Acne has (unfortunately) played a big part in my life since I was 10. I have tried almost every prescription drug available and alternative treatment for it: antibiotics, topical creams, more antibiotics, hormones, Roaccutane, homeopathy, Chinese medicine, herbs and vitamins. I have cried myself to sleep about it, called in sick at work, missed lectures at university, missed friends' parties and spent hundreds of pounds on trying to find a miracle cure.
I empathise with anyone who suffers with it, even if it only develops into a few small spots; but there really is a huge difference between mild and severe acne. I suppose I began with mild acne, but it seems a long time ago now.
~~Acne in the early years and teasing at school~~
My acne began at age 10 (yep, I know that's weirdly young), grew inevitably worse as a teenager and continued into my twenties. My mum suffered from bad acne as a teenager and in her twenties/thirties, and my dad from mild acne as a teenager, so it wasn't a great surprise when I started getting spotty! It's definitely a genetic thing, whatever the doctors say.
I was self-conscious enough as a child anyway, so starting to get spots before I was supposed to (according to the books anyway) ensured I felt very embarrassed about it. I remember borrowing my mum's foundation when I was about 10 before I went to school each morning. When I was at school I used to ask the teacher if I could go to the toilets, and this was just so that I could go and check my skin was ok, and to make sure the foundation was still on. I remember once noticing it was slightly orange! I wish my mum had shown me how to put it on properly rather than letting me 'experiment'!
A clear memory from primary school is having school dinners one day and walking towards a table to sit at. As I was about to sit down one of the girls said: 'no, you can't sit here, you don't wash your face'. I just turned and sat somewhere else. It's surprising how certain memories remain with you while others you forget. I mean, god, I probably washed my face more scrupulously than any other kid at school.
I was at primary school when I first saw a doctor about my acne. I remember being shown how to squeeze a spot 'properly' so that it would not scar. For those of you who are interested this necessitated pressing on the outside of the spot with your two index fingers and just pressing down with moderate pressure - not in towards the spot. This actually didn't work very well for me so I stuck to the good old traditional method of just squeezing as hard as I could until it popped. Yelch! Sorry - I did warn you this would be graphic.
At age 11, with my acne mainly on my chin and forehead, I was given my first prescription of Oxytetracycline, an antibiotic. I was to remain on this, on and off, for years. Its huge disadvantage for me was that it had to be taken on an empty stomach so I had to get up an hour earlier before school so I could take a tablet and still have time for breakfast. Hmmm, I don't quite think I could do that now, but at the time I was so keen to do anything to help that I didn't care. The Oxytetracycline controlled but did not clear my skin. I was constantly reminded that there was no 'cure' for acne but that it would probably improve as I got older.
I was also prescribed Benzoyl Peroxide 5% to put on my face each night, which I did diligently. After a few days my skin was very, very red and was beginning to peel and dry up. It definitely helped clear the acne but I can't say my face looked a lot better. Still, I was certainly happier to have a smoother red face than a lumpy foundation covered one.
My confidence on my first day at Secondary school was marred by a small comment from a boy called Matthew. After an induction in the main hall we were assigned into our new classes, and told to walk to our new classrooms. As I walked up the stairs, surrounded by lots of other 11 year olds, one boy nearby looked at me and called out: 'Eeugh look, we've got spotty dick in our class'. I have never forgotten that moment, where I was standing and how small and ugly I felt. I'm not trying to call attention to how mean that boy was to me, because teasing is quite normal at school, but I just want to highlight how the slightest comments can hurt and remain in your mind for a long, long time.
At age 13 the effect of the antibiotics was wearing off and so I was referred to a dermatologist. My acne then was moderate to severe with many blackheads, whiteheads and boils all over my cheeks, forehead, nose and chin, as well as spots on my back and chest. It was not constantly like this but at its worst it really was all over my face. The dermatologist initially prescribed me Retin A (Retonic Acid), a topical gel that is now also used as an anti-wrinkle product. My skin became minimally clearer but also sore and sensitive to sunlight.
To my elation, the next time I returned to the dermatologist I was prescribed Roaccutane, the supposed 'cure' for acne. It is not normally prescribed so early in life but my skin was so severe it was deemed appropriate. It works by shrinking the size of the oil glands so reducing the secretion of grease. After a week on it my skin actually became worse (which apparently sometimes happens because your skin is clearing itself out). During this time I remember walking between lessons at school and a boy said something like: 'F*** me, how many zits have your got on your face!?' My skin was covered at that point but believe me, the comment hurt more than my skin. Anyway, after a month on Roaccutane my skin was completely clear. It's deceptive because I really did think that was it 'cured' then. How could I ever get another spot now? Unfortunately, within a year, the grease glands kicked themselves back into action and slowly but surely the acne returned.
