When I was a kid, I used to love getting my picture taken in any kind of capacity. The puberty hit, followed by some rough bullying, and suddenly my joy of being in front of a camera had been thoroughly turned into depression while over examining a photo? “Do I finally look good?” “Should I go get a nose job?” and finally, “If I post this will anyone like it?” Totally normal questions an untraumatized twelve year old would ask.
For me, selfies were just something that would be thrown back in my face for nothing, but merciless ridicule so I saw them as just a form of narcissism because why did you have to include yourself in everything you did like drinking coffee, walking the dog, or even just being at a lake. I knew deep down my judgement had been built from resentment, but I refused to let up on my opinions
As I got older, I started to realize what a ghost I was in my own photos, and even my own memories. I demanded to be behind the camera if any photos were being taken just to minimize my own open wounds, but when I showed people pictures I took at school dances, on trips, or at restaurants, they began to question where I was. After some time, I had the same question, could I really be a part of memories if I didn’t exist in the physical or digitized media from them?
I had to start small with getting back into being in photos with my own unposted selfies, learning to appreciate a photo for a proof that I lived, but eventually I was taking selfies and posting them like it was nobody’s business. My journey was difficult, but I learned that selfies weren’t selfish, but they were an expression of me and that showed me that even when I’m gone, I won’t be forgotten for a long time.
That’s all for now, folks!
Leave a Reply