over the pond.

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.

All I can see in this photo is my back.

Sore skin inadequately covered with concealer.

In November I got the implant, and with it one of the worst dips in my skin problems since I reacted to an antibiotic almost three years ago.

Luckily, three months down the line, the hormones appear to have levelled and my skin is back to the pretty-trash-but-pretty-much-fine state it was in previously. But this, and a ridiculously paralysing fear that I had put on weight made me feel fairly awful during Connor's visit this Christmas.

He didn't care. He didn't care three years ago and he doesn't care now.

But I tore myself to shreds. Both mentally and physically tearing at the skin, scratching, scratching, trying smooth a surface that was never going to be flat.

I didn't take many pictures, not of us, nothing close up.

I stood in front of the mirror and scrutinised my entire body, scrolled through ten years of facebook pictures trying to work out if I weigh more now than I did at 21, at 19, at 16.

Going on the implant was the right decision for me, but with all the warnings, with everyone telling me how my skin was going to get awful and I was going to put on weight, I became obsessed. And even with Connor there, even with foundation on and an incredible dress on, I couldn't relax, couldn't feel attractive.

As I said earlier, my skin has since calmed down. My back is less angry and red. So I am not feeling as horrendous as I did back in December. But I shouldn't need to get more archetype-ly "attractive" to like myself.

I still think way too much about my weight. It shifts from "I have put on weight and I think it might be okay and might look alright" to internal promises to walk more, eat less, cut sugar, run again. Things that, out of my mental context, sound good. But its a punishment. It comes from loathing.

I want to be happy in my skin, happy to be me, happy to have my face, my thighs, my arms.

I don't want to only be happy when I fit that size 8, when my skin is blemish-free.

But I'm not there yet. So instead I am trying to remind myself to eat consistently, trying to spend less time in front of the mirror, trying not to ask fishing, needy comments for reassurance, trying to be kind to myself when I want to bake and eat coconut cake.

No one cares what I look like except me.

When I, or Connor, look back on the photos from that night a couple of years down the line, neither of us will point out my back. Or the soft slump of skin on my arms. We'll just remember love, and dancing to Shirley & Company, the shake of Connor's graffiti marker and our arms round each other.

Because that's what really matters, isn't it?

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.

This next lipstick is one that I have raved about before, Bourjois Red Edition in 04, "Rose Tweed". This is my favourite, go-to lipstick for everyday makeup as it defines my lips without feeling like I've tried too hard. I find that it complements a full face of makeup without being the feature piece and as such it worked really well for my summer ball look as it didn't fight for attention with my statement shoes.



Next up I have my all time favourite lipstick, Maybelline Colour Sensational lipstick in "Hollywood Red". It actually isn't that red, so the name is deceptive, but it is my go to night-out, bad skin day, want to feel good lipstick. As you can tell by the photo, it is very, very well used. I lent it to some boys in Prague who damaged the applicator and I almost cried I am that attached to it. The colour is dramatic and I always feel confident in it. The pink tones suit my skin more than the red below and it my most long-lasting lipstick, so I can wear it all throughout the day with minimal top up.



I picked up this red on a whim at the H&M till with very low expectations. For £2.99 I didn't really think that a cheap glossy lip crayon ironically named "Million Dollar Lips" would become a staple in my makeup bag. It isn't the best quality and requires multiple layers before the colour looks full, but I really like the shade of red. Also, the crayon is slightly thinner than the Revlon ColourBurst, so I find it easier to apply a sharp upper lip; a necessity for such a strong colour. Whilst it isn't the first colour I reach for, it is great addition to my makeup collection.



And finally, fifth and last, I am wearing the Rimmel Moisture Renew lipstick in 470, "Glam Plum Fulham" which I bought on a day when I wanted to look edgy and promptly was scared to try. The casing and stick look very dark and very purple and I didn't really think it would suit me. However, the overall result is much closer to a dark red with a tint of plum and I absolutely love it. It makes me feel strong and dangerous and, though it sounds so 2008, cool. It has a really sharp applicator so, when I haven't already put on and removed three other lipsticks, I can draw on a clear and dramatic cupid's bow. It requires more attention to detail to apply and regular topping up, but it is worth it for the result. I only really wear this on nights out as it is too high maintenance for daily use (and a bold statement!) but I love it.




And there you have it, my top five lipsticks. We have reached completion, my hair has fully dried, I have killed a couple of hours and you have been subjected to enough pictures of my face.

