Psycho-Babble Writing Thread 311958

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Body dismorphic disorder

Posted by delna on February 11, 2004, at 6:51:42

Hi
I thought I would just share something I wrote when I was suffering from extreme body dismorphic disorder. I took it out today as I am having a bit of a relapse despite meds.
Anyway....
also i want to clarify that when i talk about 'drag', its simply my way of saying a man in womens clothes. I dont mean to offend anyone on this account.
Thnx 4 reading
D

The man in drag

The man in drag often believed he was actually a woman and could sometimes pass off as one. He was lucky in that his face was hairless due to some hormonal quirk but his features had an unmistakably manly quality. It was hard to say exactly which feature contributed to this maleness in him- but the collection of shapes and forms of his face were nonetheless distinctly masculine devoid of any element of feminine softness.
In essence he would have made a passable man, had he had any inclination to be one. Not an attractive one but one who could cause merely a minor flinching reaction in onlookers. Unfortunately his body was that of a woman. Curvaceous and sensuous -an embodiment of everything that was feminine. He was as absurd as centaur, half man- half horse albeit hardly as graceful or fascinating. More an abysmal show of the universe’s cruel sense of humor.
Still it was a relatively light hearted joke, this he realized. He tried to be grateful that he was blessed with good health, a blessing of which millions were deprived. For he knew that there was nothing worse that the ravages of disease. Ugliness was a lesser evil.
Yet life and the world could be heartless at times. Rarely blatantly mocking, which may have actually made him strong. Rather playing malicious tricks with his mind. So he would suffer alone, isolated and intensely in the depths of his psyche feeling the anguish in every living cell. He suffered due to his own desires.
It was a universal joke. Everyone seemed to be in on it, except him. It seemed to unite the rest of the world in an unrelenting unison. People would tell him he was a woman, an attractive woman. Some went to the extent of praising his feminine beauty to the point at which he even believed it. And why not? He was extremely particular about his drag which included a carefully considered battery of make up tricks, to disguise the horrible and create an illusion of beauty. Beauty, a quality which was to him so empowering and pure. And one he aspired to create in himself.
He spent time each morning painting and covering, camouflaging and highlighting, curling and shaping. At the end of the hour he was ready to leave the safety of his four walls. Not quite knowing how he looked. Unsure if he had been successful in his endeavors and anxious to assess the world’s reactions to a face that was partly his creation.
And the world, fully aware of this vulnerability would recklessly tease him, would attempt to convince him that he had achieved success. That not only was he tolerable but was infact attractive. And being weak, greedy and ungrateful he wanted to believe them. And often did only to be shattered later.
For when he looked in the mirror, full of anticipation and hope he was confronted with the harsh unchanging truth that was his reality. He was no beauty queen. No divine female specimen. No, he was just a basic freak of nature, a clumsy step in the cosmic dance. The laugh was on him but he could not appreciate the punch line.
Mocking him was a hideousness that made his insides churn with revolt and his mind protest indignantly to the lucid reality. He looked away from the mirror, in a moment of disbelief and then recast his eyes on the image hoping his eyes were up to some spiteful trickery. But the image remained unchanged; it shuddered with the purest of truths. The reflection taunted him, its demonic quality illuminated. The sinking feeling in his heart mixed with intense nausea intensified as he rested his eyes loathingly on his reflection. He saw no beauty. There was no escaping the truth. He was just a man. No, not just a man but a repugnant, hideous man who couldn’t accept his plight and embrace the losing hand he had been dealt. A man desperately trying to be something he wasn’t and hoping against all odds to get away with his contrived lie. He was merely a wretched man. A man in drag.

But alas he would continue to hope and the world would continue to play. Each day the hope followed by bitter disappointment made the truth become steadily less bearable. Till in a moment of all knowing he finally erased this ugliness from the fabric of existence depriving the world of a source of endless amusement.

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