Acne

Let me say this, and let me say this once and only once: I have acne. And it’s not the first time I’m getting it, but never in my entire life have I seen anything as bad as this time round.



I got my first batch of pimples in junior high, when seeing a doctor for acne was not heard of – in my world, at least. Because normally we all learn that pimples go away on their own, yes? Apparently I wasn’t told the uglier side of the story. This went on to getting on during my senior year, and the year after that. This is the fourth time I’m getting it, and it bugs me a hell lot.



I guess you could say that the source is in the genes: my mother had it, my father had it, and so did my grandparents. I won’t be surprised if my ancestors got cursed with it in the first place, in which they have gladly passed on as a family heredity. The only difference, of course, is the extent of the wounding and the scarring on the skin. Not even my mother had acn...