AH! A beautiful Saturday day! Sun is shining, the patio is empty, I have my Second Cup skim green tea chiller and a brand new issue of Elle magazine.

Could Life be any more awesome!?

Flipping through the pages of my magazine I come across a compelling article - a gripping expose that can only be found in the latest fashion magazine, of course! This particular article brought to light the realities of Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD). BDD, it needs to be said, is a psychiatric condition where the individual has a preoccupatio with an imagine defect in appearance that can lead to unhealthy behaviour. The article goes on to clarify that eating disorders are not associated to BDD. That has something to do with serotonin reuptake inhibitors used to treat BDD doesn't work on those with eating disorders... or something like that. I honestly don't know the logistics, I did after all read it in Elle.

Understand?

There also needs to be something said that the original perameters established to diagnose BDD recently had to be revised because it turns out that pretty much everyone suffered from it. So they had to raise the bar, you know, like a twisted members only club for the genuinely warped.

But, this had me thinking. Recently, I went through a period where I didn't want to leave the house because I was overly concerned with the way my body looked. I even sat and cried. I constantly repell comments on how great I look with an "I'm so fat", I camouflage my "problem" areas, I seek reassurance from others on my appearance, I wear sunglasses to conceal wrinkles that apparently I only have vision keen enough to spot.

Like the girl in the article, I too considered going for therapy, but, the fear of being happy with my outward appearance prevents me. Because, seriously, what IF I'm happy and I gain a trillion pounds!!! And, this apparently is another indicator of BDD, an all or nothing attitude.

At this point, I'm hooked. Being able to relate to something appearing in a fashion magazine is oddly gratifying, probably due to its rarity. It opened my eyes, it helped me understand further I have a problem. But, of course, in true fashion mag style, the article just dropped off the radar and decended in the low flying zone of smaltz and personal discovery.

"WE HAD A BREAKTHROUGH, YOU AND I!," I think forcefully while shaking the article, "HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS?! HOW COULD YOU!?"

The vicious turn happened around the time when the writer went to therapy and revealed her cliff notes of her life in hopes of exposing the root of her disfunction. Of course, it came from her family! That makes sooooo much sense! It couldn't have come from anywhere else, like the FASHION MAGAZINE SHE WRITES FOR... or the ANOREXIC PREPUBESCENT MODELS COVETED IN ITS PAGES... or the ARTICLE ON THE NO ANEASTHETIC EYE PLASTIC SURGERY APPEARING ON THE COVER OF THE SAME ISSUE... or heck... you know... maybe it was an unhappy childhood. That's waaaaay more credible then the fashion industries destructive esthetic that's marketed like mass propangada.

Way more credible.

Anyway, in the end, the article gets sappy. She meanders about her lost love in South Dakota and tops it with the cherry of all cherries, looking at a black and white photo of herself as a child and asks it, "What do you need from me?" and the photo responds, "I need you to let me go. I need you to be brave. I need you to live your life now."

I think the photo said this "Put me the Fuck down and eat a sandwich, Bitch."

Unfortunatly, my photos tell me "You're a fat cow. But, you'll work it off."

Destructive, maybe.
But, I have really awesome girlfriends now, and they support me in ways that I never knew. They can support me in this.

BTW, rumour has it, those mega watt sunglasses the superstars are wearing are a sign they are anorexic in order to get more work. Think about it.