When you become an adult, you gain responsibilities; like paying bills, living on your own, and getting a job. You finally feel like the awkward teenage days are over and you have become a mature and successful individual. Then one day you wake up, you look in the mirror, and see a giant zit on your face. You think, “what the F—?! I thought we were done with this!”.
Next, your heart races, because the thought of going on Proactiv at 29, is just another expense to add to the “being an adult” list.
You are so beside yourself about this pimple, that you go to the people you can count on for support. You say to your friends “Get this! I’m breaking out!”. Your poor friend who never stopped breaking out, looks at you and says “you’re shitting me, right?”.
Listen…this is awful and confusing for everyone.
You turn to your boyfriend for support but he is a zit picker and says “Can I pop it?”. Which brings up my next point, why is popping a zit so much fun? You feel so gross about yourself—yet a sense of accomplishment at the same time.
Well, this is about all I can stomach on the topic of acne, before I start to experience PTSD and curl up and a ball and cry—like I did when I was thirteen.