04/28/2014 09:32 am ET Updated Apr 28, 2014

Acne: A Love Story (Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying So Much About My Skin And Just Live My Life)

photography bySara Cuadrado via Getty Images

I am a beautiful woman. I don’t mean I’m beautiful because I have a strong moral code and I work diligently at my career and my relationships, or because of my sense of humor or abilities. I am beautiful because of the slope of my lower back into my ass and the bulge of my muscles and my thick, shiny hair. I am beautiful to behold.

It wasn’t always this way. Or I suppose it could have been this way, and I was blind to it. All I could ever see in mirrors and photographs was a plague of acne. The first zits cropped up in 8th grade, and from then they never stopped. After almost a decade, the scarring kicked in. What used to be zits that would come and go now leave purple splotches on top of scars from zits previous. What was once a nuisance became painful.

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