Acne Acceptance

The mirror first became my enemy in second grade, for after a failed attempt to drink
Gatorade, I found myself with a heinous bruise on my upper lip the day before picture day. The
second time was in fifth grade when I had an eye infection that bore a stunning resemblance to
pink eye. But those were just fleeting moments of shame, as I was able to wake up the next day
without a scratch or blemish on my face.
Soon, however, every day became a struggle as I looked at myself in the mirror with
never-ending scrutinizing eyes.
I got my first pimple in sixth grade. It was small, red and right in the center of my
forehead. I remember not knowing what to do and hoping that the next day it would just
magically disappear. To my chagrin, the following day only brought another small, red bump.
At the start, I found my acne quite manageable. With a proper sleep schedule, diet and
skincare routine, my acne seemed to be under control. I was able to tame the “wild beast” that
was my pre-pubescent skin. But it all took a turn for the worst the very next year; I suddenly
found myself unable to calm the breakouts and wash away the whiteheads. And I felt hideous.
My skin was pink and bumpy, and everytime I touched my face, I felt helpless to reverse
my fate. Nevertheless, the physical scars were nothing compared to the mental ones.
“Wow that’s a lot of acne.” “Why do you have so many mosquito bites on your face?”
“You’re growing up so much! Look at all that acne!” “It helps if you just wash your face and
sleep more.” “I highly encourage you to take medicine because a pretty girl like you doesn’t
want to have acne forever.” “Have you ever tried putting on makeup?”
This slew of comments followed me everywhere. I felt ashamed of my face, of the acne
that seemed to define me. The mirror was shattered.
I soon realized that I wasn’t just hit with typical acne. I had genetic, cystic acne. Thus,
the hundreds of dollars worth of skincare products couldn’t keep the beasts at bay. But in the
winter of my junior year, I was fed up with the comments, the inflammation and the shame. I
scheduled my first dermatology appointment and started taking Accutane.
For lack of a better term, it was the wonder pill of acne. But this pill did not come
without significant side effects—rashes, nose bleeds, chapped lips, dry skin—and
drawbacks—monthly pregnancy tests, comprehension quizzes and blood tests. Nevertheless, the
results were worth it.
After six months, it was finally time to come off of the medication, and while my skin
may not be flawless or in any way perfect, it’s much more bearable than before. With only the
minor pimple here and there, I could finally feel a little more comfortable in my skin.
However, the moral of my story shouldn’t be “Medication fixes everything.” If I’m being
honest, what Accutane really taught me was that I should learn to embrace and smile at my
reflexion, pimples and all. Acne was one of the most challenging obstacles I’ve ever had to deal
with. Even so, it’s one that I’ve learned to overcome.
To this day, I’m working on piecing back together my inner mirror and coming to accept
the face that smiles back.