Even though it drives me crazy, yes, the post title spelling is intentional.
There's something that's been on my mind for a while and if I don't blurt it out, it's going to sit there and torture me like some sadistic little thorny fucker until I do.
Somehow the topic of body dysmorphic disorder came up. Don't ask me where - at work? Facebook? Email? I don't remember, but it got me thinking about how we view ourselves and each other. Not even sure this will make sense, but hey, that has never stopped me before.
Most people have some sort of issues (real or perceived) about themselves and their body. There are shelves upon shelves of books on the subject so I don't think it's just a theory on my part... we've got issues. It all boils down to people feeling too something or not enough something.
Along the way, I developed a bad habit. I scrutinized just about every female that I was around; studied them, almost. And no, not in a creepy, obvious way. Occasionally tv or photos in magazines would warrant a glance, but it was mostly in person. Their hair, hands, ankles, shoulder, ass... you name it and I had put enough attention into this study that one would think I was trying to commit the images to memory. It was actually reminiscent of when I was in art school and we had a model to draw. That breakdown of parts and shapes in order to make sense of the whole as if bit by bit.
For a while, I'd even wondered if I had latent lesbionic tendencies. (I don't think that's a real word, but I heard it on a tv show years ago and got a good laugh. And for the record, I don't give a damn about anyone's sexual orientation.) Anyway, for years the thought crossed my mind but I've never actually had anything to give me the idea that I might be bisexual. Not attracted to women really in any sense so although I questioned it, I had nothing to back up the concept. Of course the idea that I was spending a significant amount of time paying attention to how other women looked was becoming just plain weird, not to mention confusing, especially given the fact that I wasn't attracted to them.
Can't say for sure when I figured it out, but I'm glad I did. Turns out, the entire time I've been comparing. Which is why tv/magazine images didn't hold my interest. I craved that live model to study. My body image is fucked 12 ways to Sunday and some part of me was trying to right that imbalance. A handful of years ago I lost a significant amount of weight. Even then I still saw the same person in the mirror. I lost 100# and couldn't see the difference. Dropped 10 sizes and couldn't see it. Granted, I'm still overweight, but I clearly do not see myself as my actual size. My poor little brain sees other women and is trying to make sense of their size in relation to my own, although I think I can see them realistically, it's me that I can't see that way.
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't beginning to be of some concern. Staring at women one day, making a suit of their skin (a la Silence of the Lambs) the next. I mean, I really couldn't figure it out. Of course I've never said this to anyone and doubt I will. Other than here, obviously. If a friend of mine told me this, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be wondering if they were watching me. It really would be a bit on the creepy side. No one but me truly knows that it's really as far from creepy as you can get. It was literally all about me and my warped image of my own body ~ it had nothing to do with them. They were merely a benchmark, so to speak.
Having identified this issue, I am going to have to read a few books on the topic and perhaps glean some sort of helpful information that I can apply. Some obsessive tendencies probably made this worse, but the fact that I still see no difference in me physically after such a profound change is really kind of sad. It is akin to always looking in a fun-house mirror, I'd imagine. Except it isn't fun. Not at all.
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