2.275/365: the skin that I’m in

I took this picture last month in my living room. The light was good.

When I was in high school I had cystic acne. The kind people can’t really see, but I could feel and it hurt. I worked magic with makeup. After my freshman year of college I went in Accutane and the acne went away.

Acne came back after babies. I worked magic with makeup.

I’ve always had a good skin routine. I’ve always gotten compliments on my skin. That’s great. I work magic with makeup.

For the past year or maybe more, I’ve had a couple of patches of raised skin on my cheeks and this face is an oil slick. I’m not exaggerating. And so, I’m seeing a new dermatologist tomorrow. I cannot work magic on weird raised patches of skin. Today I went to a store to buy the foundation that I’ve found controls the oil better than others. The cosmetologist said “you have Rosacea” and I said “no, no, I don’t have red skin.” Maybe that’s what it is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s some weird one in 1000 people have it condition. Maybe they can slice it off my cheeks and give me something my Crisco face.

I only know that I don’t feel pretty and it very much bothers me. I hate that I feel that way and that I’m more self-conscious than I want to admit, and that it’s what I see in the mirror, but that’s where I am right now. We’ll see what my doctor says tomorrow.

Stupid 45 year-old skin.