After the momentous occasion of putting my hair up without needing clips, I officially declare my fringe grown out! And I though I'd do a little update, following on from this post I wrote back in November when I was impatiently waiting for my hair to grow.

So... (drum roll please) this is what my hair currently looks like!



Normally my hair is a lot more unruly, but Adam brushed in out for me so I could take nice photos, or, more accurately, so that Adam could take nice photos.

I am pretty happy with how it is at the moment, it is finally actually long! There was a patch where I never thought it would get there, but it did! After taking these photos, I really do think I need to redo my ombre, the front looks alright, but the back is looking a bit worn out. When I was stuck feeling frustrated back in September, I was really, really tempted to cut all my hair off as I have done before. As a way to curb this urge, I made a pact with myself that I wouldn't cut my hair properly until the end of America. I have never had long, long hair and this is the only way to achieve this. Without this deadline, I would have cut it all off last term.

So I am about halfway with just over a year to go and I am finally content. When it was growing out, all I could think was WHY ISN'T IT LONG YET?? I would find myself comparing my hair to everyone around me, whether it was people I knew or people I didn't. But now I am happy with my hair, it isn't something I am constantly thinking about. Most days are good hair days, made easier by the fact that I can hide a bad hair day with various, easy long hairstyles. I can now french plait! Wildly exciting photos to follow if anyone is interested ;)

I am even finally getting used to my face without a fringe! It has been a long time since I haven't had the strong definition of a fringe, and it took a little bit of time and self-love to accept it. Even now when I have bad skin days, I find it hard not to have something to hide behind.

So there you have it, a quick update on my hair, if anyone cares!

I call this my liquid confidence. Without this one little bottle, just £5.50 from Canterbury market, I struggle to look anyone directly in the face. Without this one little bottle, I don't feel even remotely attractive. Without this one little bottle, I have to avoid mirrors for fear of ruining entire days, or, in this case, entire holidays.

You see, I ran out of foundation two days before we went to Budapest. And in my rush to buy a replacement, to regain my liquid confidence, I bought a different brand and a different skin tone, one which looked worse on than off.

So I was stuck without my mask. I was stuck in just my skin. Looking kind of like a fourteen year old version of myself , a version that very luckily got upgraded, or I that I thought got upgraded.

It wasn't a disaster, it just wasn't fun avoiding photos and mirrors all trip.

But it did serve one purpose. For a while now I have been questioning my makeup routine, I even tried a lighter coverage by getting a BB cream (genuinely horrendous, looked darker than my foundation and streaky but yet had no coverage?!), because I am aware that in the summer and direct sunlight my makeup may seem a bit heavy. I even briefly thought about weaning myself of makeup so that I didn't have to wear foundation at all.

My five days in Budapest cured me of any desire to stop wearing makeup, and any perpetual worrying that my makeup wasn't "good enough", I was just grateful once I bought a new bottle of foundation that I had the ability to improve my skin tone to a stage where I feel confident and happy, that I can make myself look better through my makeup choices.

I think it easy to think that you are failing as a woman and a feminist if you admit that you need makeup to be happy. But I really feel like myself once I've put my face on. And I am okay with that.

When I wear makeup, my skin becomes a non-issue. It isn't something that worry about, or even think about during the day! And that is why I wear foundation, not because wearing makeup consumes my identity, but because it stops the state of my skin becoming my identity.

Now, onto a quick rundown of my skincare makeup routine. Because you obviously care so much.

Here is a very flattering, well lit photo of what my skin looked like this morning after getting out the shower.




And that's about it for my daily routine! I only wear eye makeup for nights out, events or if I'm procrastinating essays! Otherwise I just leave it because I touch my eyes too much in the day to wear eyeliner and I have the stubbiest eyelashes imaginable so mascara makes minimal difference. Perhaps I'll share my going out makeup routine another time. Or perhaps not. I'm not exactly a beauty blogger!

Let's start this post with a pretentious gym selfie.

I have been in a bit of a slump recently, the return of the gloomy grey weather has affected me way more than it should. I spend 80% of my time in bed, in fact, there have been multiple times when I have gone to sleep in the day or evening simply because I don't have the energy or will to do anything else.

Seeing as I've been spending so much time in bed, I have ended up showering in the evening, spending the day with half rubbed off foundation and knotty hair, which really isn't exactly a confidence booster.

Today was a good day, I read the whole of my 336 page novel! I got out of bed, showered and went to the library. And then, most importantly, I went to the gym.

