Dot dot dots
It started out small at first, just a little red bump in the center of my forehead. It was like any typical pimple you would see on a Neutrogena pink grapefruit acne wash ad. I didn’t think much of it and left it alone after putting on some acne cream. Well, guess what? That little pimple decided to throw a pimple party and invite some other pores to join the clog. Now, that little red bump has become this super pimple. It’s ginormous and it looks like I’m growing a third eye in the middle of forehead.
I tried popping it the other day in a last ditch attempt to get rid of it before my date. BAD IDEA. Now it’s even redder/purple-y and angrier than before.
“How dare you try to end this party earlier!!” screams my pimple.
I scream internally.
You may be wondering if this is going to be a story about pimples. The answer is yes; this will be a story about pimples, specifically my pimples, and how I feel about them. A disclaimer — I’m not writing about any end-all solutions or miracle medical creams that help prevent and kill acne for good. If I did know anything about such magic, I would not be here telling a glorified story of my clearly glorified pimple.
To sum up my feelings — well, I feel like shit. Nobody likes acne, I don’t know why they exist, and textbooks/teen magazines (I’m looking at you Teen Vogue and Seventeen) say that it’s a temporary puberty thing. FALSE — It is not a temporary puberty thing. I turned 20 earlier this year and I should be done with puberty but here I am still hiding out at home to prevent my third eye from seeing the light of day.
I know, I know, I’m only 20 years old, just an itty-bitty baby adult, and I just barely passed the end of puberty, so I might still be experiencing weird flashes of puberty and hormone berserks. Well, I’m speaking for all my adult adults who are still dealing with pimples. I know you are out there, I’ve read about you on Cosmopolitan and Allure, and I’m really sorry sister/brother/family. You guys would be the first I’d tell if I have a miracle acne potion because nobody should have to deal with acne beyond their puberty years. I hope y’all will relate to what I have to say, and maybe even recommend some temporary acne fixes.
Okay, now back to the juicy stuff — my third eye and my feelings. This isn’t my first rodeo with crazy acne; I have battled cystic acne and its ugly scars since high school. I’ve had consistent (but much less severe) pimples throughout my first two years of college. It was not until these past six months when my skin began to flare-up more frequently and more intensely. At the moment, aside from this blueberry-sized zit and other little whiteheads, my once semi-clear face is now riddled with acne scars and dark spots.
It’s not pretty. At all. I do not feel attractive or beautiful with them, and I’m always worrying about when the next pimple will rear its ugly head. If it’s a been a few weeks and there hasn’t been a huge pimple, I can guarantee you that I am thinking that there will be one soon. I know, actually, I feel when people stare, especially when I have a giant pimple on my face. Yes, I get it, I know, I have a acne. Thank you for that casual reminder. I feel my cheeks blushing out of shame when the kiddos at my work ask, “Why do you have so many bumps/spots on your skin?” or “Are those *whispers* zits?” One time, a kid jumped in and said “NO, they’re freckles right?” (bless his heart for thinking these bad babies are cute little freckles). But again, thank you lovely children for that fantastic memo, I nearly forgot about my angry, pulsing skin.
My point is, pimples really chip away at self-esteem. It’s like with every new pimple, I get another scratch or dent in my own confidence. I don’t feel myself when I’m breaking out majorly because I’m embarrassed of these blemishes and I’m sick of constantly having to deal with this bad acne — like, when will it stop?! And then I berate myself for becoming a moody, miserable shut-in, well, at least until my skin clears and I emerge from the house once again as a social butterfly. The process starts again when either a giant, unworldly pimple appears, or my skin is just a mess — so, typically every few months or so.
This third eye of mine is a real eye-opener (ha!). My giant forehead pimple was the last straw — I’m tired of feeling so down and disgusting when I’m having crazy breakouts. I started writing this story, poking fun about my said pimple, as an outlet for the stress I’m feeling with this pimple, and as a way to keep in touch with my regular self. This is a reminder to myself that, hey, yes, this is an ugly AF blemish, but it is only a temporary ugly AF blemish, and you are forever, so don’t let this “little” bump drag you down.
To all the lucky people I will see this week, take in my magical third eye in all its full glory while it lasts!

Originally published on https://michellebythesea.wordpress.com
