The following article appeared in essentials Magazine published in October 2003.

It tells the real life story of one young womans battle with Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD).

Lizi Borastero was the young lady who told her story at the 2002 Conference, you can listen to her own words on this website. Listen Now.

'I felt so ugly, I asked mum to let me die'

Lizi is a beautiful woman. Look at her. She's 23, with an enviably slim figure and a lovely face. Yet, up until the past year, Lizi was convinced she was ugly. Not worth a life. Disgusting, repulsive, fat, hairy, spotty... this stunning woman spent five years hidden away from the world. She even asked her desperate parents permission to kill herself. What makes any woman - particularly one so attractive - feel such despair because of the way she looks? She has a lovely face and an enviable figure, but Lizi didn't see it that way. 'I thought I was a freak, who looked like an alien; she says

Lizi Borastero was so repulsed by her own face, she checked her reflection 200 times a day, took seven hours to get ready and tried to end her life. Here, she recounts the agony of body dysmorphic disorder.

Even during her childhood, at home in Maghull, Merseyside, Lizi was self conscious. `I was only six and obsessed with my hair,' she says. `I'd say I was sick and miss school, because my hair didn't look right. This carried on for ten years, then my best friend died of leukaemia when I was 16 and I got glandular fever. I became obsessed with my health and was sure I would die. I lost loads of weight and, when I returned to school, everyone said how well I looked. That began the connection between weight and attractiveness. I started to live on coffee and crackers and would make myself sick to stay thin.'

In December 1997, when Lizi should have been looking forward to her future and the promising A-level results her teachers predicted, her self-consciousness worsened, turning into seven-hour long marathons of preparation before she felt able to leave the house.

`I would get up at three in the morning, just to get ready to go to school. I had a ritual - and if one thing went wrong in my sequence of washing and make-up, I had to start from the beginning.' If Lizi caught a glimpse of herself during the day with a hair out of place, she'd fake an illness to go home early and hide her `ugly' face from the world. `Everyone talked about me, didn't they? This freak that looked like an alien,' she says. `A pair of huge brown eyes beneath a mop of Mediterranean hair - Dad was from Gibraltar. They used to call me boghead.'

Friends fell by the wayside. After all, who wants to wait seven hours for a mate to get ready for a party? Dad wrote it off as typical teenage self-obsession. But Mum was getting worried. `By now, I was plucking my eyebrows obsessively,' says Lizi. `Once, Mum had to rush out for anti-burns medication when I Immac-ed my whole face.' Any reflective surface revealed her ,ugliness'- even the knives she'd use over dinner. `I couldn't understand why I was allowed to live when I was so repulsive.'

Lizi's schoolwork suffered. Teachers said she would fail her A-levels and decided it was best if she didn't sit them at all. `I withdrew from school - and from life,' she says. `I was so tired trying to look my best, I told Mum I dreamed of hanging myself. "The only reason I haven't done it is because I don't want to hurt you," I told her. Lizi's mum, Clancy, 53, a lecturer in psychiatric nursing, took Lizi to A&E, where a doctor diagnosed depression and prescribed antidepressants.

Then Clancy decided to take her daughter on holiday to remove her from the environment where she found life so difficult. But it was a tough decision. Lizi had become very jealous of her sister Kate, the `perfect' older sister who took ten minutes to get ready and still looked gorgeous. Kate and Lizi had been born just 11 months apart, although Lizi was 11 weeks premature.

Clancy and her husband Joe, 52, a psychiatric nurse, loved them both - but Lizi felt sickened by Kate's touch and rowed with her constantly. Clancy had to tell Kate, who never once complained about her sister, that she was taking Lizi away on her own. `It broke my heart,' says Clancy `because I'd never done anything without the pair of them.'

When they returned, Lizi decided to see if she could get her life back on track in Gibraltar with her grandparents. She got a job in a bar, but one day, she had a panic attack and couldn't leave her grandparents' house. Lizi was sacked and, when Clancy flew out to collect her she finally told her mum the truth about how she perceived her appearance.

Clancy hit the internet and found a book called The Broken Mirror by Katharine Philip, a US doctor conducting research into an illness called body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). Recognising her daughter's symptoms, Clancy read about ground-breaking treatment using cognitive behaviour therapy, at the Priory Hospital in London - part of the group famous for treating stars such as Kate Moss and Caroline Aherne for drug and alcohol addictions.

Lizi's treatment at The Priory was under Dr David Veale, a consultant psychiatrist, and psychologist Dr Rob Wilson. But it took a year for Clancy to get NHS funding for Lizi’s treatment.

And in that time, Lizi had tried to end her life three times with overdoses of the Prozac she'd been prescribed. `I even feared how I'd look on a coroner's slab,' says Lizi. `I once refused to go to hospital for treatment until I'd put my make-up on.'

Lizi and her mum, Clancy, who fought for a year to get her daughter treated. 'I don't know where I'd be without Mum; says Lizi.'Dead, probably.'

Lizi was finally admitted to The Priory for three months. It was her last hope. `I asked Mum and Dad for permission that, if it didn't work, I could end my life,' says Lizi. But, says Clancy: `I couldn't focus on that. I had to believe it would work. I gave Lizi permission to say she wanted to die - but never to do it.'

Lizi underwent intensive counselling and drug treatment and had to mix with other BDD sufferers - many of them beautiful young women - to accept that the way she saw herself wasn't from a'normal' perspective. She fought at first, shouting at staff when they forced her to watch videos of ~ herself. `I'd say: "There's the proof. Why can't you see what a freak I am?"' She also had to chart her mirror checking - by now a daily average of 273.

Lizi was gradually weaned off her camouflage. Her cosmetics were taken away and she was forced to go out without make-up. Eventually, she was able to stay by herself in a bed and breakfast. `It gave me such confidence,' she recalls. `I thought, if I can lead a better life, I want to. I didn't want to be in the clinic any longer, when earlier it had felt safe.'

While attending the clinic as an outpatient, Lizi was asked to befriend a new patient called John, who also suffered from BDD. They became close friends. Then, on one visit, Lizi was given the devastating news that he'd thrown himself under a train. He was 20. `I was so angry with him,' she says. `But I was even agrier with the disorder. I decided it wasn't going to ruin my life any more. `I never want to sink as low as I did. I want to be independent - to leave home and have a relationship. I want to work in music PR and start a BDD group. I've already got up on stage at a medical conference and addressed 700 people.

I don't think I'll ever recover-anyone who has this disorder knows that. But I don't know what would have happened if Mum hadn't fought on my behalf. I'm sure I'd be dead. Luckily, my dad and sister accepted my terrible behaviour as part of an illness. `I'll be on medication for some time. But at least now I can pass a mirror and say: "You're looking good, Lizi." Of course, I still have bad days. But that doesn't mean I have a bad life.'

Source: essentials

Feature: Joani Walsh