It gets worse before it gets better

It gets worse before it gets better. This is what I tell myself every morning when I wake up finding two or three papules sprouting from a last one that just healed. It gets worse before it gets better. This is what I tell myself when I look into the mirror and feel absolutely repulsed by the person looking back. It gets worse before it gets better. This is what I tell myself every time I’m tempted to slip away into a daydream that I know will always be just a daydream.

It gets worse before it gets better.

Sometimes I wonder if my face is a reflection of my life. And maybe, in some weird, scientific fact connecting hormones to oil production to psychological stress, it probably is. All I know right now is that when I’m happy or disgustingly in love, my face is a ray of sunshine—all clear and pretty. Even though my skin is far from perfect, I don’t give it much thought because I’m somehow convinced by the proverbial “when you think you’re pretty, other people will too.” Usually, my life’s a breeze too when I feel beautiful. Though there are the occasional glitches and power outbreaks, I usually just sit and smile through the temporary stop and pray to God that everything will run smooth again. And when I’m lucky—which I usually am—they do.

But now. My life feels so broken, I’ve almost given up hope that anything could be done to repair it again. And maybe even then, it won’t run the same way. The question that’s been eating at me right now is—how did I get here? Why did I become so sad and so lonely?

Looking back, I guess part of it is because of the psychological damage that comes with the breakouts. I’m pretty big about looking pretty because I know I will never ever live through my life without proving to myself and others that what that stupid boy said in the movie theater wasn’t true. Yes, I may be shallow, but if you were told that you were extremely ugly and fat, wouldn’t you be? Wouldn’t you spend the rest of your life wondering if that is true? Wouldn’t you try everything to make yourself feel otherwise? And yes, that is exactly why I’m losing weight. That is exactly why my life has gone to a halt now that I’m breaking out like hell.
But I guess the bigger part of why I’m suddenly empty is because of love. And isn’t that always the reason? Always?

I should probably stop ranting since I’ve experienced “unreturned feelings” one too many times. But this . . . it’s the worst heartbreak yet. And I’m just so lucky that it had to happen at the same time as my downward spiral. Talk about pretty timing.

There are so many things I’m unsure about my life right now: Should I quit my job? Should I go home and rest for a year? Why am I not studying for that board exam? Am I going to top it? Am I going to even pass? Does anyone love me? Why doesn’t he love me? Do I look disgusting to other people? Am I sick? When will these zits go away? How may pounds have I lost? How many more pounds do I have to lose? Should I go back to school? And if I do, would I still be smart?

So many fucking questions. I wish I knew the answer to just one of them. Yet there is one thing I don’t doubt, this one thing I’m absolutely sure of: I love him. I fucking love him.

I want to hold on to those feelings, those warm tingles that remind me life is still beautiful. But even they have left me cold. And those same feelings that once made me so alive and gave me beautiful dreams that got me through awful days—they’ve turned into ugly, calloused hands violently wrapped around my neck, choking me to death under the illusion of gentleness. Yes, even the love I feel for him has turned ugly. Along with everything else in my life.

In retrospect, I rise above these emotional stupors eventually. After a good book or a warm hug from someone I miss or the smell of sunshine at home, these ugly feelings eventually just come off and I just find myself happy again. So far, this is all that gets me through these days—the thought that I’ll come around someday. My birthday is coming, and I want to be back when I turn twenty-one. I want to face another year in my life with a smile, with gratitude and appreciation and happiness. I want to feel alive again.

But until that day comes, I’ll just hold on to these words and to the people that still give meaning to my life. I’ll be waiting.