Dysmorphia
777 Words
Dysmorphia
Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD), occasionally still called dysmorphophobia, is a mental disorder characterized by the obsessive idea that some aspect of one's own body part or appearance is severely flawed and warrants exceptional measures to hide or fix their dysmorphic part on their person.[1] In BDD's delusional variant, the flaw is imagined.[2] If the flaw is actual, its importance is severely exaggerated.[2] Either way, thoughts about the dysmorphia are pervasive and intrusive, occupying up to several hours a day or more. The DSM-5 categorizes BDD in the obsessive–compulsive spectrum, and distinguishes it from anorexia nervosa.
"My face is all wrong. Ugly," the woman said.
"Why do you say that?" the man said. His voice came at a pastiche of highs and lows, like a distortion on the radio.
"Look at it!" the woman cried out, pointing at her face.
"It doesn't matter what I think, it only matters what you think. What do you think is wrong with it?"
She sighed, covered her face. "It's those lines under my eyes," she gestured wildly, her fingers seeming to scratch an inch away from her face.
"Lots of people have lines."
"Not like these! And my right eye, the eyelid hangs lower, can't you see it?"
"Hmm. Perhaps. That doesn't make it unattractive."
"It's skewed, for f**k's sake! It's skewed, and it's horrible."
She wept for a while, and the man let her get it all out. "Is that all? I hardly think an eyelid is what brought you here."
"It's more. Look at those teeth," she grinned, making them visible.
"They look pretty normal to me," he said softly with his warbling voice.
"No, they go every which way, they're horrible. I can't smile, I laugh and cover my face. All my photos have me doing the same face."
"You'd say you're self-conscious of your smile, then?"
"That's what I just said," she snapped back. She sighed and wiped her snot on her sleeve. "And my ears, ugh..."
"What about them?" he asked, curious.
"Well, for starters the shape is horrible. Really ugly, not like a pop-star's."
"That's interesting, but I'd like to tell you something. A person's ears are as unique as their fingerprint, did you know that? So, in a way, you couldn't have the same ear shape as someone else."
"Okay, whatever! That only means that my earprints are ugly, nothing more. Look at them!" she said, pushing them forward.
He chuckled. "Well, I don't think that anyone looks pretty with their ears pushed forward like that. Not even a pop-star."
"Okay, you have a point. But my left one is slightly higher than the other. And that's not just in my mind, my f*****g sunglasses don't sit right, I have to bend them a little so they can sit properly on my distorted face."
"It's true that symmetry of the face is considered beautiful, yes."
"See?"
"But!" He raised his hand. It was hard for her to focus on it. "There are people without facial symmetry that are considered beautiful, sometimes other qualities come in play. Like eye-colour, lips, the jawline..."
She scoffed loudly. "Don't tell me about my jawline. Look at it! It's the ugliest thing on me, seriously."
He tsked. "Trust me, your jawline is fine as it is, same as everything else on you."
"And what about these?" she said, grabbing her breasts in each hand. "Do these look nice? Do they look pretty?"
"It would be inappropriate to comment on that."
"Tell me! Are they pretty? Would you like to cup a feel?" she demanded.
"I'm only saying this so we can move past this subject, yes, your breasts are pretty. If we were outside this session, I would very much like to cup a feel."
She pulled back. "Oh. Then you like the ugly."
He took a breath. "You'll find that lots of people like the ugly, as you call it. It's called being unique, interesting, even alluring."
"Then they're ugly too!" She crossed her arms. "And I don't want ugly people lusting after me."
He sniffed. "Well, I think this concludes our session," the featureless man said.
She pepped up. "Really? So, will you let me do the procedure?"
"My expert opinion is that yes, from my end, you can have the procedure," the man said, the empty voids where his eyes should be staring at the direction of her face. He closed his device with his hairless hands, they were long, slick, pink tubes in the vaguest hand-like form.
She stood up, excited. "Then I get to decide? It's just up to me?"
"Yes. But please, think it over. Perhaps take a day, sleep on it, as they say." The featureless man presented his palm. It had no lines. "The procedure is irreversible."
"I still want it," the woman said. "Make me one of you. Chop it off, the ugly. Chop it all off of me."
The End.
- Writer
