Good lord did someone go to work on my fucking face today. Cleaned that shit out. I’d never had a facial before. (Did you know you take off your pants when you have this kind of facial, too?) And she did that shit but well. All this product, and steaming, and picking. She picked at me for forty fucking minutes. I know it was that long because she told me. Must have pulled dozens and dozens of blackheads out my fucking face. Then the verdict.
“Don’t pick, Seer. You know this, but I have to tell you: don’t pick your face. We have to get you to stop doing this. You’re making the pigmentation worse. Stop picking. Just stop. Next time it won’t be so rough when you come in, if you stop picking. I can’t do the facial massage now because I had to clean you out so much.”
“I know,” I said, and was all sighs. I know these things. The shame, it wears me out. I’m done lying to the people who are trying to help me. I want them to tell me the truth. I don’t know if I’m ready to do what they tell me to do, but I do want them to tell me the truth.
Then she covered me with flesh-eating acid. That’s what a “chemical peel” is–skin-corroding acid. Apparently I have a very high pain tolerance. I’m also really motivated to get better. Burn this shit off my face like I’m staring right at the Ark of the Covenant. So she was able to keep it on my face for more than five minutes, and right after she’d popped out the gunk, so I was all raw. This was a good thing, she said. The hurt could really get in the emptied pores and do its magic. I think she’s a little bit of a sadist, but whatever. I hope she gets some joy out of popping zits all day. And she did tell me to tell her the pain on a scale of one to ten and she put a fan on me to reduce the burning, so she’s not all hurt.
How does it feel, having the outer layer of your skin burnt off? Odd. It felt like chili peppers, habaneros to be exact, were on my entire face. It wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t hurt. It was a lot of sensation. Not like this morning when I walked into the open dishwasher and hit my shin on it in a major way. That was pain. No, this was different. With the peel, I was able to turn myself inward and concentrate on my breath and know that it wasn’t hurting me, and I didn’t have to have it off of me right then, and that it was cleaning out my skin, so it was a good thing, and that I could tell her to get it off as soon as I wanted, and deep breaths would help, and that it was just warm, not really painful. There are ways to get inside of sensation. Tattoo is the same way. It only really hurts when he’s pushing the needle in really hard and it slows down (zzzz goes to zz-z-z–z—zuh)–that’s the hurting part. I could focus on which parts were the warmest, and which were the coolest, and wasn’t that strange. Five minutes later it would be very different. And the weirdest part is the neutralizing, adding water to it, is the warmest part of all.
I have a lot of product on my face right now. And I’m not supposed to wash tonight or leave the house. And I have something new to use instead of something I was using, because the esthetician I saw today doesn’t think I’m clearing up fast enough. She said she used to have acne just like mine, so she knows what I need to do. Well, her face looks like a fucking baby’s ass, so I’ll do what she commands. I’ll wipe toads all over my cheeks if she says it’ll help. After my cleansers are through, she wants to put me on a more aggressive regimen. She said I would hate her for what would happen to me now: I’ll get flaky and dry and look horrid. I won’t hate her though. I want to get better. She wants me to get clear so we can work on the pigmentation. I know that she’s only concentrating on it because she’s an esthetician, but I don’t like how much she talked about it today. Made it seem like it was really glaring, although all private citizens have assured me it isn’t. My head tells me they’re lying.
I would also like to report that my wrinkles are highly diminished after what she did to me today, with the acid. Most of them aren’t that bad anyways, because I have a greasy, fat face (genetic: both McRicketts and McGees age well), and I always wear sunglasses and sunscreen, and I use wrinkle cream around my eyes, and I don’t squint on purpose because I don’t want crow’s feet like Moms. But I have a terrible, “You’ve-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me-you-motherfucking-asshole-What-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you?” wrinkle between my eyebrows, and my neck wrinkles are really starting to set, like a crack in a cheesecake. And right now my face looks like it did three, maybe five years ago. I swear, by the time we’re done with this people might think I’m in my early twenties. They already think I’m a few years younger than thirty-three (almost thirty-four). Crazy. I wasn’t expecting that. I just wanted clear skin. I guess losing a decade is a happy by-product. Thank god, because I’ll be as poor as I was when I was twenty-two! Shit’s gonna cost bank.
And then I came home and someone got mad at me because I said I wasn’t supposed to go out tonight and she thinks I’m isolating. The esthetician told me to stay home because I can’t wash my face until tomorrow. Person I Talked To said that while she didn’t doubt that that’s what the esthetician said, she still didn’t think it was true, based on her own experience, and that I was hiding behind it. Shame and guilt all over the place. I swear, it’s running me down. No, I can’t do everything right. No, I won’t make everyone happy. Yes, I know they want me to do well. No, I don’t hate them for it. Instead, I end up taking it out on myself.
Well, I think I’m doing just fine, people! Yes, I pick my fucking face. I’m still taking action on my goddamned acne, because it bothers me and I’m fucking worth it. I’ll work on it. I’ll try and stop. I’m doing really well on not touching it tonight. If I can cut the word “like” out of my vocabulary (I rarely say “totally,” either) then I’m sure I can stop picking my face eventually. And I went out with people last night, even though it was uncomfortable. No, that’s not what Person wanted me to do, but it was pretty damn good for me. So maybe everyone else in the world is disappointed in my ass, but I think I’m doing a whole lotta okay. So everyone else may put salt in the game, but Seer is doing not too shabby, in her own opinion. Booyakachump.