#dysmorphic

[eye-coded-rat]

(ep2) CAT3RBC1567-23092022-18012024

Transformation (full) -/- dysmorphic [video call]

"a pristine paintbrush design spanned from the interior of my elbow to the inside of my palm, a flurry of colorful floral patterns entwined with symbols I didn't recognize."

Daria's issues with her self-image + being an artist = The artist becomes the canvas, thanks Ink5oul!

Sounds like the tattooing process was INCREDIBLY painful, but there's no aftercare required! That's okay, more time for self-mutilation that way!

Also, the only memorable thing about Ink5oul being their tattoo? "an absolutely gorgeous floral serpent design running up their arm and into their neck that was so vivid it looked ready to slither off their skin and onto the chair." Real Looking Snake, tell me your secrets.

[warm-autumn-evenings]

scars are normal. scars are a physical proof of your body’s ability to heal. scars make it known that you’re alive. you’re marked by life. the raised scars, the keloids, the scars people stare at you for. they’re a visual map of your life & nothing more. scars have no morality scars don’t reflect on the morality of your existence. media loves to portray scars on monsters and villains and leave the heroes to be unmarred, but that narrative does not apply to real life. you’re a whole human being worthy of being seen, loved, respected.

[ballerinafigurine]

Wishing all the boys and men who are struggling with body dysmorphia a good day. You are worth more than your looks, and you are definitely worth more than what your brain says you look like.

[irisgoth]

⚠️ [horror warning!] ⚠️ // AU!

TW: BODY DYSMORPHIA / CURSED EYES / TRYPOPHOBIA

Last warning: this drawing may contain sensitive images for some people!

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I think.. this was one of the most satisfying drawings I've ever done fr 😭��

But after all, what is body dysmorphia?

It is a mental illness that involves an obsessive focus on a bodily characteristic, sometimes imagined, that the person considers to be a serious defect in their own appearance.

Just like Sawyer, I imagine that because of various traumas from his past, he has adopted this disease into his own body, feeling disgusted with himself.

ok I'm done

Also included a quote from the song "VOID" by Melanie Martinez, I thought it would match :3

[yearningsaphic]

Does anyone else look in the mirror long enough and examine your features to the point where you start to get physically nauseous? Just me? Ok

[iamahopelessromantic]

Trying to explain dysmorphia to people in the only way I can explain it for myself:

• loving your body parts intrinsically, but hating yourself on a whole image.

• it’s feeling beautiful inside and catching yourself for a moment at the wrong angle in a mirror and the neurotic thoughts come back in.

• it’s knowing something was a certain way once and you don’t know if you’ll ever see yourself the same again.

• trying to distinguish which is your real face/body: the mirror, the camera, someone else’s view, is the lighting natural or not, inverted or not - which is your true self? Everyone questions this, but with dysmorphia it’s an uncontrollable mental obsession that we never really know what the “true self” looks like. Our mind changes the perception too often and can morph your mind to think you see changes that aren’t there - negative or positive.

• it’s a battle of self acceptance for what is new, but wasn’t controlled.

• trying to settle your brain when it remembers that something changed.

• people questioning why you’d have any reason to feel the way you do, but they don’t know the feeling in the same way. It’s not the same type of feeling that it is with mental health where it’s the self esteem/worth.

• hoping you can have one day without one of the thoughts breaching.

• saying affirmations that have no affect because of how the brain processed what happened.

• trying not to let dysmorphia ruin any positivity that can happen.

Everyone who suffers with dysmorphia will have their own version of how it affects them, but this is just a few of the ways how I can explain how it affects me.

They’ll be different circumstances to dysmorphia whether it’s gender, medical, body, face etc. My dysmorphia came from an accident.

I’ve only been able to open to one person fully about this because it makes me extremely emotional and I don’t trust many people with my vulnerability.

