I fall out of bed and slump over to my sink and throw some water on my face. What stares back at me in the mirror is the skin of an adolescent boy on the wrong end of puberty.
I have a breakout the size of Texas. All the makeup tutorials in the world won’t be able to teach me how to effectively spackle on enough makeup to cover the war zone that is my face.
I didn’t really struggle with acne in my teens. Nope, I had the face of a porcelain baby and you best believe I received tons of compliments on my radiant complexion. Well, you know what they say about karma. My twenties rolled around and the zits came-a-poppin’.
I’m sure it’s just hormones, the stress of paying bills, being an adult, etc. that’s causing things to erupt from my pores. I’m sure the woman checking me out at CVS last week with an armful of every salicylic acid acne treatment available looked at my pizza face and thought to herself, “There she is! Bridget, the grownup. Making it rain and breaking out like a fifteen year old.”
It’s probably pretty obvious by this point that I’m vocal about my breakouts. When I’ve got a constellation of whiteheads, my monologue to friends or anyone who will listen really goes something like this:
“Uuuuuuuuugh! My face looks disgusting. Do you see this? Oh, and this one! This guy on my forehead has roots into my skull. I can feel it throbbing in my teeth it’s so bad. I’m not going anywhere today. Just punch me in the face. A black eye will distract from the nastiness.”
But, last week, after hearing a particularly painful rant about my skin woes, my best friend quipped back nonchalantly, “It makes ya humble.”
Woah. Instead of snapping back, I let that sink in.
So, I’ve got a few zits. It’s not cancer. I’m not missing a limb or living in a starving village in Africa. We’ve all got imperfections.
That teenage girl with porcelain skin needed a reality check and it has come, let me tell you. So, these zits on my face? Oh, are you looking at them? Take a picture! It’ll last longer. I may get a few stares at work but these zits are giving me perspective and stuff.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with acne.org.