The Eating Disorders Program here at Robert Wood Johnson Somerset would like to sincerely thank Mr. Brian Cuban for submitting the following blog.
Brian Cuban, brother of Mark Cuban, is a successful lawyer, activist and TV host. In his book, “Shattered Image: My Triumph Over Body Dysmorphic Disorder,” Brian opens up about his personal battle with Body Dysmorphic Disorder.
For more information about all aspects of eating disorders, as well as other destructive issues, check out Mr. Cuban’s website at briancuban.com.
One day, while walking home with some kids I thought were my friends, they tore my pants off me and threw them into the street. I was “pantsed”. They made fun of my fat, exposed stomach and my hanging “man boobs”, telling me I needed to “get a bra.” I walked the mile home in my underwear with the sounds of their laughter and amusement at what they had done to me to be engrained in my mind forever.
In the wake of the most traumatic episode of my young life, I for the first time began to process how I saw myself in the mirror in a different manner. I saw a fat, ugly monster.
No matter what changes I made to my body from then on, I would never see the real Brian. Beginning my freshman year in college, I became anorexic. When that didn’t change the image in the mirror, I added bulimia to the mix.
I would hide it from my roommates by turning on the shower and faucets in the bathroom. When I went home to visit my family, the same routine of deception. I felt completely alone with my eating disorder. No one could understand my suffering and I was too ashamed to tell anyone regardless.
I was a guy with an eating disorder. Guys do not admit such things. We do not talk about “feeling fat”, hating our bodies. Gender stereotypes are powerful. Karen Carpenter's death in 1983 spoke only to women. What could I tell them regardless?
It had no name for me. “Bulimia” and “Anorexia” would be unknown words to me until I was in my 40s. They were just things I did every day like breathing. An integral part of my existence.
Alcohol and drugs would also become part of my effort to change who I saw. Then came steroids. None of it made me feel better about myself, albeit a few brief moments of that cocaine high or compliment over my body which my mind would then tell me was a lie. Intense depression and suicidal thoughts would follow.
They say that your lowest moment in life can ultimately be your most triumphant if you survive it. I survived. I realized that I would either soon be dead or I would lose what I feared most, my family. A family’s love may be unconditional but their desire to see you destroy yourself is not. Distancing occurs.
With that realization, I took that first step. I got honest with everyone I had been lying to about life, most importantly, my family and my psychiatrist. The very people who were there to help me. What I feared most: did not occur. I was not rejected. There was only love and support. When I started dealing with the shame of that bullied child, healing began. Forgiveness occurred.
I dealt with it through intense therapy. Finally trusting those who wanted to help me. Opening myself up to being helped. I stopped binging and purging. I stopped drinking and using drugs. I dropped that wall of shame and allowed people to love me. It was not easy. It was a slow, step-by-step process. Sometimes there were steps backwards but I always picked myself up and pressed forward, one small step at a time. That is recovery. Recovery is a process.
Even today in my fifties, I am in recovery. Every day I work to tell that bullied, shy little boy that he is loved. He is worthy. He is enough. You are too. Recovery is possible. Start now with one little step. Take a breath. Take it in. Then take another.
Brian Cuban, brother of Mark Cuban, is a successful lawyer, activist and TV host. In his book, “Shattered Image: My Triumph Over Body Dysmorphic Disorder,” Brian opens up about his personal battle with Body Dysmorphic Disorder.
For more information about all aspects of eating disorders, as well as other destructive issues, check out Mr. Cuban’s website at briancuban.com.
One day, while walking home with some kids I thought were my friends, they tore my pants off me and threw them into the street. I was “pantsed”. They made fun of my fat, exposed stomach and my hanging “man boobs”, telling me I needed to “get a bra.” I walked the mile home in my underwear with the sounds of their laughter and amusement at what they had done to me to be engrained in my mind forever.
In the wake of the most traumatic episode of my young life, I for the first time began to process how I saw myself in the mirror in a different manner. I saw a fat, ugly monster.
No matter what changes I made to my body from then on, I would never see the real Brian. Beginning my freshman year in college, I became anorexic. When that didn’t change the image in the mirror, I added bulimia to the mix.
I would hide it from my roommates by turning on the shower and faucets in the bathroom. When I went home to visit my family, the same routine of deception. I felt completely alone with my eating disorder. No one could understand my suffering and I was too ashamed to tell anyone regardless.
I was a guy with an eating disorder. Guys do not admit such things. We do not talk about “feeling fat”, hating our bodies. Gender stereotypes are powerful. Karen Carpenter's death in 1983 spoke only to women. What could I tell them regardless?
It had no name for me. “Bulimia” and “Anorexia” would be unknown words to me until I was in my 40s. They were just things I did every day like breathing. An integral part of my existence.
Alcohol and drugs would also become part of my effort to change who I saw. Then came steroids. None of it made me feel better about myself, albeit a few brief moments of that cocaine high or compliment over my body which my mind would then tell me was a lie. Intense depression and suicidal thoughts would follow.
They say that your lowest moment in life can ultimately be your most triumphant if you survive it. I survived. I realized that I would either soon be dead or I would lose what I feared most, my family. A family’s love may be unconditional but their desire to see you destroy yourself is not. Distancing occurs.
With that realization, I took that first step. I got honest with everyone I had been lying to about life, most importantly, my family and my psychiatrist. The very people who were there to help me. What I feared most: did not occur. I was not rejected. There was only love and support. When I started dealing with the shame of that bullied child, healing began. Forgiveness occurred.
I dealt with it through intense therapy. Finally trusting those who wanted to help me. Opening myself up to being helped. I stopped binging and purging. I stopped drinking and using drugs. I dropped that wall of shame and allowed people to love me. It was not easy. It was a slow, step-by-step process. Sometimes there were steps backwards but I always picked myself up and pressed forward, one small step at a time. That is recovery. Recovery is a process.
Even today in my fifties, I am in recovery. Every day I work to tell that bullied, shy little boy that he is loved. He is worthy. He is enough. You are too. Recovery is possible. Start now with one little step. Take a breath. Take it in. Then take another.