You look into the mirror and what do you see?
You do not see a child, but a bloated, swollen belly. You see a round face, too round to be considered pretty. You see a big forehead and eyes that aren’t blue enough and lips that aren’t full enough.
The dysmorphia starts young for you. None of this information is true, but it is in your mind. The voices of your family only echo the sentiment that you need to shrink yourself to fit the mold, to be happy with the spectre in the mirror. You do not know why you have been cursed with a defective body.
You have never had a good relationship with the mirror. It molds you into something ugly, something imperfect. But no changes can be made. It is simply in your pulp, your inability to transcend your physical form.