“I’d got sick of hating my appearance.”

I was born with a very narrow nasal cavity, which lead to mouth breathing, which lead to jaw deformity.

By the end of school, when I’d done most of my growing, I had had developed a significant underbite. The lower teeth leant inwards to compensate, so the misalignment between my upper and lower teeth wasn’t overly obvious, but my jaw had assumed an unnaturally long shape. Shades of HP Lovecraft; maybe a young Bruce Forsyth.

I was never bullied for it but I’ve always been asked why I look tired or stoned. Poor jaw development of any kind typically leads to a sunken eye area. To compound my problems, I also have a lower lip condition called chelitis. It takes on different forms from person to person, but it’s basically an incurable life-long dermatological problem which causes me irritation every minute of the day. Sometimes it’s mild, sometimes it’s severe, but it’s always there. A niggling irritant which factors into many of my mundane decisions.

Consequently, I always hated smiling. First because it exposed my underbite and lengthened my already-lengthened chin, and secondly because it was -and still is- physically uncomfortable. If I haven’t rinsed my lip and applied a new layer of vaseline before smiling, it will split and bleed.

My conditions also led me to become an extreme introvert in my late teens and early twenties. If I’m honest,my social development was a bit stunted. I missed out on friends, parties, girls and all the other stuff you’re supposed to do. I managed to catch up on life in my mid-twenties, which I’m very grateful for, but I still never felt comfortable.

By my late twenties I’d finally got sick of people saying I looked tired or stoned. I’d also got sick of hating my appearance. I made an appointment at an NHS hospital and started on the path to double jaw surgery. They stipulated that I had to first see a psychologist for eight months to make sure I was right for surgery. This pissed me off, because it’s a hoop not everyone has to jump through.

The psychologist diagnosed me with body dysmorphia, as well as some other disorders, but I reject all of them. After all, if you need major surgery to correct a facial deformity, the problem probably isn’t in your mind.

Without going into detail, the next five years and half years involved the NHS pissing about and dragging its feet. A process which should have taken a maximum of three years is now set to enter its sixth year and, at the time of writing, I’m still not entirely sure where I’m at. I’ve hated every minute of it.

I hated rocking up for job interviews with my orthodontic braces on, averse to smiling and cynical about the world. I hated not being able to take a picture that would look even semi-respectable on Tinder. I hated not knowing when the treatment process was going to end. I hated the insomnia. I hated not being in control. But I still don’t believe there was ever anything psychologically wrong with me.

My reactions to an unfortunate set of circumstances were normal and natural. I’ve beaten the walls in frustration but I’ve never submitted to anti-depressants. I’ve sought the comforts of unprofessional masseurs but I’ve never allowed the pity to consume me. I’m normal. The good news is I have finally done the double jaw surgery. I’m happy with my new face for the first time in my life, and I can also breathe through my nose for the first time in my life.

Unfortunately, as a result of the brace being on for the best part of 5 years, my teeth and gums have suffered. I haven’t chewed any food for around 9 months now. I don’t know, at this point, how many teeth I’m going to lose. I just want to it to be over so I can move on with my life.

From a psychological standpoint, the sense of lost time overwhelms me. A desire to live out my late teens in my mid-thirties continues to grip me. A female therapist suggested it’s not a problem. “If you want to chase 19 year old girls when you’re 40, you do it.” Thanks, I’ll think about it.

I am less socially inhibited than I was before, although I’ll always be shy. I’m increasingly more open to experience – intellectually and herbally – and I’m generally a bit happier. I started doing stand up as well, which would never have happened pre-surgery.

I might be a Topman voucher away from a midlife crisis but it feels okay. I’m alright. There are still a few things that need to fall into place before I can part ways with the NHS, but I’m keen to get going with my new life.

I feel alright.