Kristen Mckenzie
For me , self-love didn ’ t exist . Love was overshadowed by lies and the stones I bore for having a face , beyond what is deemed acceptable in the confines of the society we live within : imperfect . I was born with a genetic condition called Crouzon Syndrome . Crouzon is a genetic craniofacial disorder in which the bones in the skull are fused too early . Due to the condition , my eyes were more protruding , and my jaws were misaligned — the result , my upper jaw was pushed in further behind the lower . I had such a narrow nasal passage that caused breathing properly at night to be a far cry from being easy . While constantly being rushed to doctors ’ offices and emergency rooms were more routine . If life behind closed doors was hard , living on the other side was even more debilitating .
From as early as seven years to my late teens , I would constantly come face to face with someone who would spew a slew of hateful words from their mouth or tried to inflict physical pain . From being shoved face-first on the floor within four walls of filth to heeding to the whisper of the words , “ you ’ re too ugly to be living ” in my ears at eighteen . All of this translated into a suicidal cry that nearly cost my irreplaceable life .
“ What ’ s there to love ?” was a question I would ask myself often for many years . I could not grasp the concept of loving myself after swallowing bouts of rejection , after rejection because of a unique face . I hated myself so deeply , and staring at my reflection in the mirror rendered me physically sick .
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