For as long as I can remember, there hasn’t been a moment where I haven’t had at least one pimple on my face. I’ve tried everything, including using my mom’s concealer that was three shades too orange for my skin tone. I’ve tried lathering my face in Neutrogena 10% benzoyl peroxide, which is basically acid, and I’m not exactly sure how it’s legally allowed as an over the counter product. I even went to a dermatologist just for him to tell me, “Yep, you have acne.” The only thing I learned from that was that dermatology is a scam. It wears you down until you only have one option left, and that undeniable truth stood in front of me. The only way to defeat my acne was to travel to the seventh circle of hell and get a prescription for Accutane.
After filling out 25,032 forms pledging to not get pregnant, it was show time. When my prescription finally arrived, they somehow managed to fit “DO NOT GET PREGNANT” on every square inch of the package. Message received.
Two weeks went by, and it seemed as though the acne fairy had stopped visiting me at night. I revelled in this period of bliss and smooth skin. It was almost too good to be true. Then, everything changed when week three hit. My eyes began to burn like the heat of a thousand suns, and it wasn’t even 10AM yet. At first, I chalked it up to the severe sleep deprivation challenge I had been putting my body up to. But as the days progressed, I knew that evil little pill was responsible. Then, the back aches hit. I bent down for the remote, and as I came back up, I let out a groan like the one that my grandpa makes when he gets up from a chair. At first, I wondered, how much time has passed since we had been in quarantine? Am I living in a time warp? But, once again, I realized that the pill had given me the back of a 73 year old. Now, I hobble around my house, unable to stretch my seemingly fused spinal cord. I can’t even throw it back anymore for TikTok dances. By week four, I think I might need a cane. This blame game can be dangerous though, giving me the opportunity to cop out of any responsibility I may feel for my self-destructive actions. Oh, I’m tired? It’s from the Accutane, not the three hours of sleep I got after watching random people make pools on Youtube.
Fortunately, if there is any good time to take this medication, it’s right now. No sun exposure? No problem. I haven’t left my house in 13 days. While others are lamenting about being stuck inside their own homes, I am thriving. The only time I see my friends is over Snapchat, and thankfully, the android quality camera on the app hides my reptilian textured skin. And for online school, the 200p quality camera on my laptop magically smooths out my features, so i just look like a blob on the Google Meet. I’m also glad I don’t have to look at my reflection in the school bathroom mirrors –there’s no better way to describe them than as having prison lighting.