Oc­to­ber 2012

Chat - - True | My Diary -

Open­ing my eyes, I felt the tight­ness of my face, smelled the dried blood.

It was the big­gest skin graft of my life so far. An op to re­build my face, eye­lids, nose and lips.

I was 18 and, af­ter years of taunts at high school, I was ready for change.

‘You look like Freddy Krueger,’ mean girls in my class would snig­ger. At first, I didn’t care. But, as I grew older and be­gan to scru­ti­nise my body inch by inch in the mirror, my self-es­teem plum­meted.

Friends got boyfriends but I had no con­fi­dence, thought no­body could ever find me at­trac­tive.

At my low­est, I even be­gan to self-harm.

So, as they un­wrapped the ban­dages on my face, I prayed I’d look like my friends.

Like the Pho­to­shopped pic­tures I would upload to so­cial me­dia – hid­ing the

real me be­hind the screen.

But, look­ing in the mirror, I cried in ut­ter de­spair. ‘I look hideous,’ I wept. I be­came lost in de­pres­sion…

Face of de­spair

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