[oacest]

helloo!! i'm new in oasis and u do a really cool job with researching, i did similar work with one band from my country and i can tell you're REALLY cool thank u so much for aaaall your stuff!!! u make diving into the band so much easier. and i wanna ask u... i'm seeing A LOT of stuff with gallaghers and kate moss. i assume they were besties?? especially with noel??? maybe u have some details about their relationship, they seem like a really surprising duo.. are they still friends?

anyway thanks again!!!

thank you, that's so sweet!!! obsessive insanity makes scholars of us all 🤗

but yeah, kate moss and noel have been besties since the 90s, they go on vacation together and hang out at each other's houses and so forth to this day. kate's not been friends with liam so much though lmao. which make sense. clearly she's a born noelgirl, what can you do.

here are some pics to gladden the heart:

[irisgoth]

" 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧. "

reference under cut 👇

damn, I loved this one so much 😭😭😭

drawing his hair is my therapy hihihihhihihhii

[plumerii]

omfggg. i knew i liked this guy

[failure-girl-fuyu]

this just in: local kid who "loves dressing cute" on the verge of a breakdown over having to get clothes

[aloevista]

I wish it was normal to just wear a mask your entire life. Like a full face mask. I’m tired of people being able to witness how grotesque I look. I don’t even want to have to see my face when I look in the mirror because it ruins my entire day. I’d be so much happier if I could just hide it. While I’m at work, when I shower, while I sleep, I don’t want it to be possible for myself or anyone else to end up catching a single glimpse of it. I don’t know how my boyfriend can even stand to look at me, let alone love me, when he’s so pretty and I look like an actual monster 

[battling-my-demons]

My god, I am so ugly and disgusting to look at. I hate everything about myself. I'm shaped like a literal rectangle. I don't know how anyone can stand to look at me when I only see a monster looking back.

[tumble-tv]

My medications make it extremely hard to lose weight and extremely easy to gain it. It's not like I can just diet and work out to drop 30 lbs. It takes so much longer than you'd ever think. Gaining weight, on the other hand? No problem. I took gabapentin for one month, ONE MONTH, this past summer and gained 30 lbs like that. I can't get rid of it. I hate it.

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

npd + bdd culture is wanting people to pay attention to you but not to you. dont look at my physical self but please give me attention. black and white thinking going back and forth from "i dont exist", "im the best person in this room". "dont look at my face". "dont look at my body". "look at my outfit i spent hours on it".

-🧸🧷

.

[jewishrat420]

Eddie Munson doesn't know what he looks like.

Sure, when he looks in the mirror, he sees a guy with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes to match. He sees two arms and two legs and a scar-crooked smile.

He sees all the parts that he has, all the parts that he knows he's supposed to have.

And he's capable of recognizing that they belong to him. It's not like he thinks he's inhuman, some beast of otherworldly nature.

(At least, not on good days.)

It's just... well.

Sometimes, when Eddie looks in the mirror, all he can really see is his face.

Like, sure, he can see the rest of his body. He knows his face is attached to the arms and legs that he's capable of recognizing in some separate, distant sense at some separate, distant time.

But when he tries looking at himself as a whole (after buying himself a full-body mirror to hang on the back of his door), it's like his face alone is magnified a hundred times over.

Like all he can see are the hollowed-out sockets where his eyes sit, the heavy flush of his cheeks, how stark it is against the rest of his pale skin.

It's like he zoomed in too far and got stuck there, unable to refocus and look at the picture as a whole.

All he can see is each individual pore that travels like a lightning rod through his skin. All he can see is the curve of his nose and how big it looks when his brain doesn't recognize its place on the rest of his face.

It's like he sees each feature individually. His eyes are miles away from his lips, his chin and forehead a stretch farther than that of the sun to the moon. Hopelessly revolving around each other in the desperate attempt to cross paths, understanding the inevitable and fighting against gravity to change it.

He recognizes that he has a face. That his eyes and nose and mouth and cheekbones and pores all belong in the same place, on the same body, to the same person.

But it's like there was a wire cut somewhere in his head. Like the connection that reminds him that all those separate parts actually go together was severed. That reminds him he's more photograph than Picasso, less alphabet soup and more a well-structured sentence.

It's worse when he looks at his body.

Because there's so much more to it than to his face. There are so many parts, so many varied pieces that somehow fit together and make him the gangly, skeletal, off-center human he knows himself to be. The sack of bones and blood that moves when he tells it to.

He looks in the mirror and sees his arms, how they hang and where they fall. And then it seems like they keep going, and rather than focusing on where they end (just above the jutting curve of his waist), all he can see is how little space there is from the tips of his fingers to his feet.

And then his arms look ten feet tall, stretched out to fit the entire length of his body, and when he turns away from the mirror, he swears his nails are going to drag along the carpet.

