Pound Pup Legacy

My first plastic surgery was when  was 16.  My a.mother agreed, my nose needed improvement.  She had said when she saw the first photos of me sent by the adoption agency, I would need a nose-job.... but what she didn't know (?) is how many times my nose was broken between birth and my 16th year.

My second plastic surgery was after my breast-cancer-scare.  I had an "emergency" lumpectomy, and after my clean bill of health was awarded, I was feeling very scared about life and my own future.  I thought pregnancy would cure me of my blues, so I begged to try "one more time" to bring new life to our family.  How was I to know twins would be my genetic answer?

I breast-fed all my babies, including the twins, for a year each.  After  my final hormonal-shift, I found myself left with a body that was very far from being desired by my spouse.  The answer to my problem? What else, New breasts. 

Those girls put my lactating pups in a retirement-plan I really enjoyed at first, until I realized even bigger, fuller breasts wasn't going to do the  trick  in terms of making hub-man happy with me.  (What's one more failure among many?)

As I approach my 40th birthday, I realize this mid-life crisis crap is not at all about finding a new-beginning, but finding one that puts all of my needs into proper perspective.  Funny how hind-sight is always 20/20, isn't it?  [Too bad looking back is a real pain in the ___.  Well, let's just say, I really hate looking back, because so much of it really stinks!!]

I'm profoundly sad how the most basic parts of me have never been SEEN as being "good enough".  My image always required improvement, because beauty was always seen (and told) by my beholders.  Each flaw had to be improved, either by guided hand or knife -- whichever was quickest and easiest, regardless of the pain such changes would inflict.  The end-result leaves me with a sense of rejection I still cannot put into words.

It's humiliating to not be loved for who and what I am, and it's embrassing to feel like I still have to keep pleasing others just to get crumbs of attention I no longer think I deserve. 

I have often thought, throughout my adult-life, "Had I been kept by those who looked more like me, would my self-esteem have become as low as it is -- or would I have still felt the need to keep changing myself, just to keep up with my needy-need for acceptable attention?"

I wonder if I will ever know the truth to that, because I know NOT being accepted by those who claimed to love me is the source of so many of my personal insecurities.   All I know is, at 40 years old, I'm still looking in the mirror and for the life of me, searching and questioning that false-image that dares to stare back at me:  WHO and what ARE YOU, and what ever became of Wanda Dawn?