Anyway, when I’d hit nineteen, I’d had such huge problems with how looked that I begged my parents to let me have surgery. I could have done it without it, but I’d needed their support and to know that they understood exactly why I wanted to change. I just wasn’t happy with who I was, and I needed them with me. They’d tried to help me get past the problems since I’d hit puberty, but seeing how much planning and research I’d put into it and how I needed it done just to make the reflection I saw every day bearable to me, they’d finally given in, and we came up with a plan of action.
I also didn’t want my brothers to find out so, one summer, I went to stay with Mom’s best friend in San Diego and had my nose done and breast implants put in. People always automatically picture Playboy bunny tits when you mention implants, but mine were placed under the muscle so they looked natural, and I’d chosen the ones with a softer profile. I was an A cup when I went in, and I came out a modest D cup after it.
My nose was my biggest hang-up. I hadn’t even been able to look in the mirror when I was brushing my teeth. On my brothers, it looked handsome and suited them, but on me? I fucking hated it. It seemed too broad for me, and no matter how many makeup tricks I tried, nothing fixed that. The surgeon slimmed it down, took away some of the height at the end of my nose, and then shattered my face with a hammer and a chisel. Slight exaggeration, but still.
Technically it was part of the procedure to straighten it out and get the effect I wanted, but cheese and rice that shit was sore. I thought I was dying when I woke up and couldn’t breathe, but then they told me they’d stuffed these big flotation devices up my nostrils to support it, and it all made sense.
The results were everything I wanted and more. I was tall at five foot nine, but even though I ran every day and was active, I was curvy—aside from on my chest. Sure it was pointed out by assholes in middle and high school, but it wasn’t until I heard the guy I’d been crushing on at the time say he’d fuck me in the dark, so he didn’t have to see my flat chest and big nose that I knew I had to get it changed. Yes, the words coming from him stung, but it was more that I couldn’t see past the two problems myself, and if other people were discussing them behind my back, it would be unlikely I’d ever feel confident.
I’d had so much building up inside me that I became an emotional wreck who didn’t want to leave her room. There hadn’t been a way for me to let the feelings out until one day something happened in the shower to change it all, and I knew I needed to get help. I’d turned my head and caught sight of myself in the mirror, and I’d been so disgusted, I’d fisted my razor in my hand and stared at my wrist.
Can anyone imagine hating what they looked like so much that they wanted to end it? That’s when I knew I had to do something because I was drowning. It was a wake-up call, so I’d researched the way I was thinking, researched ways to fix it, and also researched getting help with my mental health. I’d never had to consider that I might have a mental health issue, and for a moment, I’d felt weak. Seeing that it was a genuine problem that affected more than just me… finally, I felt like I’d had a release and could think clearly again, so I’d planned the surgeries and found a therapist.
People can say what they want—every last person has hang-ups about something to do with themselves. Makeup can fix some of it but so could surgery, and I will never regret what I did. I didn’t have any desire to have anything else done or go bigger in boob size, but maybe something would happen one day, and I’d change my mind. Never say never! Now, if you were to look at the two areas—especially my breasts—it’s unlikely you’d be able to tell they were fake. I wanted it to look natural and not like I’d had two bags put in the area. All I’d wanted was to look fucking normal, and it’s what I’d gotten.
Now I was facing the rest of my problems one day at a time, finally confident physically, but not emotionally or in my identity. Weird, but true.
Which was why I’d been distancing myself from my family recently. I wanted to find my place in the world and not as Noah, Archer, Levi, or Tate’s little sister—which was pretty much all that everybody recognized me as.