Let the Pics Speak for Themselves

Let the photos speak for themselves. No refinement, no shape, no contour—just audacity. The nostrils, oh man, the nostrils, are a constant reminder of why I even went through this in the first place. I look at my face, and instead of feeling relief or satisfaction, I feel annoyed, frustrated, and completely let down. This isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t what I paid for.

The fact that someone could look me in the face and say it looks good? Unreal. The audacity to dismiss my frustration as if I’m imagining things or being ungrateful. Every glance in the mirror feels like a reminder that I’ll have to go through it all over again someday—if I can even afford it. And that thought is just exhausting.

I trusted someone with my face, my confidence, and my money, and this is what I got? It’s infuriating. I didn’t want perfection; I just wanted to feel better about myself. But now, all I feel is regret and the looming weight of another surgery on the horizon. I wish I could move on, but every time I see the photos or my reflection, it feels impossible.