I’ve been on almost every form of acne treatment out there… commercially available, extemporaneously compounded and otherwise… everything short of Accutane and anything acquired through an infomercial. I’ve battled it since I was at least 11 years old, and by the time I was 18 or so and halfway through pharmacy school, I decided to call it quits with the creams and pills because nothing had ever actually taken it away entirely or even come close. And I figured if I kept going from age 11 to age 35 or whenever it decided to naturally subside, I’d be well on my way to skin cancers and severe hormone deficiency and hot flashes at age 50.

Quite some time after I’d stopped taking any medicine, my face flared up with acne pretty bad for a few months for whatever reason. Bad enough that everyone asked me about it. I was fine with my complexion, and while most people battle with a negative self image of themselves, the source of which everyone around them is completely oblivious of because there is truly no terrible thing visible to the naked eye, I apparently was broadcasting something on my face that was unbeknownst to me.
The most common comment I got was “what happened to your face?” People would actually say that. And not just one or two - like every acquaintance I had. Friends stayed friends and I looked the same to them no matter what. But I got it from all ends, even strangers. I tried to brush off the question at the post office, but the lady pressed on, “Is it a rash?” I used to volunteer at a soup kitchen on Vancouver’s downtown eastside, and the people there, the people who didn’t have a change of clothes, who hadn’t showered in several days, who hadn’t eaten since hot dogs were served the night before, they asked me what was wrong with my face. It was really hard for me.
I started taking antibiotics to make me a pretty pony for my wedding day, and I’m going to attempt to pictorially document how it works on me over the next 6 months.
Jonathan Keller’s website documents his daily photo project…. he takes a picture of himself everyday… for the rest of his life.

What does this have to do with me? Maybe you’ll see a photo montage of me at the end of this.
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