Steven sold his story to the Express.

The Express  

 

'I'm a man with an eating disorder.'

Author Stephen Westwood contacted us wanting to raise publicity for the book he has written about his eating disorder. He talked to the Daily Express about being one of the few men in the country who suffers from Body Dysmophic Disorder. Stephen also appeared in Cosmopolitan with his wife.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I THOUGHT I WAS TOO UGLY TO LIVE;

by HANNAH BARR

 

The number of men suffering from eating disorders has tripled in the past two years. Here STEVEN WESTWOOD, who has battled a body image obsession since his teens, explains how he got his life back

 

IT'S EASY to imagine that it's only women who look in the mirror and don't like what they see. The thought of a man spending hours of his life struggling to accept his face and body seems totally incongruous with our attitudes about the male psyche.

Yet for the past 15 years I have faced an ongoing battle with body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) - an obsessive condition where you truly believe that you are too ugly to be seen by others.

At my lowest point I weighed myself 10 times a day and survived on just 1,000 calories, a third of what my body needed.

My weight plummeted from around 12st to 9st, well under what I should weigh for my 5ft 11in frame. To other people I looked like the victim of a famine, yet it was only in this emaciated state that I was able to accept my body.

For most of my life, I've lacked confidence. I was bullied from a young age by classmates who told me I was ugly because I had long hair and was into heavy metal music. By the time I reached my teens, I'd begun to believe their taunts.

When I looked in the mirror, my face seemed to be covered in red lesions.

I now realise that aside from a smattering of teenage pimples, I was imagining the whole thing.

In a desperate bid to improve my appearance I resorted to raiding my mum's make-up box and covering my skin with foundation. Without it I didn't feel confident enough to step outside the front door. By the time I left college my self-esteem was so low that I was unable to get a job and I was unemployed for a year.

Sitting at home with nothing to do I began to work out excessively and control my diet.

I never thought I was fat but I was obsessed with not gaining so much as a single pound.

Although I was never diagnosed with an eating disorder I certainly behaved like someone who had one.

I monitored everything I ate religiously. If I ate less than 500 calories, I told myself I was having a good day even though it meant trying to sleep with my stomach aching from hunger.

If I consumed more than 1,000 calories, I'd feel very guilty.

I avoided social gatherings if food was involved, paranoid I would put on weight.

And although people told me I was too thin, alarm bells didn't ring in the way they might have done had I been a woman.

My wake-up call finally came in January 1993 when, at 19, I tried to take my own life. Late one night I washed down a whole bottle of paracetamol with cough mixture and cider. I felt so unattractive that I didn't want to carry on living.

It didn't work. I woke the next morning to hear my mum hammering on my bedroom door, which I'd bolted from the inside.

When she found out what I'd done she took me to the doctor, who prescribed anti-depressants and advised that I saw a psychiatrist, who confirmed that I was suffering from depression.

Thanks to the medication I started to feel a bit better and was able to get a job at a warehouse. I gained weight as I started to eat more normally too.

But I still spent at least an hour a day staring at myself in the mirror and trying to convince myself I didn't look ugly and that I hadn't gained weight.

In my mid20s, thinking I was better, I decided to stop taking my medication. Almost immediately my insecurities returned and were worse than ever.

It wasn't until 2004 at the age of 30 that I finally reached a point where I decided I had to help myself. I knew I hadn't been entirely honest with the first psychiatrist I'd seen as I'd felt too ashamed to admit my negative feelings were all based on worries I had about my appearance.

Through my GP I was assigned a new psychiatrist and this time I opened up completely. As a result I was diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder (BDD).

GETTING a formal diagnosis for my condition came as a huge relief and was my first step towards recovery. I started taking new medication and within two weeks I was feeling more positive. Within months of being diagnosed I met my wife, who has been a tremendous support. It was difficult for her at first but she gives me plenty of reassurance.

I still struggle to accept my appearance. What is most difficult is that the medication I'm on has made me gain weight, a fact which troubles me. I am still too scared to step on the scales and find out how much I weigh as I'm not sure I could handle it. Although I no longer calorie count I still deliberately skip lunch and eat only what my wife prepares for me in the mornings and evenings.

I know that most people will find it hard to understand how this could have happened. I wish I knew the answers. All I know is that I've suffered because of my difficulties in accepting my face and body and will most likely continue to have ups and downs for many years to come.

 

For more information about BDD and other compulsive disorders, visit www.ocdaction.org.uk

 

Stephen Westwood's book Suicide Junkie is available from Chipmunka Publishing, for £10. For more information visit www.chipmunkapublishing.co.uk or www.swestwood.com