Instagram realdealism
An Entry about Acne

I’ve only wished to write this entry at a certain time. A time when I would be no longer plagued with acne, standing on the other side of it; all happy and content and normal-feeling.

But no. At least not yet.

I’m a 22 year old, still tormented by my own skin.

Acne first start appearing on my face and body when I was 12, entering 7th grade. Those early adolescent years are awkward for most people, with lots of weird body types and inevitably, acne.

But something I soon noticed was that I did not just have the one random, or small cluster, breakout like most other kids did.

My face, chest, and back erupted with angry, pulsating feverish bumps. Cascading down my small frame of a back, digging its way between my barely-there boobs, and colonizing along my innocent narrow face.

I was born self-conscious. I mean, out of the womb self-conscious.

I was the youngest of 4, a skinny quiet girl with thick long hair. I remember adults coming up to me as a child and commenting on how cute and beautiful I was. At 5, 4, even 3 years old I remember feeling self-conscious then. Almost as if I didn’t believe it. Maybe it’s my subconscious ways of not really wanting to be the center of attention, even though I liked having it. When I had it, I realized how I scared I was to have everyone watching me. Staring at me, critiquing me.

This feeling would not go away. And it would continue. Still continues.

But fast-forward to teen and early adult years.

I’m scared that I really don’t know who I am. I have not gone one day in 10 years, without thinking, considering, planning around my acne. How to cover it up, conceal it, when I need to go check my face for the build-up of oil, how to hug people without letting my makeup smear on them and expose me.

Is it that I really think too much of it? Or because I know that even if I don’t want it to happen, someone is going to see me, compare themselves to me, or use me as a way to make them feel better about their own looks? Cause I do that. We all do that in some way or another.

On one or two occasions, I’ve been almost completely clear. ALMOST. And those “occasions” were 1-2 days. 24-48 hours. Before my face would welcome the foul, disgusting bacteria yet again.

I don’t want to take Accutane. I already suffer from severe depression, and the fact that I’d have to take 2 forms of birth control to ensure I don’t have a child with birth defects while being treated—well how does that sound appealing to anyone?

I don’t want to put myself through an even deeper hell to take me out of the one I’m currently in. I don’t want suggestions. I don’t want anything from anyone who isn’t a caring dermatologist.

All I want is for people to listen. And understand.

I just want to be free. Cause for 10 years I haven’t really been me. 



 Mahin Fayaz

mostly nature

(Source: thecutestofthecute)

Theme Urban, by Max davis.