Wednesday, March 18, 2020 // The Statement
6B
I
was in fifth-grade music class when
I discovered my first pimple. It
didn’t hurt, there was just a small
raised bump on my cheek. I turned to
one of my friends and asked if there was
something on my face.
She examined it. “Looks like a zit,” she
said. “Want me to pop it?”
I recoiled. “Can’t I just wipe it off?” I
rubbed my palm on my cheek.
She laughed. “It’s stuck to your face.
You can’t wipe it off.” The bell rang and
I walked out of the room, horrified,
imagining a foreign object growing
through my skin.
When I got home, I examined it in the
mirror. It was a slightly-red bump, hardly
noticeable. I didn’t know what she meant
by “popping” it, though I remembered
hearing someone being told to pop a zit
in an episode of “The Suite Life of Zack
and Cody.” I squeezed it until it became
angry, red and definitely noticeable. But
not a pop.
In truth, I didn’t really know what acne
was supposed to look like — I’d rarely seen
it in the media, only when mentioned as
a joke or partially airbrushed away from
actors’ faces on Disney Channel. My
parents didn’t have it, and neither did my
cousins or my brother. I went home and
told my mom, who bought me a face wash
with salicylic acid in it. The pimple went
away within a few days.
As the acne began invading my face
more often, the face wash stopped
working. I resorted to YouTube to give
me resources for how to treat it myself.
Toothpaste, olive oil, aluminum foil,
baking soda, honey and lemon seemed
to do the trick for other people, but only
aggravated my acne-prone and dry skin. I
wished I could just pop my pimples and be
done with them, but they felt deeper, like
they had sprouted from within my pores
and I had to dig them out by the roots.
Acne had created an anxious cycle
for me: My acne caused anxiety, which
caused me to pick and squeeze at it to get
rid of it, which only made my skin worse.
The stress caused me to break out more,
too.
A couple years later, I started seeing a
dermatologist and found out that I had
cystic acne, which happens when hair
follicles plug with oil and dead skin cells.
The doctor told me I was producing more
of this oil due to a hormone imbalance.
Since there was no whitehead to pop, they
would poke my face with a needle and let
the acne drain every couple of months,
leaving me bleeding and red when I left.
I sat quietly in the car as my mom drove
me home, dreading the next day when
I had to go to school with scabs forming
over my red bumps. I felt the pain in every
pore.
I
tried
buying
over-the-counter
products, using a customizable skin
regimen and then switching to creams
prescribed by my dermatologist. After
none of these worked, I finally began
taking an antibiotic that made me more
sensitive to sun rays. While the acne
cleared up slightly, taking it during
the summer left me with months-long
sunburns. I couldn’t run cross country
without frying my shoulders, and my
Spanish teacher frequently asked if I’d
just gone on a vacation because of my
frequently-burned nose.
I didn’t know if people were looking at
me because of my acne or my sunburns
— it felt like this new kind of redness
brought more attention than a bad acne
flare. I stopped taking the antibiotic and
switched to a combined birth control pill,
which would help balance my hormones
and hopefully get rid of my acne once and
for all. And though the new pill helped
with the acne, it made the anxiety and
depression worse, a struggle between the
internal and external.
Through the years, my mental health
suffered greatly as I watched my face fill
with unwanted red dots. Every time I left
the house, I felt like everyone was staring
at it, and eventually, I grew my hair out so
it covered my cheeks. I didn’t make eye
contact when I talked to people. When I
would pose for photos next to my friends
I made sure they had the flash off, and I
angled my body so the spots would be
concealed.
The thing about acne is that it has the
potential to permeate the rest of your
life. It’s a badge of anxiety worn on your
face, and you never know what would
have been different if you didn’t have it.
Would I have performed better in that job
interview? Would I have had more friends
growing up? Is it harder to socialize with
people because I’m afraid people don’t
actually like me?
Acne is the most common skin condition
in the United States, affecting up to 85
percent of people between the ages of 12
and 24 — so why is there so much shame
attached to it? Maybe it’s because there
are certain beauty standards that we
see in the media, and celebrities must be
“ready for their close up” with flawless
skin. Maybe it’s because people think it’s
gross and have internalized the idea that
people with acne have bad hygiene: I’ve
been told many times to wash my face
more, though, in my experience, those
with acne are often the ones taking the
best care of their skin. They know how
much work it takes to avoid a flare-up.
Having acne has taken an immense
toll on my mental health, and I’m
not the only one; the emerging field
of
psychodermatology
reveals
the
connection between skin health and
mental
health.
Psychophysiological
disorders such as eczema, psoriasis, acne
and hives are common “skin disorders
that are worsened or, in some cases,
brought on by emotional stress,” and
“certain emotional states can lead to
increased inflammation in the body.” This
ultimately can lead to a cycle of mental
health negatively impacting the skin.
After going off of birth control for
mental health reasons, my acne came
back — and it began to scar. Though the
bumps themselves came and went, I was
left with permanent imprints on my face,
a visible reminder of my invisible mental
struggles.
I began wearing makeup nearly every
day to cover up my scars, which only
plugged my pores more. It was a temporary
fix, a band-aid for the days when I couldn’t
handle the anxiety of going outside with a
face full of acne. But it became a crutch,
something I had to rely on, because
underneath the foundation my pimples
started getting worse. It added another
aspect to the cycle: Makeup gave me more
acne, which gave me more anxiety, which
caused more acne and more makeup. I
only stopped when I reached the bottom
of my mental health barrel last winter,
and instead of honing my makeup skills,
I switched to working on my self-esteem.
I have gone through plenty of chemical
peels
and
new
dermatologists
and
prescription pills and expensive topicals
to know that the best way to heal acne
is to work on your mind first. Adding
stress and makeup to the cycle just hurts
your confidence, when healing comes
from treating your skin gently, as well as
yourself. Over the last 10 years of dealing
with acne, I know my mind and body
have a stronger connection than they
did before. I am gentler with myself, in
my skincare routine and in my self-talk,
and know that being OK with myself will
always translate into my skin.
A physical sign of anxiety
BY HANNAH BRAUER, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY TAYLOR SCHOTT