I, like everyone else in the whole universe except really strangely motivated people, go through seasons and phases of exercising, eating well and being productive. And when I am in one, I feel a lot better about myself. I'm pretty sure my shape and size are barely even altered, but my mindset is much better. Instead of looking at my body and thinking that I'm flabby and untoned and should exercise, I find myself noticing the little changes, the improvement in the way I feel and start to see my body as something to work with and not against.

I spent an hour in the gym alternating between the stepper, crosstrainer, rowing machine and treadmill and, although there are obviously no visible changes from one session, I feel a lot better. I feel a lot more like myself.

It's so hard to be a student. I know I will hate myself for saying that once I'm caught in the throes of the working world, but the student lifestyle doesn't suit me. Six contact hours a week and a course that focuses its efforts on issues and ideas that have no discernable relation to the world we actually live in leave me feeling somewhat underwhelmed with the idea of studying. I have so many free hours to myself which I throw away on netflix or youtube or whatever social media I get caught up on.

As someone said, or I just made up, whilst you are killing time, time is killing you.

So spending an hour being active and productive at the gym made a big difference.

And I am well aware that I am writing this in the foggy honeymoon period after one gym session, where it is easy to self-aggrandise and pretend that this is the start of the "new me" and that I will suddenly transform into someone who Goes To The Gym, but I hope that I will make some use of my membership between now and the summer.

It should at least give me a chance to feel healthy before going to America in August and eating ALL THE FOOD, because, lets face it, that's going to happen!

Two weeks ago I was having a casual conversation with Adam when I asked him whether or not he'd mind if I got my nose pierced. He shrugged with a smile and told me that I could if I wanted to.

So I did.

I had originally planned just to go to the piercing place and inquire about it, see how much it would cost, whether I needed to book etc. but then when I was there I just sort of did it.

And it was such a good decision!

Here is the high quality selfie you've all been waiting for.

This was one of approximately a million selfies I took straight after getting it done, this one of the square on, pursed lips variety.

I really, really wanted to get a nose ring but for some reason everything I found online suggested that I should get a stud to start with. However, when I braved the scary staircase in Third Eye up to the piercing shop, the woman reassured me that I could just go right ahead and get a ring.

So I did.

And it really, really hurt. My eyes were literally streaming afterwards, but it was definitely not unbearable.

My main concern was whether I could really pull off a nose ring. Don't you have to be super-cool and edgy? Would I need to purchase a full wardrobe of urban outfitters and cut in a blunt fringe? Any hope of suddenly becoming the brooding, edgy instagram queen was destroyed the moment Adam walked into our house and I bounced around excitedly with a cheshire-cat grin on my face asking him repeatedly if I was edgy yet.

But luckily for me, it still suits a smile.

I was pretty worried about living with girls, I knew the dynamic would be completely different from last year and my four boys. Whilst it has been a hard term, Hanna and Alice have actually been great. But one thing that I learned which is, obviously, completely fundamental to my life is the importance of makeup.

Last year, no one in my house wore makeup except me. Therefore, any makeup I did made me look like I'd made an effort, and seeing as I was also the only one wearing dresses and (occasionally) heels, I felt pretty dressy whenever we went out.

What I failed to realise is that the majority of the female population have a more complicated everyday makeup routine than my going out one.

So this year I have had to learn how to do "proper" makeup. This includes a ridiculous number of google searches about primers, bronzers and contouring.

Of course I am one of the laziest people and I still only attempt this in the day every so often, but when I do I make sure I have selfie evidence. So here is a bunch of my makeup selfies for you and yours to enjoy!

I now own five different coloured lipsticks. Wow, impressive I know.


And liquid eyeliner (which I can actually use! (really badly!))


And both blusher and bronzer, which I am still attempting to figure out how to use.


Coincidentally, I managed to line up all the same head titles in the centre of each collage. Vain, me?

It has been fun trying to use makeup in a new way, as more than just a cover up for the stubborn remnants of my fourteen year old skin.

So thank you Hanna and Alice for introducing me to the terrifying realm of makeup! And for occasionally letting me creepily stare at them as they do mascara/eyeliner/blusher/all of the above to pick up tips!

At the moment I am completely obsessed with hair. For the past 2 years I have been "growing my hair" and it has got to the stage where I just. want. it. to. be. long! I cut it all off at the beginning of 2012 and absolutely loved it. (I have to apologise for the millions of selfies in this post- I only have early photos from my extremely vain instagram account!) This is what it initially looked like: