I’m excited-like jump up and down, do a little victory dance kind of excited. I tried on a pair of pants this morning and they fit. They were even a little loose. These aren’t just any pants. These are my Lucky jeans. “Lucky” as in the brand of the pants; the pants themselves hold no special powers that bring good fortune (that I’m aware of anyway). These pants were way too expensive and very short lived as I became pregnant for the 3rd time just after purchasing them. Then, sometime last year, I was able to squeeze into them and I discovered I had been suffering from Reverse Body Dysmorphic Disorder. God knows how long I rocked a muffin top or camel toe without realizing it. Who knows how long I had living in ignorant bliss. Here, I thought just because I could manage to get into a smaller sized pair of pants, I should be wearing them (and sadly thought I looked good doing it).
So this morning, after realizing I was free of muffin top, in my favorite jeans, I thought of this post (just FYI: I am not yet “thin” just thin enough for this one pair of fabulously expensive jeans):
“Lucky” brand jeans my ass. Lucky was the last thing I felt as I tried, desperately, to squeeze my rolly-polly rear into those pants. I did it though. I even got them buttoned. I hopped around my bedroom, doing squats in hopes of loosening the denim, finally collapsing on the bed, sucking in all the breath I could, and then it happened. The zipper gave it’s last bit of resistance as it reach the top. My thumb throbbed as it did as I commanded and thrust the button through the hole. I was there. Finally. I laid there on my bed, breathless and sweating, in sweet disbelief. I am wearing my smallest sized pair of jeans. My “I paid way too much for these” Lucky Brand pair of jeans. I rose from the bed without bending, yet still victorious. I stiffly waddled over to the mirror. For a brief moment I saw myself as the woman who bought those jeans fifteen months ago. The woman who only had two kids, not three; the woman who was running a 5k and eating healthy every meal. As I turned to see my “rear view” I went to tuck in my shirt…and my skin. Oh the horror! I had the worst case of muffin top I have ever seen. I cried out and tried to crumple into the fetal position but fell stiffly forward into the mirror.
It was there, on the floor, stiff and without sensation below the waist, that it hit me. I am suffering from the worst kind of fashion disorder. When I look into the mirror I see a skinnier version of myself. It’s the opposite of what those suffering from anorexia and bulimia see. Technically termed, body dysmorphic disorder causes suffers to view themselves in an altered state. These people see themselves as fat even when they are wasting away. I, on the other hand, see myself as thinner than I am. The absolute joy of zippering and/or buttoning a smaller sized article of clothing blinds me. The rush of getting into smaller sized clothing, even when it does not fit properly, causes me to think I look much thinner than I actually am.
Now that I have diagnosed myself as a sufferer of reverse body dysmorphic disorder, I have been living in constant fear. Every time I change clothes I spend triple the time in front of the mirror studying the image before me. Is it real??? So if you see me (and my muffin top) out and about, please don’t judge too harshly. I’m sick…really, really sick.