I got breast implants when I was 17 years old.
I used to be a happy kid, living a carefree life with my loving parents. Once they divorced and both remarried, I felt like an outsider looking in, searching for a way to belong.
I remember cutting pictures from magazines, pasting the images of female Guess models all over my bedroom walls. They looked happy and confident. They all had large breasts. I didn’t have a TV at my mom’s house, but as soon as I moved in with my first boyfriend, we made sure to have one.
We loved watching late-night shows like Saturday Night Live and Baywatch. Remember Pamela running down the beach in slow motion? That scene made his eyes sparkle. I couldn’t blame him; Pam’s a vision. I even got a bit obsessed with her, too, as she was the epitome of perfection. How was that possible? And why was I so far from perfect?