Some things about someone’s appearance are more noticeable than others. Skin is one of these qualities that really pulls the eye, even though you’re never really specifically looking at it at first glance. Take it from an expert, I would know. It’s something I once learned from a Colgate commercial, of all things. They had this wicked campaign that featured pictures that had something ‘off’ about them. Photoshop fuck-ups, if you will. Or just things that were plain wrong. Laughing couples with a few too many fingers. Or a happy pair with an arm coming out of nowhere. But instead of noticing these very obvious flaws, only one thing really stood out in these pictures. One of the two had something in their teeth.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re a shallow fuck or someone who values deep connections over all things. When it comes to first glances, some things stand out more than others. Teeth being one of them for sure, but as I’ll stand to argue: skin is one of these as well. Something that I fucking hate, seeing as mine still acts up like I’m a damn 16 year old in the heat of hormone heaven. Aka – I have blemishes, pimples and other sorts of outbreaks all the time. Which. Vexes. Me. To. No. End.
I’ve never been too confident a person. Lookswise, anyway. I mean, the things I’m good at, I’m really good at. No qualms in admitting that, I border (maybe a bit over the edge) of arrogance in those regards. But when it comes to looks? Not so much.
These days, it’s particularly demoralizing when I look in the mirror. There’s parts of my face that I just want to tear of entirely. Mostly because I, these days, feel a much more dramatic need to look my best. And then can’t. Because somehow my face has decided to deteriorate into a state of those Fallout ghouls that looked like someone stuck random bits and bobs to their jaws. Horrendous.
One of loverboys (this might be the new title for le boyfriend in blogs from now on) cute kitties has a similar issue. She has itches she can’t scratch, and thus opt for overlicking and scratching these poor spots on her back and neck in order to soothe the sting. Not that that’s working in any way. I’m much the same. I KNOW that things will heal by themselves. That spots will disappear. That blemishes will fade.
But put me behind a computer or leave me alone unwatched and my hands will proceed to delve craters into my skin in order to ‘speed up’ the process. I can’t help myself. Like literally. I’ll jolt upright to find myself still trying to pick at scabs I’ve created myself. Or to attempt to empty out the skindeep infections that inhabit my jawline. There’s no stopping me, even though I’d want to. It was only last year that I first heard the term dermatillomania. Which, even though I’ve not had an actual doctor confirm it, is definitely something that suits me to a tee. It’s a disorder that has you exhibiting exactly this type of unhealthy behavior. Picking at your face or other areas. Killing your poor skin for no reason other than that your subconscious apparently feels the need to.
It’s an evil split to constantly find myself in. I want to have clear skin. Badly. But even though I know that the best way to achieve that is to NOT ruin my own face – I still do. Because not doing anything also feels wrongwrongwrong. I’m like that damn cat that’s too dumb to realize she’s making things worse. I suppose that having huge pits of bloody scabs in your face at least sort of allows for other people to think something actually ‘forgiveable’ happened at first glance. Maybe I fell off my bike and scraped the pavement. Or maybe I got in a fight with a shark and lost. Who knows.
But seeing as there’s not real solutions to some problems, except admitting that you have a problem…I’m admitting that I have a problem. It’s unfair that my body is punishing me for using the birth control that keeps me from having the babies I don’t want. I mean. I’m sorry womb, I know I’m not giving you any kids. No need to flood my body with the hormones that destroy my skin. Bitch.
(She’s gonna keep doing it, anyway. Fucker).
I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that loverboy can see past the obvious defects and still love the broken mess that’s underneath the rubble. #poetic.