Justice (Colorado): It started when I was in 4th grade. Little flesh colored bumps started appearing on my forehead. Kids at school would comment. My parents haggled me to wash my face twice a day. I started wearing a hat.
5th grade: The bumps were no longer flesh colored. The hat became a permanent addition to my head. I became depressed. No one else looked like me.
6th grade: I enrolled in a baking class where they taught us how to make and decorate cakes using the lowest grade food, boxed cake mix, lard and powdered sugar. I got fat. This did not help my self-image at all. Grandma would comment on my weight in good intentions, but it still hurt.
I began to believe I was ugly.
8th grade: I began taking pills for my acne. Minocycline, or something. It was a long and arduous process getting my mom to take me to the Dermatologist. I think I convinced myself that she didn’t care about how much I was hurting. Looking back, I was shy about my changing body and tormented by ideals of beauty I saw every where.
I was blowing things out of proportion, but I couldn’t see my situation clearly and I was confused.
Anyway, the prescription medication worked and my acne cleared up. I was pleased as punch.
I stopped taking the pills. The acne came back.
I started taking the pills again at a higher dosage. Again, my skin cleared.
In the end, I stopped taking the pills for my acne, though. I can’t give you a clear answer why. I just….didn’t want to. I thought it was bad, almost?
So, I stopped.
My face broke out again at the beginning of freshman year. I tried to convince myself that it would clear on its own, that I had already taken the medication that eradicated it, so I had nothing to worry about. The acne showed up on my forehead, my problem spot for all previous years. Then, it spread down the sides of my face.
Mom took me to an acupuncturist. Itchy, flaky, inflamed skin erupted on my neck jaw, cheeks, chin and forehead. The acupuncturist was at her wits end and unintentionally made hurtful comments.
I thought no boy would ever love me.
Mom introduced me to Morgan. I liked Morgan. A lot. It didn’t feel like she judged me on my skin like some others who tried to help. She helped me heal ALL of me, not just my skin – based off of my diet, emotions and hormones. She was great to be around, too! My acne subsided.
Gradually, I realized that appearances mattered less to me. I began to have a healthier outlook on life and my skin. I still get some zits, but I am not nearly as worried as I might have been a year ago. When people ask me about my skin and comment “how much better it looks,” it is still uncomfortable for me to talk about, but not horrifying and it surprised me to realized how little people actually care about the state of my skin, whether it be clear or not!