I was at the falls with my kids.

The sun was pouring through the mist, the emerald green of the trees and bouncing of  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 daughters 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 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 Clause 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 Wikipidea 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