School could have actually been worse for me had I been less successful. Thankfully, I was quite bright and very good at sport, art and music, talents that demanded a certain degree of respect from the other kids. Sport in particular was a saving grace as I captained some sports teams. As the years went on, I received more deference and my confidence developed in turn. I hate to imagine what teasing I would have endured had I been less dominant in sport and less able generally. The teasing was still there occasionally, mostly by certain members of my year who took delight in teasing anyone about anything.
My most enduring names were 'Superted' (due to the tv programme and his sidekick 'spotty'!) and Freddie Kruger' (of Nightmare on Elm Street fame) due to my face apparently being so unsightly. Quite, quite ingenious. That was as bad as it got at school, which wasn't so bad I guess. I was never bullied, so I think I got off quite lightly, considering what some other children have to go through during their school lives.
Throughout my teenage years I was constantly on some prescribed drug or another. Minocycline, Trimethoprim, Doxcycline, Dianette, more Oxytetracycline, Panoxyl, to name the ones I can remember off the top of my head. My life was a ride of hormones, periods, beauty magazines, numerous visits to Boots, boyfriends, snogs, torments, laughter, good times and bad times. More or less though, my acne was controlled by the drugs and I would only occasionally have a bad spell. But when I did have a bad spell it would be very severe and affect me emotionally as well as physically.
~~Breakouts~~
Breakouts were, and still are, the things I dreaded. They are always lurking there like a ticking bomb, with me never really knowing what will set them off or when they will explode. At the worst times, my face would be covered in masses of whiteheads, which I normally had to squeeze in order to face people. I would cover my face with TCP to try to stop them from spreading and, at one stage of my life I used Dettol! Our bathroom at home would smell constantly of it when I had a bad skin phase. After the TCP I would place a tissue on my skin to 'mop up' the spots. Then, when my face was dry, I would put on foundation (oil free of course) and concealer to hide the redness. I often had to wash my face three to four times a day to clear the grease. Sometimes these bad phases would last for a few days but sometimes they would drag on for weeks.
As much as I wanted to wear foundation over my acne when I was with people, I hated the feel of it over the spots and as soon as I was on my own I would wash it off. Then I would feel healthy again and it would be dry for a time (ie. not greasy).
I could not bear to face people, even my own family, and any parties I had planned to go to would have to go on without me. Unfortunately, I couldn't establish a hormonal pattern to my acne. My periods were fine: regular and healthy. Sometimes my acne would worsen before a period, like most girls, and at other times it would improve before a period and get worse afterwards. It really was bizarre and I still to this day have not established a pattern.
There are three main upsets for me during a bad breakout:
1) My skin gets very painful and it's very uncomfortable to move my mouth to speak (Most people do not realise how painful acne can be). I also have to endure feeling my skin 'beating' throughout the day as more spots are forming.
2) Another difficulty is that during a bad break out my skin is tremendously greasy so any make-up slides off.
3) I do not want to be kissed, touched or really even looked at if my skin is really bad. I feel truly, truly disgusting.
~~Acne and social life~~
It would not be an exaggeration to say that acne has at times ruled my life. Certain things were made very difficult for me and some things I completely avoided.
As a teenager I dreaded anything like camp or pyjama parties where we had to sleep over. No mirrors! No make-up! I couldn't check my skin in the mornings, and if it was bad then I could hardly bring myself to look at anyone. Even nowadays, if I imagine going travelling, trekking or something that involves camping, my first thought is of my acne. Can I take my vitamins with me? What if I have a flare-up? Thankfully, I have learned to let it bother me less over the years. And the fact that I don't suffer from acne very much any more is a definite bonus too. I've written more about that further on.
As a young girl, I was a competitive swimmer, regularly attending lessons and galas. The one thing that decreased my enjoyment of it was the acne I had on my back. I hated standing in a line when wearing my costume because I felt so self-conscious of the spots on my back. For some reason I felt it made me dirty to have spots on my back, whereas I thought it was more acceptable on my face. I think because a lot of people had a few facial spots but no one else had any on their back.
I never used to wear backless dresses, or even scoop-backed summer tops because of the acne on my back. It's only cleared up on my back in the last couple of years and I appreciate wearing more sexy dresses nowadays. It is still something I do not take for granted.
If my acne was particularly bad I would not want to leave the house and I remember a few times when I would not come out of my room at home. When it was bad then my paper-rounds in the morning were preceded by me putting on concealer. I did not want anyone to see me in my natural state. Many times I did not go to parties or go out with my friends because it was so bad.
The most extreme and perhaps hilarious incident was at university in the halls of residence. The fire alarms went off during the night and instead of leaving the building immediately I went straight to the mirror and started to put on my concealer so no -one could see my spots. This was, I hasten to add, when my skin was quite bad.
My skin was not too annoying during university years, although again it was good and bad phases. After I graduated it got worse again and my confidence regarding job hunting somewhat lessened. I was prescribed another course of Roaccutane and that cured the acne again for about a year, but it returned after. At university it had been ok if I didn't want to face anyone because I could stay in my room, or just stick to my close friends, but I knew that I could not just take off days from work willy nilly. Or so I thought.