We agreed to meet the next afternoon for a quick injection with only half the amount of botulism serum so I can test it. She assured me nobody would know our secret.
My moral compass was clearly out of whack.
Before my afternoon appointment, I had booked a brunch with a couple of girlfriends, both in their late thirties. While sipping lattes, I announced that I had made an appointment to get injected that afternoon.
“Don’t do it,” said my one friend.
“I just want to try it,” I explained.
“No really don’t do it!” She went on to confess how a year earlier, while getting micro-dermabrasion, her esthetician suggested she try a cosmetic injection. So she did. What followed was months of migraines, lack of energy, and deep depression. She searched online and discovered many other women with the same post-injection symptoms.
The spell was broken. What was I thinking?
I went to the bathroom and took a long look in the mirror. I earned all those smile and worry lines. I’m proud of who I am. I’m loved for who I am. I’m damn yummy. Sticking needles in my face will never make me a better person.
I always tell my four-year-old daughter she’s just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. And so am I. Aren’t you?
