DAY 3I've actually only popped two pills so far, so I feel like I'm lying a bit, but I need to spring into action and make some nice, tasty cabbage soup with lots of veg after writing this entry, so I'll have my third pill as an hors d'oeuvre shortly.
As there's not much to write in the beginning, I might as well use this time to give my circumstances some more depth. If you find the tedious, jumpy, lengthy style of writing boring, I'll caution you now to reconsider going on further.
Anyhow, I just came home and have kind of been pondering the various ways acne has affected me over the past 10 years. I started thinking about it because when I got home, I felt a little peckish but thought "Ooh, I mustn't eat anything yet," because with tetracycline, which I was previously on for several years, you have to take the pills on an empty stomach, so twice a day I'd have to not eat for two hours, take the pill, then not eat for another hour. To say this was a nuisance is an understatement, but I guess I got used to it because even now I find it unbelievable that I can eat whenever I like. Moreover, accutane's meant to be taken
with food, so it's like a small dream come true (let me tell you, I won't be struggling with
that requirement). So this is just one way in which acne has indirectly affected my life.
Here are just a few others:
I don't go swimmingI just don't. I guess you could say the sad thing is that I love it, but trust me when I tell you I don't get sad: the relief I feel from not having to either expose my face to strangers or be quietly ridiculed for swimming with full makeup on simply overpowers the resentment I feel for not being able to do it. In the last five years, I've been in water probably on about three separate occasions. One time was in the swimming pool of my condo building earlier this year, mainly because my boyfriend was pestering me to join him and I felt like I had to at least make my huge rent bill count for something, but even then I had the ol' makeup on.
Another time was a few years ago visiting my dad in Malaysia. I'm an open water diver, you see, having achieved this status at the tender age of 12, back when acne was an unfamiliar concept. I draw the line, I suppose, at not going diving because it really is silly to let acne stop me when my dad's paid bucketloads for a special diving holiday. Even more silly would have been to dive with full makeup on (mind you, if I could have, I certainly, certainly would have). Needless to say I just had to resign myself to feeling tremendously ugly and grotesque throughout that entire week (although, strangely, a 40 year old dive master began sending me saucy e-mails following that diving holiday and had apparently been attracted to me. Whilst flattering, it's funny how only old or ghastly/ugly/pervy men seem to be attracted to me, and in any case, I'm not in the business of leading on or courting with men just about old enough to be my father. Communications soon ceased, you'll be pleased to know).
Another time was at a water park in Dubai, where I faced my fears with rare optimism and 15 layers of thick foundation. By the end of the day, those horrible little b*stards on my face were peeking through with amazing gusto, almost waving at me and taunting me. Never again, I said, which I must have meant because only this summer I had to face the embarrassing task of telling a new group of friends that I didn't want to go to a waterpark they'd arranged to go to because "I'm...er... not that into water." Right this minute, I'm shaking my head, I really am.
I take forever to get ready in the morningsOkay, not literally forever, more like approximately 15 days and 23 hours. My makeup regime is this: wash face, cleanse face, moisturise face, pluck eyebrows, slap on thick, fascist, oil-based foundation until spots and red marks become only slightly noticeable (even if it takes 10-15 layers), apply eyeshadow, apply elaborate black eyeliner that I hope distracts people from my acne lower down but in actual fact probably makes people think I'm either vain, promiscuous or a modern goth, then finally apply mascara. I get through a 34mL bottle of foundation in about a month and a half and do not know what I'd do without it, which brings me onto...
I have a foundation dependenceI believe this may well be the reason why I've never been into drugs or smoking or even drinking, really. My addiction capacity is totally occupied with Max Factor Colour Adapt in 'creamy ivory', which I sometimes feel is worse than admitting a crack addiction (the brand, I mean, because people may not frown upon me so much if I was using a decent, specialist brand, but no: I'm a dirty, pikey Max Factor girl).
My dependence on this skin-coloured little beast is extensive to the point where I cannot just stay round a friend's or overnight at a party without careful planning, because if I don't have my 4 tonne makeup bag with me then that kind of thing's just totally out of the question. I remember a few years ago going out in London with a close friend of mine on a night where we ended up back at the house of a guy she'd previously been intimate with. Apparently love was in the air that night in Perfectskinsville because they spent the evening VERY much enjoying each other's company while I sat there wishing my phone battery hadn't run out so that I could at least play tetris to pass the time. Their very audible enjoyment of their activities that evening only served to mock me and my acne-ridden face (after all, how could I possibly have a chance at my very own night of passion with a face like this?). Anyhow, I guess it must have been so good that an impressive amount of time had dragged by, and before we knew it, the last tube/subway home had been missed. Too much in lust to consider a taxi, they begged me to stay over with them (eugh, not in
that way). Too bitter to want to pay £45,000,000 for a taxi back to Clapham (these were London prices, after all), I gave in and decided to stay.
