I was 14 years old when I looked in the mirror and realized that something was wrong with my skin. On the face - red inflamed subcutaneous acne and white comedones, which appeared literally overnight.

At the same time, many of my friends of the same age with a similar experience. In class, we passed each other a jar of salicylic acid, and during breaks (it's scary to remember!) We locked ourselves in the toilet with a friend and squeezed out the biggest and most disgusting pimples to each other. No disinfection, just nails and laundry soap at the school sink - just hardcore.

After such a group self-treatment things, of course became even worse . One evening, my mother looked anxiously at the congealed blood in the place where an exemplary comedone had flaunted an hour ago, and the next morning I and she went to the beautician after acne.

I must say, the beautician was so-so. They did a mechanical cleaning of my face (yes, right on the inflamed wounds) and said that in a couple of years everything would be normal again, because this is "a common teenage acne." From time to time I did the cleaning again, went to the pharmacy for Zinerit, washed my face with Clerasil and believed in a bright future. By the time of the classmates' graduation, the skin was again radiant with health and freshness. And mine, it seems, collected all the existing problems at once: blackheads, enlarged pores, peeling, subcutaneous tissue, comedones and excessive fat content at the same time. I continued to squeeze out all this wealth mercilessly. 

It got to the point that even on the most delicate areas, the skin became so rough that I did not feel pain at all . Of course, everyone around - my parents, doctors, friends - advised me to stop torturing my face. But I continued.

It may sound strange, but this is a scientific fact. Squeezing acne is another form of selfharma (deliberate self-harm). Usually people cut themselves or pull out their hair, but the principle is still the same. And the reason is one. Self-hatred. And your reflection in the mirror as well. This is the way to drown out the inner pain of the outer... I will say right away that I only allowed myself to poison myself. The school was lucky - they didn't show any aggression towards me. But in my area (and I lived on the outskirts of the workers) they teased everyone in a row and for everything. But not me. It's a shame to remember, but in that company I was the ringleader. And in which case she could get into a fight. I think it was some kind of evolutionary solution: if you attack first, you don't have to defend yourself.

After a couple of years, the skin situation improved. I picked up a care - imperfect, but which at least did not make it worse. Found a good dermatologist. She passed the tests, drank a course of antibiotics, began to do laser cleansing, cryomassage and salon peels. But in the end, all dreams of getting rid of acne were forever shattered by the correct diagnosis. My rashes are heredity. They do not depend on food allergies, hormones, food, the season, the lunar calendar or Mercury retrograde - all these and thousands of reasons I crossed out one by one. Parents, as teenagers, also faced this problem. Mom's rashes disappeared with age, dad's - no. It's just, apparently, I'm in the dad.

Over time, I stopped dreaming of unattainable "ideal" skin and focused on the only one that should worry me - mine. I know that my pores will not get smaller, and the subcutaneous tissue will continue to appear from time to time. That post-acne on my face heals for a very, very long time. That in one day three new inflammations can easily appear on the cheek. Then I will smear them with tea tree oil, in the evening I will do an almond peeling (it does not irritate even the most sensitive skin) and I will calmly go to bed. And in the morning I will not faint and I certainly will not decide to stay at home, because (oh horror!) A pimple popped up on my forehead again. Although I know real examples of girls who do this.

Complexing because of acne is no longer my story. Probably, the present I would take myself 14-year-old to a psychologist to talk about the notorious self - harm and relationships with myself.

Teenagers crush pimples, bite their nails, pull out their hair, not only because they are not satisfied with something about their appearance. When you are fighting the whole world, it is very easy to get hung up on one thing.

There were many people who considered it their duty to say that another pimple jumped up at me (otherwise I suddenly didn't notice), to laugh, to try to offend. But I didn't care. All the nasty things that one could think of about my skin were already in my head. This approach protected me from the whole world: offenders and advisers lagged behind quickly - an arrogant look and complete indifference to their injections instantly knocked down arrogance. But I drove myself into a corner.

Then I realized - that's enough . And she stopped poisoning herself. It doesn't happen overnight. This is a long, and most importantly, complex process. The same famous way of accepting yourself . By the first year of university, I no longer crushed acne and created a suitable beauty routine. I can't afford to come home from a party and fall on my face in a pillow. First, a two-phase make-up remover, a foam wash, a mild exfoliating toner, a spot remedy for inflammation and a moisturizer are waiting for me. It seems that it is long and boring, but in fact it takes about five minutes. But the next day, the skin will not peel off in patches, and a scattering of comedones will not transmit fiery greetings from the mirror. But even if I see that my face is not in the best condition, I always remember that this is not a disaster.

For 23 years of my life, acne has never qualitatively affected my existence . Seriously, how can they get in the way of meeting your boyfriend, going out on a date, or, I don't know, skydiving if you feel like it? Only my own thoughts interfered with me: “My God, everyone is looking only at my pimple. I am horrible. We urgently need to buy a balaclava ”. But let's be honest, most don't give a damn. And my family, relatives and friends - it doesn't matter if I have blackheads or not. They certainly don't love me for my flawless skin. And I, like at the age of 20, are my main critic. Only today I am already at ease with myself.