The majority of the time, I wear my hair out. It’s not because I want to, it’s simply because when I do wear it out, I feel most at ease. I always part my hair to the right of centre and tuck the hair on the right side behind my ear. As for my hair on the left side, well, I use it as a privacy shield for the scars on my cheek.
You see, if I’m ever out and about and suddenly find myself lit up by some unforgiving light, I simply drop my chin slightly, my hair falls forward and I am able to shield my scars from public viewing.
When the third round of my oral medicated acne treatment finished and my skin was finally cleared of active breakouts, I was left with intense purple, almost black, blemishes all over my cheeks. I was 26 years old.
At my last and final skin consult, I asked my Dermatologist when the discolouration would go away. He informed me it could take months, even years, and even then the discolouration would be more pink in colour rather than my natural skin tone.
He answered it so casually. Years? How could it take years? What was I meant to do?
I did nothing. I waited it out.
To be honest, for the years following, I couldn’t afford expensive skin treatments. And I was scared. I was scared that with one ill-fated scar treatment the acne would return with a vengeance and I’d have to start all over again.
Watch: Four ways to use a facial mist. (Post continues after video.)
Today, my scars are pink and brown in colour. Some days when I look in the mirror, I just see more pink than anything else. When I touch my cheeks with my fingertips I can feel the scars. My skin is smooth and soft, but I can feel the grooves. Some are deeper than they are wide. Some have sharp defined edges. Some have sloping edges and seem almost perfectly round.
Don’t get me wrong, I know my scars aren’t the worst of any acne sufferer. I know it could be so much worse and I got off lightly compared to many others. But, at the end of the day, they make me feel the way I feel and that’s all that matters to me. The truth of the matter is: my face has dents in it. (Post continues after gallery.)
I’m the one who has to wake up and look at these dents every day. I’m the one who has to conceal them with makeup. I’m the one who feels the need to constantly check them to ensure the makeup is doing a good enough job. I’m the one who has to treat them with skincare products every morning and every night.
I’m the one who misses out on doing things because I can’t bear the thought of baring my skin under the harsh light of day. I’m the one who gets anxiety about social situations. I’m the one who has to live with them. So…
Please, please, take my scars.
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