I can remember the first time I noticed I had acne. I was in third grade. What third grader wants to deal with acne? The worst thing third graders usually have to worry about is if they got the right box of crayons for class. But no. I had to suffer acne.

Fifth grade and sixth grade weren't horrible. I began to wear makeup, and I thought I was so cool. I was probably the first in my grade to constantly wear makeup. It wasn't until seventh through tenth grade that my life became a living nightmare filled with all different kinds of makeup, acne washes, cleansers, medications, and even shots. Shots in the face. It was horrible, just as horrible as my dermatologist was. This woman, who was supposed to help me, blamed me for my acne. She claimed I never did anything she told me to do about my acne, which wasn't true. But that wasn't the worst part. I felt like some kind of reptile with constantly peeling, scaly skin. I wasn't living in a nightmare, I was living in a teenage hell.

This, of course, was like the rough patch in every teen movie, the dorky, pimpling, hero going through that uncomfortable awkward phase. However, no one else I was around even remotely looked or felt like me, at least I didn't see it. I felt that I had to wear layers and layers of makeup to school, to swim practice, even in my own house. Some days it was so bad I couldn't leave my house. I was ashamed. I lived in constant fear that people would see me without makeup, see every last flaw on a face, arms, everywhere. But it's not like they didn't see it. I lived in this denial, that if I covered it up, no one would know. I felt like this horrible creature. It's safe to say I had no confidence.

After years of torture, I found ways, I found things, I found a new doctor that helped me. I found out that I was allergic to the chemicals in almost every acne wash ever made. And believe it or not, things began to turn around. Not overnight, but over time my scaly skin was more smooth, I still had acne, but I found ways to deal with it.

The worst phase of my acne was the never-ending questions and comments. Around 11th and 12th grade, I was not entirely comfortable in my skin. I had acne here and there, but for me, I was clear. But that's the thing, people noticed the improvement and would make comments like "Wow your acne was so bad" or they would ask me for advice like, "How did you get rid of the issue?" I finally realized that the things I worried about, the things I worried people said or even thought about my acne, was true. A lot of the acne was gone, but the scars remain emotionally.

When my acne flares up, people comment "I thought you got rid of it." But sadly enough I didn't and I still haven't. What makes it worse is that I am an adult who has the skin of a pubescent teen. The difference between now and all the past years of suffering is I am finally accepting of it. I can go to class or go eat in the dining hall without any makeup on regardless if I have a blemish on my face or not. It still annoys me deeply when I hear someone complain about a minor pimple, but I am better now. And in a weird crazy way, I am grateful for my awful, oily skin. It built character in me, and it continues to build me into the person I am today.