Hi, I'm Heather, and this is my story.

26th January, 2010. 12:05pm.

Yes, it's Australia Day, possibly the most patriotic and nationalistic day of the year for Australians all around the country. A day to drink impossible amounts of beer and goon, to wear tacky Australian merchandise and to be proud to be part of this beautiful country in which we live in.

Right now, I'm fifteen years old, at Mona Vale beach, New South Wales, waiting to meet up with my friends. The sun is beating down on the beach, kissing its warmth onto my skin. The waves crash onto the shore, enveloping my body into the icy depths. I can hear the clink of Victoria Bitter bottles and the slap of high-fives, symbolic of all Australians uniting for this special day.

My friends join me in the water, all sporting navy blue bikinis with a Southern Cross motif. By this time, the alcohol had truly gone to our heads, and we were very merry, splashing each other and genuinely having a good time. Although I have only lived in Australia for five years, I was still having the time of my life with my friends on one of Sydney's most beautiful beaches. I felt truly blessed that day.

But something wasn't quite right; I felt like my day was a little incomplete. I looked around at my friends, and realised Zara was missing. I asked Cath, "Where's Zara?"

Cath had a very unimpressed look on her face, and hastily pointed towards the group of rowdy teenagers all singing Waltzing Matilda in unison. My eyes scanned the group of people, and after a minute I spotted her, sitting with one other girl. She didn't look as happy as the rest of the group. In fact, she looked very melancholy and out of place. She didn't have a drink in her hand, she didn't have a smile on her face.... She looked like she wasn't enjoying the day at all.

I sat down next to her.
"Hey beautiful."

She smiles shyly and says hello back.

I start talking to her, asking her how her week has been. We have a normal conversation like we always would, chatting away like two old women. She shows me a bracelet she got for her sixteenth birthday, a beautiful collection of diamonds and sapphires shining proudly on her small wrist.

I double take at her wrist and wonder to myself, "has Zara always been this small?" I look at her legs. Although toned and tanned, they are tiny, like two little matchsticks on her bony frame. The pieces of the puzzle all came together now: the reason why she was being so quiet, the reason why she is wearing a cardigan on such a hot day, the reason why she isn't drunk like the rest of us...

"She's being so annoying," whispered Alex to Cath. "She's such a little attention seeker. All she wants is for people to look at her, be concerned about her. It's bullshit."

"I know," replied Cath. "It's pathetic really. Why would she go to all this effort just for her fifteen minutes of fame? People will have forgotten about her in two weeks, I bet."

"Ha I know who you're talking about, and I completely agree," interjected Talia. "I don't even know who she is anymore, she's completely changed."

They turned to face me, as if to prompt me for my opinion about what had happened to Zara. I had nothing to say. I could feel a big lump forming in my throat. I knew if I had tried to say anything I would have choked on my words. I looked at them in sheer disbelief, my head spinning with their cruel and gutless comments they had made about our beautiful friend Zara.

Unlike Cath, Alex and Talia, I understood what was happening to Zara. Her story affected me in more ways than one. It was closer to home than what the rest of my friends thought.

Zara and I had many things in common, but I never realised this was one. Like many young adolescents in Australia and around the world, we both suffer from a body dysmorphic disorder, an illness that controls and corrupts most elements of a person's daily life. I had never told any of my friends that I had this disorder, and furthermore, I had never been brave to admit to the fact that it had me trapped under its powerful spell.  

 ---

As I gaze out and admire the picturesque blue sky, I think back eighteen months. At this point in time, I was living in Lindfield, a pleasant and safe suburb in Sydney’s lower North Shore. I had a boyfriend, and when exam time came around, I received wonderful marks. I had a good group of friends both in and outside of school. My family and I got along fantastically. Let’s just say, life was great.

But I wasn’t happy, in fact not at all. There was something inside me that was eating away at my self-esteem and confidence. It was almost like there was someone inside my head telling me what to do and how to act. The way she dictated to me how to live my life was often cruel and harsh. I felt selfish for being feeling this way because I had such a great life. I had lost all control of who I really was.

However, this was all happening behind closed doors. To my friends and family, I appeared a happy, healthy fourteen-year old who had a real zest for life. It was only when I was alone that these negative and dark thoughts would circle around my head. I would look in the mirror, and only see flaws and insecurities, completely unaware that I had many positive attributes and talents to share with the world. I was utterly enthralled by my illness.

To see my gorgeous friend Zara suffer from the same illness I had brings back a rush of dark memories. I know exactly how she is feeling, I could describe every minute detail to her and she’d agree with everything I said. For some stupid reason I thought I was alone in battling with something like this but evidently not.

---

I am now eighteen, and it has been two years and three months since that day at Mona Vale Beach, exactly. A lot has changed since then. Zara moved to Canberra and I moved to Brisbane, both of us pursuing our passion for our future careers at university. We keep in contact often, informing each other about our progress into adulthood and our experiences at college.

Right now, I am happy. I am right where I want to be.
Zara completely agrees with me, she absolutely adores her life away from home.

But there is something that unites Zara and I, a unique link that defines our strength of character and determination. Some may view the fact we moved away from home at such a young age the reason for this, but Zara and I know the truth. Together, we overcome an illness that had a strong grasp on our lives for such a long time.

I would not say that I am recovered, as body dysmorphic disorders stay with you even after your body regains strength and becomes healthy again. However, the illness is fading, like the horizon melting into the sea on a warm summer’s day. Just to be able to say that, is one of my greatest achievements. It is really something special to know that I was able to pull myself out of a ditch that seemed like it was getting deeper and deeper each day.

This is my story, however my illness is no longer my focus, let alone my life. It is a chapter in my eighteen years that has been turned over, and never to be read again.