Please don’t take my picture

This really hit home for me tonight, because honestly, this is how I’ve felt for the past few years. In fact, I’m horrified when I see photos of myself now. You see, I’ve always looked ten to fifteen years younger, until lately. What the heck happened to me? When did my face begin to droop? When did I age so drastically? I don’t even like looking in the mirror on most days. Right now, I’d be happy removing all the mirrors in my house.

There are days when I feel confident, but now they’re fewer and farther between.

Even when I was younger and cuter, I still had stipulations – no photos from the side, not if I could help it. You see, I’ve been self-conscious about my nose since I was thirteen, and this is the first time in my life that I’ve openly admitted it in public.

Until I turned thirteen, I liked the way I looked. I had pretty blue eyes and a cute little nose. There wasn’t anything I would change about myself. But seeing the school photo of myself at twelve, then a year later, well, wow, what happened? Puberty is already difficult enough because so many things are changing physically, emotionally, so when I saw the school picture, I recoiled because my nose suddenly became a prominent feature – crooked with a bump. Oh gawd, how demoralizing. While I adored my father, and thought him handsome, I inherited his proboscis.

Life was already hard because less than two weeks after the start of school, my father passed, along with a succession of events (but that’s for another time and place). But things got worse. The taunting I received from others, especially a couple of high school boys I will never forget. They were mean, unmerciful, and incessant. They began calling me Tiny Tim, after an entertainer at the time. He was hideous looking, and now they were comparing me to him. I wanted to crawl away and die.

It took a toll on my mental wellbeing; how could it not? I became more withdrawn, my grades fell (I had always been an honor roll student) and my self-esteem melted away. Most weren’t aware of my suffering though, because due to genetics(?) and a normally cheerful disposition, I held it together. I didn’t talk about it but suffered in silence.

All through adulthood, it’s been a “thing”. I’m hyper-sensitive about it, and as I grow older, it’s worse for me. While I normally don’t believe in plastic surgery, if I had the money and the opportunity, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Nothing drastic, mind you, but it would be so nice to have a straighter nose, and most of all, no bump. It makes it difficult for glasses too. I’ve had people ask me, “Why do you wear your glasses so low?” Really, you need to ask. I hold my tongue, but sometimes I’m tempted to say, “How come you’re so fat or…” However, I would never do that because I wasn’t brought up that way.

Please realize how much strength this took to put this in words. But the older I get; I realize that sometimes you just need to spill the beans – online therapy.

Thanks for listening.