Ever the hero, the chap gave me his absent housemate's bed, which felt like being tossed a long-dead chicken as a consolation prize whilst other competitors were awarded with a feast of royal proportions. So, while I slept in a stranger's room, glancing around at all her girly clothes and trinkets and her disgustingly small selection of makeup, I spent the next few restless hours coming up with a masterplan to emerge from the situation with dignity and faceful of makeup both intact. As most fellow acne-suffering girls will know, there's an expiry time on a face of makeup, and with Max Factor foundation, as you can imagine, it's certainly nothing to write home about. I don't remember the ins and outs, but I think I spent the night sleeping like a rigid corpse and fled in the early hours of the morning, taking the first tube home and using my greasy hair to cover my revolting face as well as my radiating mortification.
This was a harrowing experience. If I ever stay away from home and I can't find my makeup bag within a few seconds, my pulse literally races and my mind immediately flits around scrambling for potential backup plans.
My mum regularly tells me that I put too much foundation on and that it looks horrible and gloopy, and I know it does, but what's the alternative? I'm going to look hideous either way, so I'd rather people think I'm a makeup freak than an acne freak. Mind you, neither is nice. An ex-boyfriend long ago told me that his mother had opined that I wear too much makeup. She was a very opinionated lady and the kind of person that a less-assertive person like me withers around. Her comment really upset me because I obviously
knew I was wearing a lot of makeup, but had my reasons for it. I think if anyone could have the "natural beauty" look, they'd go for it. I mean, why wouldn't they? There's nothing wrong with being self-conscious. Well, there is, obviously, but I wish people would stop viewing that in a way where they think "She wears too much makeup, she must really love herself or be out to impress men," when I would bet that's a load of garbage in a lot of people's cases.
Acne is really inconvenient and embarrassingIt imposes so many restrictions: the time it takes to cover it up, the time and money it takes to try to remedy it, the social life it defecates on for you, the youth it snatches from you... then there are the little tedious things like its implications when you're starting a relationship. To many people, acne is a very deeply personal issue, and people rarely share deep, personal issues with brand new beaus. It's certainly not a USP, at the very least. I must say that constant demands for darkness and curious sneaking to the bathroom in the earlier hours of the morning to spend 25 very conspicuous minutes alone with your makeup bag doesn't exactly give your potential suitor the kind of air of mystery most people hope for. Refusing to stare into a man's eyes despite the levels of passion further extinguishes any kind of noteworthy romance. Face stroking? If they weren't two separate words in their own right, I doubt I'd even be capable of typing them through distinct unfamiliarity with the term. I've been with my boyfriend for just coming up to two years and whilst he's very supportive and whilst I'm honest with him about every aspect of my battle with acne, I still cannot bring myself to show him my face in full light. I'm forever squirreling about behind my hair or under the duvet, escaping his gaze or shouting at him to not look at me.
But you can't really tell other people to not look at you. All you can do is look down at your feet and feel their eyes burning into each of your inflamed cysts in turn whilst you're thinking "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!". The number of awkward conversations I've had with people where I talk to them with my head bent peculiarly away from them and bowing downwards is probably enough for former colleagues to have almost certainly labelled me a genuine weirdo by now.
On one occasion a couple of years ago when I stayed round my friend's parents' house, which I often did, my friend's mother's partner came into my room to collect a plate from which I'd been eating a bacon sandwich. I had no makeup on, but of course he didn't know that I'd had this weird paranoia about my condition. To my utter, sheer, almost incomprehensible mortification, he leaned over to me as he took the plate from me and started wiping at my face, telling me that I had ketchup on my cheek. As you may have guessed, it wasn't the tomato-based condiment that was on my face after all (regretfully), but in actual fact a distinct red mark from a previous cluster of vicious acne spots. It's strange how your mind blocks traumatic events from your memory, because I don't remember the exact words exchanged, but I do remember my friend literally hissing at her mother's partner and apologising to me profusely. I felt like crying.
So day three, eh? I'm about to take pill three and no changes as yet. Perhaps tomorrow I'll tell you about my views on accutane because, you know, I'm, like, sooooo interesting. Oh, and maybe take some photos, although I am literally petrified that I will leave them on my camera and that they'll get into the hands of someone who'll discover the full extent of my dirty little secret.
Edited by Jezika, 28 December 2009 - 01:07 AM.
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And I can relate to your story. I'm 37 year old female on my second month of Accutane, have had acne since my teens. And have a slight addiction to makeup lol, will not leave the house without it 
I took antibiotics for probably too many years...and all hell broke loose every time I stopped taking them. 
but just wanted to say there are a lot of us going through similar things with this crazy drug and to wish you the best. 
) but here's a post from me a while back just needing to get it off my chest and kind of summarizes what I've been through with this annoying facial condition. 
