I was at the falls with my kids.
The sun was pouring through the mist, the emerald green of the trees and bouncing off the lichen… it was spectacular.
I snapped some shots of the kids and then my daughter asked me to take a “selfie.”
So I leaned down and flipped the camera lens on my iPhone.
I am already in the habit of avoiding eye contact with the LCD screen.
I held it as far away as my arm could reach and I snapped two shots.
My daughter, as any 7-year-old would, wanted to see our smiling portrait.
So I flipped around my phone, and tried not to look, but then I couldn’t stop myself. My eyes zeroing in on the biopsy scar on my nose.
My demons won’t leave me alone
I took my daughter’s hand, it felt so warm and cuddly and small.
We walked up the circular trail to meet my wife and son who had gone up a few moments earlier to use the restroom.
I started to feel the scars, my nose, my cheek. I said I had to go to the restroom (although not really) I had to check a mirror to see if it really was like the picture registered it. It felt to me like they were transforming, possibly growing.
The lighting was better in the bathroom, I quickly put my cap back on my head.
We made it to the car, where I saw in the window my reflection with the deep sunken scar on my cheek.
And then I fell apart inside, I felt despair, helplessness and hopelessness.
I started to feel anger toward the dermatology PA who cut my nose apart, I felt anger at myself for going surfing and not protecting my face when I surfaced.
I started to feel ugly, monstrous, and it hasn’t gone away. I feel my scars again tonight.
Santa Claus is coming to town
I dream of waking up one day with these scars gone.
Going back to my previous life when they weren’t part of my life.
If I could just live in that person’s body for a couple days, I promise I wouldn’t take it for granted.
But we don’t know what we have till it’s gone, and then it is too late.
When I woke up today in the cabin and used the restroom I glanced in the mirror. The restroom was poorly lit, without direct overhead lighting and because of this, my sunken scars looked fine, I felt good about myself.
Then the camera revealed the truth? Or is this a deception. I just don’t know anymore.
* PS, I found this Wikipedia entry when I was Googling how to spell “selfie: In April 2014, a man diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder recounted spending ten hours a day attempting to take the “right” selfie, attempting suicide after failing to produce what he perceived to be the perfect selfie.[66] The same month brought several scholarly publications linking excessive selfie posting with body dysmorphic disorde
