Most people know about the five-minute rule: If someone can’t fix something about their appearance in five minutes, don’t mention it. My life has been majorly altered because of a singular time when someone couldn’t follow this rule.
In sixth grade, I had just moved to Washington, D.C. from Florida, and was starting middle school,without knowing anyone. I had moved before, so having to make new friends was not an unprecedented experience for me. However, I was also going through a major change that we all go through at some point in our lives: puberty.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, I had a genetic predisposition that makes my skin more sensitive to oil production hormones. This is a nice way of saying that I had extremely bad hormonal acne. When I first started to get pimples, I didn’t think anything of them; I actually didn’t notice them at all. About a week into the school year, I was sitting in my assigned seat, which just happened to be next to this guy who decided he had to have a special nickname for me: “Acnefarm.”
Even though at the time I only had a few pimples, he insisted on calling me by this name for the entire first month of the school year before we finally switched assigned seats. But a month was enough time; my opinion of acne, and of myself, was entirely changed.
From that day on, I worked tirelessly to cover up my acne and try to treat it. I also started to pick at my pimples, not knowing that would only make them spread. My skin was so damaged that I wore a full beat of makeup every day (not just school days) for three whole years. I got up insanely early every morning just to make sure I had enough time to accurately cover up. I wouldn’t even allow my family members to see me without makeup.
As my makeup consumption went up, my anxiety and depression did as well. I would get anxious about having pimples, which in turn would make more appear on my face. I developed dermatillomania, or excoriation disorder: a mental health condition where you compulsively pick at your skin, causing injuries, infections and scarring,leading to stress, anxiety and a reduced sense of well-being. I would pick at my skin so much that I was ripping off layers of skin. I would scratch and scratch until I was bleeding and permanently scarred.
I ended up being put on birth control to manage my hormones and my acne subsided enough that when I started high school, I was completely makeup-free. Starting at about the beginning of junior year, however, I had a second wave of puberty. My acne came back in full force, and even worse, it came back as cystic acne.
Cystic acne is a severe type of hormonal acne where large, painful bumps filled with pus or fluid form under your skin. It made me hate my life; every time I tried to do anything, “Acnefarm” would repeat over and over in my head. I became very depressed. My relationships with my friends, and especially with my family, deteriorated. I stopped going to school, I stopped participating in activities, I stopped going outside, I stopped living. I didn’t want to.
It’s scary to me to think of that time, even though I don’t remember most of it (thank you, trauma blocking). It’s also so scary for me to think about how much of an effect something so small can have on a person. Even though having a pimple is not the end of the world, because of something said to me only a few times, it felt like it.
Thankfully, I ended up being put on not only a stronger, more effective birth control, but I was also able to be treated through anxiety medication and very intensive therapy. I still think about it, and I’m still struggling with dermatillomania, but I can now accept that I have scars and flaws and I am still able to live, but more importantly, I still want to live.
The world around us is a scary place, especially right now. I know that what I went through is nothing compared to what other people go through every day, and there are so many big changes that need to happen to our world to make it better for everyone. However, we can’t always control everything happening in the world around us.
What we can control is how we treat other people and what words we put into this world. We can refrain from making negative comments about and to each other, especially about things out of our control. Try to give someone a compliment every day; you never know how much they need it. And remember: if they can’t fix it in five minutes, please don’t mention it. The consequences can be deadly.
Emma Leonardi, FCRH’28, is an English and psychology double major from Washington D.C.
