Perfectly flawed

Why is acne so hard to get rid of

I wake up with a start. Just another bad dream. They aren't coming back. A tear rolls down my cheek. I hate these days. Another tear runs down my cheek. The days I wake up and know it's going to be a bad day, the days when all I want to do is forget what happened and have them still laughing in the living room waiting for me to get out of bed so they can ask me to make pancakes for them. I hate these days when I just want to replace their deaths with my own. Soon I'm quietly sobbing making sure I don't wake up my mother because I don't want her to get mad at me again. I hate my life right now.

After I've stopped crying I climb out of bed and get my clothes and towel and head towards the bathroom to get ready for school. As I walk down the hallway I see if Mom needs to be woken up or if my crying has already woken her up. surprisingly, she's still asleep. She has her hand under her pillow and the other hand over my little brothers baby blanket. I walk in quietly and shake her shoulder. "Mom. You have to get up. It's time for you to get ready for work". Her eyes flutter open and look up at me.
"What time is it?" Mom asks me
"It's 7:00 you have work at 9:00 don't you?" I whisper back.
"Yeah I do. Thank you I love you" she tells me.
I start walking out the door, "love you too. There's coffee made that I preset last night to make at 6:45"

I walk into the bathroom and start to strip my clothes. I look into the mirror and see a very bland girl. A girl that would go unnoticed, even in a small crowd. A girl that hates how she looks because people forget that she was even there. A girl that could never love or be loved because of the scars on her arms. This girl has Blue/grey eyes, shoulder length blonde hair, a small nose, brown eyelashes,red medium sized lips and acne. This plain girl; this very boring, unloved girl, she, she is me.

I touch some of the scars that are there, stuck on my face from almost 2 years of picking at the acne. I look at the scars on my wrists and touch them too. I wish I had never started cutting. The scars are ugly. I know I will never be able to have them fully disappear. Scars fade but they don't disappear. I can get rid of my acne. Then maybe I'll feel pretty. I don't know how to accomplish that feat though. I've tried all sorts of face masks and creams and washes and nothing seems to work. I want to cut. I really want to but I promised myself I wouldn't. Just look away from the mirror. It'll be okay. Don't grab that razor blade. You are perfect just the way you are. I love you so much. The little voice in my head says. - That little voice is the only thing that keeps me from cutting or injuring myself in any way. It started talking to me a little over a week after the accident. I love the voice but it makes me sad sometimes. - I sigh and turn away from my mirror and turn on the water to my shower. I put my iPhone on the counter and press play on my music.
"I love you too" I mumble to the little voice.

Listening to one of my "emo" bands, as my mother would call it I step under the warm-hot water. The water feels nice on my cold, naked body. I wish I was a normal girl again, one who didn't have to suffer every day because of the accident, who doesn't have to deal with bullying. I wish I didn't have such bad acne. I think about all the girls in my high school who have flawless skin. I wonder how they do it, how they keep their skin flawless and glowing. I heard that some of them take this new illicit medication that keeps your body producing the exact amount of oils that are needed to keep your skin from drying out. I also heard that it doesn't allow your body lose its old, dead skin cells. Instead it keeps them alive and doesn't allow the production of any new skin cells. I would take it if it sounded safe...or if it was legal and not still in trials.  I grab my shampoo and pour some onto my hand.

As I wash my hair I mentally go through a list of what is right and beautiful about me: my perfect smile, my personality. That I made friends with a person. That's about it. Now to go through the things wrong with me: I have acne, I'm boring, I have anxiety issues, I like school...for the most part. Only one friend. My clothing style. I have been told that I dress like a parent. I don't understand how I am supposed to dress like a teenager but still feel comfortable or without showing crazy excessive amounts of skin.  Why can't I be perfect and beautiful? I sigh as I think about that last thought and step out of the shower.