Nip/tuck my life

It’s a constant grinding anger inside me, when I think about what I could do if people weren’t stupid.
Namely, plastic surgery.
During the humiliating conversation that somehow became about me a few weeks ago, I had mentioned during the beginning of the conversation (which benignly enough was initially about weight loss) that I wanted an abdominoplasty to correct the permanent damage I did to myself with obesity. That was fine.
But by the end of the conversation, that abdominoplasty was the SIGN of body dysmorphia. Also, wanting to get my saggy deflated balloon t*ts fixed. BODY DYSMORPHIA. Want to have a more feminine facial structure? BODY DYSMORPHIA. Lower my hair part down to have a normal sized forehead? BODY DYSMORPHIA.

I am objectively ugly. I know what beautiful is, and I am not it. I have functioning eyes, not clouded with social justice warrior bullsh1t. I am not deluded about the face in the mirror, it does not meet any standards for female attractiveness. I’m not comfortable posting a picture here, but with my very low voice and larger bone structures, I feel like I should have been born male.

The real problem I have with my husband and friend is that their perspectives are way more skewed more than they realize, while they accuse me of having skewed perspective.
My husband likes obese women. There, done. Now the friend is one of those “everyone-is-beautiful” types who is full of sh1t. She notices when other people are more attractive than others, she’s into theater for chrissakes, and a big part of her friend group are theatre actors, singers, etcetera. In my experience, theatre people can be very chill, laid back, quirky types, or they can be completely shallow pieces of human refuse. But really attractive, so they get away with it.

Plastic surgery is like a dream come true to someone like me who did not have attractive parents. Pay money, and you are permanently less ugly. Those four things above? Probably the only things I would ever want to do.

Maybe their asinine attempts at coercing me into thinking I am TEH SEXAY would work if they had any sort of grounds. I am not some secret beauty, just waiting for a magical makeover to reveal the swan within. Whip away the glasses, put on a wig, carefully apply thick makeup and contouring and whoopity dee! You’re hot! But don’t you ever get surgery. That’s shallow.

They want me to stay ugly and to like it, and that’s why I hate them both.

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