I'm so sick of staring at my face. It's scarring more and more with each passing day. I keep getting cysts and I can't get them to go away. I've done it all, guys.
Clean'n'Clear, Clearasil, Proactiv, Neutrogena, St. Ives, Skin ID, tea tree oil, witch hazel, doxycycline, birth control. Everything but Accutane and just ripping the skin off of my face.
I get exercise; not profusely, but enough. I walk about 3-5 miles every day, and if I don't then I go on thirty minute walks or exercise any other way I can.
I don't have the best diet, especially at school. I don't have a stove and all of the food in the dining hall makes me vomit or gives me the runs, and I mean every single time. I have eaten there for four years, though very little this fourth year, and the result is the same without fail, no matter what I eat. So I'm confined to eating within the walls of my dorm, which restricts me to easy-fix foods like peanut butter and jelly, ramen, carbohydrates, and frozen meals. I don't have a car, and the buses are unreliable, so I walk a mile to the market every week and a half or so. I have a small fridge, which means I don't have room for things like fresh produce. I try to get real fruit smoothies on campus at least once a week.
Sometimes that smoothie will be my lunch. Sometimes it's a CLIF/Power bar. I have meal replacement shakes or a muffin for breakfast, sometimes both. When I have time, I eat cereal. The opportunity to enjoy oven-fresh food is rare for me, and always greatly appreciated.
I wonder if the main problem is sleep. I struggle to fall asleep soundly. It is nearly impossible for me. Even when I am beyond exhausted, my body claws at me to stay awake, conjuring up shadow people, auditory hallucinations, existential anguish, anguish-turned-panic-attack, hypnagogic twitches and jerks, and so on. A roulette of images spins in my head and stops randomly, and what a lucky winner I am when it does: horrifying disfigures stare with vacant eyes right back at me, shrouded in darkness. Even when I'm with Ray, it still becomes incredibly hard to fall asleep. More than several times I've woken up next to him screaming in terror or gasping in fright, to which he awakens as well. Once—and I was so sure of it too—something was kicking down the door, trying to get in, rattling the doorknob. After a loud thud I sat up and screamed, and Ray held me and said, "It's okay, it's just the wind. Don't worry, I'm here." It literally was the wind, and I listened to it howl violently outside the window.
When I'm alone, it's a miracle I fall asleep at all. I've woken up on the floor of my dorm probably about twenty times in the three years I've lived here. I put on music to fall asleep at night and wake up to the computer open and muted, indicated that I must have shut it off in the middle of the night. I wake up from horrible nightmares that I'm positive were reality, groggy as I'm bitchslapped by the intense sunlight drenching my room. What time is it? What day is it? What year is it? What world is it? I once had a nightmare so intense that I was convinced I was back in my first year of high school and suffering all of freshman year again, and it took what felt like an hour to realize where I was, in life and on the planet.
They say acne is caused by stress and I just don't get where all of this stress is coming from. I have so much anxiety that sometimes I find it hard to face the day, and especially to face myself. I hate staring at myself in the mirror. I spend a maximum of 3 minutes in front of the mirror, and that's if I'm brushing my hair. I hate looking at myself. I hate seeing pictures of myself. I hate seeing my face. I hate seeing myself on video. I hate hearing the sound of my own voice. I absolutely hate the physical form that represents me in this planet because I feel like it's just not... me. I look at that person and I don't know who she is.
This is who I am. This is what I look like, to me. I just hate that I have to represent myself with my flesh. It feels like only flesh to me, not me. If I happen to look in the mirror and smile at myself and think, "Hey, it's me!", I blink, put on my headphones, and dash out the door with a frown on my face, and cherish what I can of my "little world" before I'm forced to smother it in class. I can't be myself, it feels like. I can't do what I like. I can't be appreciated by people, and if I try to give something they can appreciate, I'm annoying, or a know-it-all, or a "chatty Cathy", or weird, dork, trying too hard, immature, ugly loud obnoxious stupid It's pointless. If I agree with something, I'm being a "kiss ass" or passive. If I disagree, I'm jaded and cynical. If I don't have an opinion, I'm heartless.
Eh, this whole thing is rendered pointless now that my mind's crossed over a happy thought. I'm trying so hard to make my teachers proud, to give them what they want so that I can get a good grade, that I'm failing to let myself grow as an artist. I'm narrowing myself to fit their desires and really, in the end they're just teachers. I'll pass the class. But I can't get down on myself. I'm not a fine artist, I'm not going to be that lady meticulously dotting Is and crossing Ts with a Sableine on a miniature with egg whites. It's all very fancy and admirable, but it's just not me. Maybe once all this energy is sapped up and I end up turning to those "finer things" I might stay put in front of that canvas, but for now I've got too much running through my head and too much to say and not enough time to do it to devote forty hours to getting that perfect glaze. I draw comics. I make sketches. I doodle. They may not be the best things ever, but once I get it all purged onto paper I go over it in ink and make that shit permanent, and that takes time. I want to draw monsters and demons and ponies and crazy expressions and unkempt hair and dirty faces and gnarled hands and crooked teeth and by golly oil just ain't the medium for all of that. Accept defeat, you silly artist, you! If your self-portrait doesn't look like you, well, hey—you don't really look like you anyway.