Glasses

By Jackie Huang, 16, New York

I have terrible vision. I’ve always had terrible vision. When I was 7, my mother took me to the optometrist and showed me reading charts plastered with E’s. “Read it,” she would say. I remember my mother’s disappointed face after she realized my vision had gotten worse. So I got glasses: rectangular and brown. 

But they made my thighs look like swollen sausages, the kind they only sell in bulk at Costco. So I spent three nights drawing little flowers to cover up the weird edges. But they were too small, the colors were too light, the petals were crooked, and I could only focus on the skin on my belly rolling into layers one on top of the other, like a thick and heavy blanket that draped down to my ankles. I refused to wear glasses. 

My mother took me back to the optometrist a couple of weeks later. My vision dropped even lower. She was really mad at me. So I said I was sorry that I always stuck my eyes so close to computer screens until I couldn’t take the burning feeling. I still refuse to wear glasses. I refuse because I won’t see anything. I refuse because I won’t notice the stares. I refuse because my reflection in the mirror will remain a blur.

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I’ve always had an extreme fear of going to the optometrist as it would mean being yelled at by my parents. I wanted to run away from the reality of my vision so I decided to combine it with the body confidence issues I have struggled with and I know others have too.

Instagram: @jj_jackieeee

Photo by David Travis