He doesn't know why he feels like this, but he knows he's been this way since he was a kid. He didn't know it was any different than how everyone else felt, assumed in that childlike way that he was just like all the other humans on this planet.

And then, one day, Wayne told him he should probably trim his hair. Said it was getting real long.

And Eddie had looked at him, confused, because his hair hadn't really grown for as long as he could remember. Kind of just stayed the same length, always at the same place on his body.

So Wayne led him to the tiny, clouded mirror in the yellowed bathroom of the place he'd learn to call home, his calloused hands big on Eddie's shoulders. He'd trailed a path with his finger from Eddie's scalp all the way down to the middle of his back, drawing a horizontal line where his hair ended.

"See, Eds? S'all the way down your back."

And Eddie remembers seeing this, even today. Remembers how confused he felt trying to connect what he saw in the mirror with the image his brain was showing him. Fighting reality with his own imagination— a battle he would soon learn cannot be won.

Because his hair did fall halfway down his back, objectively.

But it was also three feet off the ground, too, and that's pretty high up.

So it must not have been too long after all.

Because it still didn't look long, not to Eddie, not until years later when he and his uncle would bring out one of the scrapbooks and he'd finally see what the rest of the world did, if only for a moment.

It was then that Eddie learned he'd never quite see the world the same as everyone else. The way it was meant to be seen, by people who were meant to see it.

He'll see what's really there, eventually, but only after that version of him is no more than a fleeting memory. Only after he's adjusted to the way he looks in the present, to the vision his distorted eyes show him when he enters the hallway of mirrors.

It gets worse with the scars.

Because now his brain has something else to play with. Something else that convinces him that the thing whose limbs move around when Eddie tells them to isn't actually the person he calls "himself."

That they're actually three separate entities:

Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson's body, and the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body.

Three separate things, none of which have ever existed in the same world, let alone in the same person.

It doesn't bother him. Not always.

He doesn't need to know what he looks like, as a whole, the way other people see him. That's not for him.

No, Eddie Munson's Body is for the people that turn away when they see it in the grocery store. For the people who will peer upon its pale face in an open casket and mourn the thing that was inside it. The thing that Eddie knows to be himself, the thing that's begging to be seen for what it is.

But there's not much that can be done about it.

And most of the people in Eddie's life are there for him, for his brain, for the thing that floats inside Eddie Munson's Body. They don't care about what it looks like, only that He's in there.

Still, sometimes when Eddie looks in the mirror, he thinks he sees it. Him.

Eddie inside Eddie Munson's Body, hidden behind the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body.

He thinks he sees it, him, buried somewhere deep. Small, naked, crouched in the corner. Shaking with its hands clasped in front of its chest like it's praying.

He wishes he could do something. Wishes he could reach in and grab it, hold it in the palm of his hand (the one that really belongs to him, the one that he can see) and nurture it until it's bigger than the Thing, bigger than the Body, bigger than the whole world.

Big enough to be seen.

But every time he tries, it disappears like sand between his fingers.

So he gives up.

He drags his nails on the carpet and cuts his hair when Wayne tells him to.

He fills the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body and plasters a smile on the face he thinks is his.

x

original post

[therpistlr]

"BDD Feels Like Being Trapped in a Funhouse Mirror..." 🎭

Ever look in the mirror and see something completely different than what others describe? Where every reflection feels like a cruel trick, and no amount of reassurance ever sticks? Body dysmorphic disorder is exhausting - like being stuck in a mental hall of mirrors where the distortions feel more real than reality.

It's that soul-crushing cycle of: 🔹 Spending hours analyzing "flaws" no one else notices 🔹 Canceling plans because clothing feels like a personal betrayal 🔹 The whiplash of "maybe I look okay?" to "I can't be seen like this" in 0.2 seconds

But here's the hopeful part: the mirror doesn't get the final say. The Body Dysmorphic Disorder Workbook (💖 check it here) offers actual tools to: ✦ Challenge distorted thoughts with cognitive reframing ✦ Reduce compulsive checking/avoidance behaviors ✦ Cultivate self-acceptance that goes deeper than appearance

This isn't another "just love yourself!" platitude - it's a science-backed roadmap out of the BDD spiral. Progress might mean some days the mirror feels less like an enemy, and other days just getting through a video call without panicking.

You deserve to exist in your body without constant critique. The journey starts with one defiant act of self-compassion. 💪✨