Coming Clean - Living with OCD. Hayley Leitch
was utterly petrified. The attack had been completely unprovoked and I didn’t know what to do or even how to defend myself. A voice taunted me inside my head.
I’m ugly, that’s why she wants to hit me!
Despite all the pretty clothes Mum bought me, despite the mascara, despite everything, I felt totally worthless. Maybe I deserved it because I never, ever felt as pretty as the other girls. Kayleigh knew it, that’s why she’d singled me out from the others. But Mum had seen and now she was furious. She marched straight up to Kayleigh and gave her a mouthful. Mum was just sticking up for me but I was mortified because everyone was looking over at us. It was my worst nightmare – I felt as exposed as if I’d been standing there stark naked.
‘Don’t you ever lay your hands on my daughter again, do you understand?’ Mum was saying, her voice carried loud across the playground.
Kayleigh nodded meekly but Mum still wasn’t happy so she went to see the headmaster. I felt awkward standing there as she recounted everything she’d just witnessed. The head promised to take action but after that day, I was afraid. The thought of Kayleigh’s sister waiting for me at secondary school in September made my stomach twist with anxiety. Throughout the summer holidays I worried about it until it plagued me. I imagined walking through the gate of my new school only to be stopped in my tracks by the two sisters. The resulting ‘fight scene’ played over and over inside my head until it became so real that I could almost touch it. I imagined myself splattered with my own blood – the thought of it made my heart race. The only way I could calm myself was to move more furniture or tidy my bedroom. Soon, even that wasn’t enough, so I’d sit down and apply even more mascara. All three things helped me feel better, the rituals acting like a soothing balm on my fraught mind.
By the time I started secondary school I was so obsessed with mascara that now I wouldn’t be seen dead without it. I needed it just to feel normal. Instead of worrying about the fishpond or moving furniture, I turned in on myself.
What else could I do to change my appearance? I wondered.
I searched inside Mum’s vanity box and found more stuff to help conceal the real me. The real Hayley was still there but now she was buried underneath layers and layers of makeup. It became my mask and helped hide the insecure and terrified little girl I’d become. Only, the more makeup I wore, the more others judged me. I was labelled vain – a Barbie doll – but the cruel reality was that I was just a frightened little girl, too scared to reveal who she really was to the rest of the world. I could hide behind my makeup. After that, every spare moment I had, I’d stand in front of the mirror in the girls’ toilets at school and apply yet another layer. Slowly, I built up my armour but instead of using mascara, I dabbed on foundation too. It made my face look washed out, like a blank canvas, so I painted on my cheeks and filled in my mouth. I used blusher to give me back some colour and a little lip-gloss to accentuate my lips and balance my face out. I loved the way the makeup made me feel. I looked more feminine but more importantly, I felt accepted. Deep down, I knew I’d never be beautiful enough because I set myself impossibly high standards but the makeup gave me enough confidence to feel as though I was good enough to belong. I started hanging around with the popular girls. Unlike me, they didn’t wear makeup. Most of my friends were black and naturally pretty so they didn’t need it. I never considered myself as good as them and no matter how much makeup I applied, I’d knew I’d never feel as attractive. The makeup just took the edge off my low self-esteem. I convinced myself mascara and lip-gloss would make everything okay again but the reality was nothing ever would because I never quite came up to scratch.
Mum noticed and started to nag me to take it off. It wasn’t the fact I wore it which annoyed her, just how much I used. Some mornings, she’d be at the bottom of the stairs waiting to ‘check’ my face before I left for school.
‘Take some of that off – you’ve got far too much on!’
I was a typical teenager and now I’d started secondary school, I had attitude to go with it.
‘What’s too much make up?’ I replied cockily. ‘Anyway, you can’t wear enough…’
But Mum was furious.
‘Now you listen to me young lady, you need to take some of that makeup off and you need to take it off now.’
My heart thudded with panic. I couldn’t take it off because if I did then everyone would see how ugly I was. Instead, I made a big show of checking my watch. I’d spent ages applying and reapplying my makeup that morning. It was as near perfect as it’d ever be and I wasn’t going to take it off for Mum or anyone else. I glanced up at Lauren who was waiting by the front door.
‘If I take it off now I’ll be late – we’ll both be late,’ I said gesturing over towards my big sister. ‘But I will take it off, promise. I’ll take it off on my way to school.’
Mum shook her head with despair. She knew she didn’t have time to argue because she couldn’t be late for work.
‘Okay, okay, but you better do it, otherwise I won’t be happy.’
I nodded, opened up the door and pulled it shut.
‘So, are you going it take it off then?’ Lauren asked as we turned the corner of the street.
‘Nah, course not. I just said that to keep her happy.’ I smiled and linked my arm through my sister’s and we ran to make up for lost time.
I didn’t remove my makeup because without it, I couldn’t function. It became my comfort blanket and life-support wrapped into one. The more people nagged me to take it off, the more I dug my heels in. Everyone labelled me a rebel but my new-found attitude stemmed from fear, not arrogance. The thought of washing off my foundation and eye makeup made me feel physically sick. I didn’t realise it then, but I was slowly becoming obsessive and it was spiralling out of control.
Occasionally, I’d spot Kayleigh standing in the school corridor but by now she avoided all eye contact with me because I was one of the popular girls. As long as I kept in with the group then everything would be fine. I tried my best to emulate them and kept my hair as perfect as possible. Nanny Linda ironed my clothes every day. She loved to iron so it wasn’t a chore for her. I was grateful because now I couldn’t stand dirty marks or creases in my clothes. I changed my uniform all the time and, if I spilt food or even splashed a drop of juice, I’d take off my jumper. It didn’t matter if it was freezing cold because I couldn’t bear to look dirty or scruffy. I was just as obsessive when it came to the length of my school skirt. It had to be just so: enough above my knee so that it didn’t look prissy, but not too short because I didn’t want to look like a slag. Whenever I passed Kayleigh with my new found friends I couldn’t help but feel a little smug.
Not so big now, are we?
Not long afterwards, one of the older girls got into a fight with Kayleigh’s sister. I was elated because she’d finally got her comeuppance after egging her little sister on to smack me. All those times I’d worried about being beaten up and now there she was – a crumpled mess on the floor.
As my obsession with makeup worsened, so did my fear of eating in public. It’d always been there but, unlike the fishpond, it was one fear which never went away.
One morning, during my first summer holiday from secondary school, Mum decided to take me and my two sisters shopping for new uniforms. Zara had had a growth spurt and needed some new trousers. Lauren and I also needed kitting out. Hipster trousers were really trendy at the time and the tighter, the better. But the shops near us didn’t sell trousers like that.
‘We could go shopping in Croydon instead?’ Mum suggested.
Zara and Lauren were beyond excitement. Croydon was a much bigger place with loads of shops but I didn’t say a word. The thought of going petrified me because Croydon was a place where all the big gangs hung out.
‘Do we have to go?’ I asked anxiously.
Mum was adamant.