I did something I haven't done for ten years- I went to the doctor to talk about my skin.
It's been over three months now since I got the implant and its not getting any better, the skin sore across my back, a sprawl of spots across my shoulders.
So sore I had to cancel my tattoo appointment.
So sore I find it hard to sleep.
So sore I can feel it even if I'm wearing a jumper, self-conscious that everyone knows.
It flares up each month before cooling into tiny bumps all over my back.
Disgusting is my knee jerk reaction. Ugly. But it's not, it's just skin. Skin that hurts.
It is the pain that is the problem, not the dot to dot pattern I could draw. And that pain is something that needs to be addressed.
So I went to the doctor.
Today is a "good" day, the skin less inflamed, the spots dormant. I was terrified that the doctor would be annoyed that I had wasted their time on something so insignificant and cosmetic. I was practising excuses in my head, that it had been worse on Monday, that I work with vulnerable women and couldn't get the time off, that I can't see it so I didn't know.
When I finally got there, late and flustered, I started to explain and the doctor interrupted me. She asked me to show her, kindly, and I took off my shirt.
I was terrified.
I didn't know what I wanted her to say. Part of me wanted her to say it was fine, that she couldn't see anything, that my skin was perfect and beautiful, that I didn't have anything to worry about or cry over.
But she didn't.
"Let's sort this out," she said, "that looks really sore."
And although she had just told me that it was noticeable, that it was a problem, that it really did look as bad as I thought- I felt like I could cry.
It was something she felt could be sorted. That it was worth sorting. That I deserved help.
I stammered and told her that I had accepted that my skin was just going to be terrible, that I was nearly 25 and had no expectations.
She looked me straight in the eye and told me that this wasn't something that I should have to just cope with, that there were options and that I should push for them.
We made a plan. A cream. Then implant removal. Then a strong contraceptive that tackles acne. Then potentially something stronger.
And I came out of there thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is something that I can take back control of. That maybe it doesn't have to dictate my life, whether I go out today, or talk to that person, or feel confident in my work.
Because although those around me don't care whether my skin is perfectly smooth, this condition is affecting my life. And it hurts. Just like any other condition that needs treating.
I'm glad I went today.
I'm glad I let someone in.
And although I would love a cure, would love to one day no longer have to deal with this, it was enough today just to be seen.
