I believe that nobody is perfect. When I look in magazines and see all of the beautiful stars, with flawless features and an amazing sense of style, I don’t beat down on myself because I know that nobody is perfect. Yes, they might be a size zero and have millions of dollars, but that doesn’t mean they are perfect. Each person has their own perfections and their own imperfections. The imperfections, however, and the way you perceive them, are what make you unique. Having that ability to surpass what others may think and be comfortable in your own skin is what really counts. Not the material things.
In middle school I began noticing what looked like a rash all down my right forearm. A couple of weeks later I noticed the same rash on my upper torso. My mom and I didn’t know what it could be from. We had recently switched detergents and figured I could be having an allergic reaction. We stopped using the detergent and weeks later the rash was still present. Finally, my mom decided to take me to the dermatologist.
The dermatologist recommended that I have I biopsy done in order to determine my exact condition. But her guess became enough to worry. She said that it looked as if I had a type of autoimmune disease in which my body produced too much pigment in some areas and too little in others. The biopsy only confirmed her prediction and she diagnosed me with a disease known as Morphea. There weren’t many studies on my condition and my doctor didn’t even have the ability to determine if it would spread or if it would go away.
I was devastated. Being at the age where looks were beginning to matter, having this discoloration all down my arm and on my stomach topped the list of the worst things possible. I wanted to be attractive. I wanted people to think of me as perfect. But this disease, to me, made it impossible. Nobody would be attracted to the girl with the speckled body. The way I thought of it, this disease belittled me and I no longer felt good about myself. Now nobody would ever look at me in the same way. This little rash began to make a huge impact on my life.
My arm slowly cleared up to a couple of scars but it only spread on my stomach. I didn’t change in front of people for the longest time and I would try everything in my power to cover it up. I didn’t even wear a swim suit for at least a year. Instead, I would wear oversized t-shirts and shorts. Anything would work, as long as it didn’t expose my “imperfection.”
The most embarrassing part about wasn’t necessarily people seeing it, but people asking me about it. Those who were closest to me never said anything and convinced me people wouldn’t even notice. They told me my personality and other strong qualities would distract people from my disease. But there were still those few people who would notice it from across the room and, with that disgusted look on there face, ask me, “What happened?” Those were the times when I felt hurt the most. Why did people have to point out my imperfection?
After a little over a year of covering my self up and being so self-conscious, I convinced myself, along with the help of those closest to me, to just forget about what people might think. I realized that everybody is going to have that one thing about themselves that they don’t like. For me, it would be my discoloration. Today, every now and then, people will ask what happened, and I will explain to them my condition, but most people never even notice it. I realized the whole time I was assuming people were thinking of my imperfection in disgust when in fact, if they even noticed it, they thought it was cool. They thought it made me unique. Being able to realize this perception people had wasn’t what I thought, I became more comfortable with myself and with my disease. My decision was one of the best decisions I have made, and I was able to make it because I believe that nobody is perfect.
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