Today's appointment has confirmed my long held suspicion, or rather, the nonabsurd belief that I've had of myself since 3 years ago: I am a freak.

Yes. I mean. I've known all along that I'm a freak. Looking into the mirror for years has somewhat colored that deformity that I've had and I've pretty much adapted to it, but to hear it coming from a professional's own words and have her discuss my options with me made me really so much more aware and conscious of how it has, and may affect me even more.

I've been asked to consider surgery. And it'll be considered major surgery. And I'll be somewhat slightly invalid for about 3 months, should I want to take it up. The mother was called in to discuss this option, and the more the doctor spoke, the more my eyes threatened to well up. She asked if I felt conscious about the fact that I have this condition. I shook my head, but my heart yearned to say yes, though I was afraid of what my mother would say.

Of course the surgery won't be necessary if I'm perfectly fine with it and am able to live life as per normal and not give a rat's fart about it. If I want it, I can have it, but she acknowledged that she discusses the option of surgery only to female patients.

My head was a complete blank slate when I walkd out the office with my mum and brother. So it shall be that I shall die a lonely spinster, because no man would ever think a girl with my facial deformity would be considered attractive.

Why was I born to be such a freak? I mean, did God have some sort of a shit mood the day I was born or something? A girl like me can handle only so much. And I've got a lot that's threatening the very beam of my self esteem. You'd think God would give me a break, but no. I am an ant, in God's ant farm. A farm with billions of other ants, so why should He give a hoot about one small measly ant? I know this all sounds so depressing, and you must be thinking that I'm such a spoilt and ungrateful person to keep whining. But you see, it's all these little insecurities that may not seem much, but has a very vast cumulative effect on my fragile soul. One or two little niggles, sure I can handle. But to keep on adding and adding it to the mix is just way out of control.

To be honest. I don't know what to think now. Going for this appointment has only made me feel so much worse than I ever did before. Why do good things seem to happening to all my friends but not me?

I wish I were in a room. A room with 4 navy blue walls and beige bookshelves lined with all of my favourite literay reads. And a nice comfortable red couch where I can curl up and get lost in a completely different world. Where all my problems seem to matter in the least.