Puberty Blues

So lately there have been a few tv shows all about both glorifying and exposing the teenage years, this is nothing new, but as a teenager myself I've found myself thinking about my own experiences growing up.
At 16.8 years old I'm pretty well past the initial horrors of puberty, but it's not something you easily forget.

In high school there are those privellaged enough to age gracefully, like somehow overnight they are visited by the pretty fairy and granted a supermodel complexion and a brand new pair of boobs.

and then, there was me.

Shy, geeky, crooked teeth, awkwardly tall, long mousey hair and glasses.
I was around twelve or thirteen when my skin started hating me.
I know there are many of you who go "Oh yes, I remember my first pimple! I woke up one morning and there it was."
I don't remember ever having just one pimple, it was always thousands at a time. I woke up one morning and my face was gone.
I would have killed to just have one.

Now, my self esteem wasn't great to start off with, but being labelled 'the ugly kid' didn't help me at all.
I fell into the trap of thinking I wasn't good enough. I wanted to be pretty.

As we all know, there are countless marketing companies that profit from the insecurities of young girls and women. They tell you what you don't have, and then try to sell it to you.

I bought into it, and begged my mum to buy me all the miracle products I so desperately needed. She, having been the pretty, popular one at my age took pity on me and assured me she would try everything.
I scrubbed viscously at my face twice daily, hoping that maybe I'd scrub my face off completely and a new, beautiful one might appear.

when it was clear that wasn't working, it didn't take me very long to give up on the twice-daily routine all together. I didn't like the injustice of having to spend so much time and money on my face when beauty came to others so effortlessly. What I needed was a miracle-once-off-instant-clear-skin-apply-whenever-you-feel-like-it remedy.

Sadly, such a thing didn't exist and mum finally offered to take me to see a dermatologist but never followed through. The best dermatological advice I got was that it was either stress, or my diet.
diet
diet
diet

which got me thinking...

Thus began my downward spiral of self loathing.
For a while I just decided I was too ugly to do anything.

Eventually Mum bought me some cover-up.

It was a beautiful shade of Dorito.

I found my own, much more efficient cover up.

Until one day I was ripped from my own self pity by a sense of determination.
I couldn't change what others thought of me, I couldn't change what the media told me to be, but I could become a person that made MYSELF, if no one else, happy.


I started eating properly again

Cut and dyed my hair several times over.

and even gave myself some new piercings..

By the end of it all, I was probably even further away from society's stupid idealistic view of beauty, but I didn't care what anybody thought anymore. I was me. I was individual.
I was happy.

and that's how I survived growing up.
Xox Nay.