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About this blog

LIFE.

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Depressed.

It's been a couple of years since my first entry. It would be nice to say that my acne have subsided and I feel better about myself.

Well, acne's partially gone, but the Regimen completely ruined my skin. I've aged a lot faster than my peers, with defined wrinkles on my forehead and around my mouth. I am so depressed. I hate my skin.

I came home for Thanksgiving Break, and my brother won't stop mentioning the condition of my skin. First, he asked if I popped pimples on my face. Then, he went on to say, "When I pop pimples, it disappears. I feel sorry for you because you still have a lot of little dots on your face." Just now, he was walking by my room and he took the liberty to let me know how "old and wrinkly" I look. Of course, he said, "just kidding" after that, but I got so depressed. I started sobbing when my mom came in and asked me what was wrong.

When I told her my situation, she said there are more people in this world suffering from worse things.

She doesn't understand how I feel. Don't compare me to someone else, because it doesn't change the depth of pain I am feeling at this momment.

This is bullshit. I hate my face. I really hate it. I can't even enjoy my thanksgiving break without my stupid ass brother ruining it for me. If it weren't for my acne, everything would've been fine. My brother's not that bad of a person, and if it weren't for my acne, we wouldve been laughing at some stupid joke. If it weren't for my acne, my dad would've held my cheeks in his hands, like he used to do up until middle school. I hate my face. I really do.

Introduction

Hi, everyone. This is my first blog entry, so I think I'll start by describing myself:

My upper cheeks are inflamed - to the point where I appear red as a tomato in photographs. The rest of my face is tainted with dark purple bumps, not to mention, couple of whiteheads and blackheads. Yes, this is pretty much how I see myself - not the ordinary introduction, I know, but truth be told, I am probably one of the most self-conscience person in *thinking* BreezyHills.

I've had acne since middle school. It started out with rashes on my forehead, then before I knew it, it had spread all over my face. I don't want to give away too much information about myself (oh the dangers of Internet...lol Mom), but I will tell you that where I am originally from, the importance of skin care is equivalent to the amount of time/effort Americans spend on their dental care. Anyways, when I went back to the Far East to visit my grandparents two years ago, the first thing I expected them to say when I got off the plane was, "hey! long time no see!" Instead, I got the "What happened to your face?"

I did cry on the first night. And maybe the second night. It felt like every time I sat across my grandparents over a meal, they would slightly cringe their face while talking to me - as if I did look disgusting. They loved me enough, however, to take me to a dermatologist. I don't know the exact translation for the pills and ointment that the doctor prescribed me, but I do remember him saying, "Such a shame, for a beautiful face."

The treatment did not work. After a month of staying with my grandparents, I was rushed to return to America - where I completed high school with a heavy heart, knowing that on my face, "deformation" still presided.

To me, happiness comes in moments. For instance, the flash of delight that came with my acceptance letter to my dream college. The flicker of hope as I viewed my silhouette in a Target mirror, thinking maybe - MAYBE I look good in this dress?

Then comes the thought of Acne, that immediately punctures my happiness. It seems to say, "yeah, you're happy now - but that doesn't change the fact that I'm still here!"

Am I depressed? Perhaps - but I don't need a psychologist to tell me what's wrong with me - my grandparents or my peers can do just that. Or even better, a compact mirror.

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