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I grow more content in my face and form as I age. Old photos, I will neither share nor spend any time looking at, for they are too horrific to me. Perhaps I’m overly harsh with myself, but I was the one who had to live with both.

In those days, I’d be too ashamed to show my skeletal arms, venturing out in just a t-shirt. So this is progress. And my face: I’m more content. Gone all that once drew derision and unceasing mockery. Unless you have lived through this experience, you will never understand what this means.

People treat you as if you are to blame for how you look, as if we have control over our genes. I can’t really convey how much I hated it. I’m so glad those days are done.