I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that, as often as not, I do not recognize myself in photographs in the last two or three years, especially black and white pictures. This is because the vitiligo has lightened my face several shades, and in my mind’s eye, I don’t look like my sense of me.
There was a sermon recently in which the question posed was, “When you look in the mirror, what do you see?” I said to myself, “I DON’T look in the mirror all that much.” When I do, I see the the melanin trying to come back on my face in splotchy patches, and it’s constantly changing, depending on how much sunlight I get. It was annoying when this was happening on my arms and legs and feet a couple years ago, quite another when it appeared on my visage. It messed royally with my sense of self-identity.
I’m OK with it, but to suggest I was great with it would be a huge stretch. None of this should be construed as some sort of self-loathing; it’s more like a mild toothache, not bad enough to send one to the dentist right away, but enough to be aware of so that you don’t eat food on that side of your mouth.