Dear Skin,
Can you believe we’ve spent almost 21 long years together? I remember the first time you started to act up: I was 13, young, and hungry to tackle the world. And you, you brought a painful, swelling zit to my chin, unapologetically living on my face, paying no rent despite the humiliation it caused me. “A rite of passage” is what my mother called it, easing my sorrow. I had no choice but to put up with you if I ever wanted to blossom into a normal 21st-century gal. But soon, you got worse. You continued to act up and parade different bumps all around my face. No longer did you punish my chin, but also my cheeks, my forehead and my nose. I had no option but to hide you under whatever makeup I could get my hands on. I scoured the Internet, looking for the best technique to cover you up. I was ashamed. Over the past nine years, I have probably spent upwards of $1,000 on creams, washes, foundation and concealer in an effort to keep you at bay, to camouflage you.
But guess what? After all that money and time spent on tactics to get rid of you, they still did not work. I did the Proactiv thing (if it worked for Jessica Simpson, why would it not work for me?!), I saw doctors (and I’M STILL SEEING DOCTORS), changed my diet, stopped touching my face, and doused you in chemicals upon chemicals. You name it, I’ve done it…and I’ve done it all for you. But what have you done for me? You’ve kept me in some nights because you’ve decided to randomly flare up, you’ve made me wake up early so I'd have enough time to hide you under powders and creams, you’ve brought me to tears at the very sight of my own reflection...you have suppressed me! And worst of all, you have kept me from loving myself because you make me feel flawed.
So I wanted to take a moment to say thanks. Thank you for reminding me that I cannot judge a book by its cover, for if people were to do that to me, they would assume I’m a grease-ball that doesn’t care properly for herself (though the truth is quite on the contrary). Thank you for teaching me resilience, for when my family, friends, or even random strangers feel the need to comment on how bad my recent breakout is. Thank you for showing me that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder, and that I cannot measure my beauty by how many blackheads are on my nose. Beauty is measured rather by how much love and grace I grant the outside world. Without the problems you've created for me throughout the better part of my life, I would not be the person I am today. So while you may not decide to clear up for a few more years, or ever, that’s okay. I’ll continue to work on loving myself despite whatever zit you decide to pop up next.
Sincerely,
Pizza Face
P.S. Thanks for all the other stuff you do too, like protection against bacteria, temperature regulation, sense of touch, ya know, all that other mumbo-jumbo that keeps me alive.
