’ll never return to reality. Part of my “health anxiety” stems from a brush with death I had in my early 20s. I actually “died” and had to be revived. But that seems less pertinent to me than my control issues being the root cause.
I adopted eating disorder behavior when I lacked control in my life. I previously used drugs and alcohol as my coping mechanism for pain and pretty much everything else. While I received treatment for these issues, I seamlessly transitioned to purging but celebrated my new “health” in sobriety. But I’ve explained this…so let me circle back to the dysmorphia aspect. When I look in the mirror, I see the fat kid. I see the same child who was ridiculed, singled out, and made to believe he wasn’t worth people’s time. When I think about the anxiety that goes into my vanity, it’s pretty easy to figure out why “looking fit” is so important. When I wasn’t fit, people made it clear that I didn’t belong. I wasn’t welcome in my own form at school, home, or anywhere else. I was singled out and never able to feel settled. So here I am today with the same mentality of constantly needing to retool and fix things to avoid that line of danger.
I love fitness. I’ve mentioned that a billion times. Especially as I’ve moved into more optimal and intelligent training methods, I feel more at home in the gym. My anxiety doesn’t exist there. But this constant check-up on my looks needs to end. Mainly because I FEEL better than I ever have, and it still doesn’t resonate enough to conclude that fear and anxiety. Im being faced with the reality that I have to actually reckon with and respect my past rather than wait for this wave of stress to be over and push through it.
I think my biggest goal is to just be happy with myself. I just want to love myself as much as the people in my life love me. I want to see what they see when they look at me. I’m used to pushing through and ignoring things rather than facing the issue. But this chapter in my life involves coming face to face with everything I am the worst at. I have to be patient, I have to sit still, and I have to be kind to myself. All of that sounds so simple. But finding the joy in life when it seems like you’re constantly outrunning the specter of anxiety is daunting. I also have a fucking amazing life. So then entered a cycle of self-deprecating speech regarding my lack of gratitude.
I’ve included a photo of myself in my weakest and most fragile state. I had just discovered the joys of calorie counting. The pandemic was in full swing, and my hopes of becoming a rising star comedian had been dashed. I began consuming 1800 calories per day along with haphazardly organized intense cardio and weight lifting. Predictably I dropped a lot of weight. My lowest was around 170 pounds.
As you can see on my frame, it’s not a fitting weight. I told myself I was fat at this stage. There were imperfections and “problem areas.” Looking at the photo now breaks my heart and induces stress.
At that time, I was near suicidal, and that’s not hyperbole. Whatever zest for life, I had completely fallen away. I had no hope for anything. But most of all, I hated myself. I didn’t know who I was. I still don’t know who I am now. But I am at least trying to love myself. So for me to look back on that photo and feel empathy for the person in that photo is a huge step. It gives me hope to know that I am not there anymore. Not only that, but I am poised and determined to move on from this stage. But I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to like how I look. I really hope I do. Because I think that the childhood version of myself who was bullied and abused, and ridiculed would consider this version of me pretty cool. In fact, I know he would. So maybe that’s how I have to approach it. Anyway. Thanks for reading.
