(Irrelevant quote but it made me laugh)
This Thursday cuppa is going to be a bit of a throwback….
This is little old me from a couple of years ago.
This picture represents various things:
- Yorkshire is rather cold in September.
- My parents found one hell of a good sale in Tog 24 that year.
- By my sticking out tongue one could guess this is as close as I got to a rebellious streak in my Tweens.
But you may notice something else, in fact it may have been the first thing you noticed. I have one eye smaller than the other. Quite significantly so in fact.
At the time the eye itself didn’t really bother me, and it never particularly has done since. Talking to other people with facial disfigurements/birth defects/fellow losers of genetic bingo, I’ve found that this is often the case. It’s other people’s reactions which make things hard. To me it is just my face, no more and no less. I am more angered by teenage acne than I am by my puny peeper.
It doesn’t bother me, but like any difference it can quickly become a weakness. By the time of this photo I’d been called a vast assortment of insults: from alien, to scary, to freak. But the one that hurt the most came out of the blue at the village stables one day.
“Why is your face broken?”
This is the first time that I remember my emotional response being anything other than outrage. Tears. Broken was the biggest insult. I’d always been told I was different- and that was fine. The primary school mottos of “everyone is an individual” had tattooed themselves to my brain. But broken meant I wasn’t just different, I was irrefutably wrong. At this point I asked my parents for the first time about corrective surgery.
Luckily I didn’t have anything changed and with the introduction of shaded spectacles to help my other eye, the little one is barely noticeable now.
I don’t know what the point of this story is.
But don’t point out other people’s flaws, because they are probably already aware of them.
And don’t change. Ever.