I did not think that at almost twenty two I would be writing this post. I know that sounds naive and optomistic as I haven't had clear skin since I was about twelve, but I honestly hoped and dreamed and prayed that acne and skin problems would be something that I would grow out of. The sad fact of the matter is that I haven't, and I doubt now that I ever will.
Flitting from climate to climate, the quick change from blizzard to 22 degrees in a week, the humidity of Bethlehem and then the dryness of California, inconsistent diet, stress and hormones, a week of excess dairy drinking whilst I had to finish a four pint of milk before it went out of date. There are lots of things that have contributed to the embarrassing and frustrating fluctuations in my skin this year. Sometimes there appears to be no reason whatsoever, and over the course of the day my face fades from relatively easy to cover up light blemishes to fourteen year old inflamed and painful acne.
I am, of course, incredibly grateful that I can cover up, to some extent, my biggest insecurity, but when my skin reaches its absolute worst, that is of very little comfort.
When I went to California for Spring Break, I thought my skin was awful. Over the course of the week, however, as it got worse and worse and worse, I came to wish that is was as awful as when I first flew over.
Meeting new people, people with some strong predecided ideas about me, for the first time when I felt the least attractive I have in years was horrible. It is hard to explain how damaging it is when you don't want people to see your face, when you don't want to look people in the eye and every slightly less than positive comment or facial expression feels like its directed at the state of your skin and how ugly you are.
Now I know that this is not true. Now that my skin is healthier and feeling a lot happier, the first picture in this blog post doesn't look as awful as I initially believed it to be. Sure, it shows a girl with red blotchy skin and a smattering of whiteheads and pimples, but she isn't ugly. But when I am in that place, when it hurts to smile because the spots are sore under the skin, so that every time you pull your face into an expression you are reminded of the marks that sprawl across your face, it is very hard to believe anything else. Even as I was in California with Adam reassuring me constantly that it really wasn't an issue. I'd look him straight in the eye time and time again and tell him that I believed that he believed that, but that I didn't understand how, that I just could not believe it.
And it took its toll on my social interaction with the people I met on my visit, I was much more shy, reserved and quiet than I would normally be. It sounds ridiculous, but I wanted people to think that Adam's girlfriend was attractive. I knew that I wouldn't have time to make close connections that would allow people to like me for my personality, but I knew that they would be able to see me. And I felt like I had failed him, that people would wonder why, after everything this year, he would be with her.
It's frustrating to still feel like a slave to my skin, even after all these years of dealing with it. I have mostly made peace with it, accepted that it is less than ideal, learned to cover it up. And up to a point I am fine, it is only when it tips over into the extreme where I feel like makeup makes it look worse, where it is painful and itchy and spread from jawline to hairline.
I wish that I could wake up and my twenty second birthday with clear skin. More than anything. I tell myself that I would be a whole new person; confident and beautiful. But that is lie, for the first couple of weeks, maybe months, I would be eternally grateful for this seismic shift in skin situation, but then it would just be my face and I would find other things to worry over and obsess about.
So instead of revisiting the wacky holistic remedy sites that I found when I was fourteen years old, I want to wake up, wash my face with the products that finally seem to keep my skin under some sort of control, do my make up, smile at my reflection and then walk away from the mirror into the real world. Because no one else cares as much as I do. I still managed to make friends when I was fourteen and my skin was at its worst, and I can make friends when my skin is at its worst at twenty one. The only person it holds back is me.
