I ummed and erred about writing this post. Do I want to throw my biggest anxiety out there into the big bad world for all and sunder to see? I hoped there may be some sense of offloading the angst by musing to you lovely lot though…
The thing is, I get spots.
Most of the time they’re run-of-the-mill annoyances that a dollop of concealer can hide but every so often I get a giant beast of a spot – the type of spot that can be seen from space, that rivals Mount Vesuvius in size, that is redder that a giant red balloon sitting on a red traffic light on top of a red pogo stick.
When these blighters appear, my world can fall apart temporarily. B.C (Before Child), when my entire time and energy could selfishly be devoted to me alone, I drifted through spells where I refused to go out, I wouldn’t let Mr B anywhere near me and all I wanted to do was hide in a dark cave.
I realise, being of basic intelligence, that this sounds ridiculously overdramatic and horribly sycophantic. There are people dying, suffering, alone in the world and I’m all worked up over a God damn spot?
But yes yes, I was, I am and I always will be. I don’t consider myself vain in any other sense - my hair is often a total state, I don’t wear make-up, I’m no fan of mirrors but plonk a zit on my face and I can be an inconsolable wreck.
As a teenager, when it’s vaguely acceptable to turn up to school with a face like a pizza, my skin was pretty standard. No major acne outbursts, just your usual teen outbreaks.
Then I hit 30 and overnight I started getting these outlandish lumps all over my face which flatly refused to budge for weeks, sometimes months at a time and seemed to double in quantity the more I looked at them like some sort of evil witch’s curse.
I could see the trap I was creating for myself – the more I stressed, the worse it got..No-one wants to sit in an office in the City and wonder if people are looking you in the eye when they talk to you or are too distracted by the boil on your nose.
I comfort myself in the usual way by using humour to sting the blow – I think by telling people about the giant beacons on face, which I frequently give names to (Norbert being the most famous, he lingered for far too long on my chin), I protect myself from the off-chance that someone may mention it to me nonchantly in passing and send me into a nervous breakdown followed by swift bag over my head.
One thing I’m handy for is spot cream advuce- oh I’ve tried the lot, wasted God knows how much dosh on them but do know which ones are full of marketing babble and which ones actually do what they say on the tin – Mario Badescu is my trusty safety blanket in case anyone is wondering. The Drying Lotion is gentle enough to do exactly that but without giving you some sort of chemical peel in the process – and dolloping a load of white cream on a bright red spot is satisfying in itself.
Don't pop round unexpectedly to my place post-7pm, you're likely to be greeted with a face full of the stuff..!
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