When I was about 23 I developed adult acne, which is pretty much the absolute worst thing ever.
OK maybe not, but it sure felt like it.
Not only was I overweight, now my face was covered in horrible, red, bulging, painful zits. There’s no way people didn’t notice, and while I don’t recall anyone ever saying anything to my face, it was one of the most traumatizing things in my life. Right on par with being bullied.
Eventually, I went to a dermatologist and got a whole regime of acne skin care medications that took care of it. The damage was done, though, psychologically.
During this time I felt disgusting. In my head, every person I encountered not only thought I was gross for being fat, they also thought I was dirty because of my skin. There I was in small town Wal-Mart, a fat dirty person.
I’m 12-13 years removed from it, and only have acne breakouts during PMS, yet I can still see the scars on my face. I realize they aren’t there, or if they are they aren’t very noticable to anyone else, but I see them. Every day. They haunt me. I frequently take pictures of myself, selfies, if you will, look at my skin then delete them because I look so gross and don’t want anyone to see my scars.
Body Dysmorphic Disorder at its finest, I presume.
After my surgery three years ago I was left with a large scar on my abdomen – similar to a C-section, but vertical. No one but my surgeon has seen me nude since then and the idea of someone seeing my scar is terrifying to me right now. Someone might see me nude this weekend and now I want to back out completely. I’m still fat, and now my body is all scarred up. Who the fuck would want me?
Nomadic Head 