I Am Pimple, Here to TAKE OVER YOUR LIFE!!!

A few days ago, I was standing three inches away from the mirror in the bathroom, cursing a pimple on my face the size of Yellowstone National Park. I think perceived dysmorphia is a common psychological experience with breakouts, so no matter how rational my thinking patterns are on a day to day basis, one bad pimple can make it seem as if my whole face has been taken over by the Monster of Hideousness.

So even if other people see this:

I see this:

As I get older, the sudden unexpected appearance of random pimples angers me even more. What's often insult to injury is that the pimples themselves are barricaded in an underground tunnel with heavy weaponry, approximately twelve feet below the surface of the skin. They can remain there for weeks at a time, taunting me.

At some point, I decide to go on a full-on war against the pimple. I head to the pharmacy in a huff, determined to acquire all the modern chemical waste necessary to destroy the pimple. I engage the pimple in psychological warfare, as if my conviction of my superiority will make it disappear.

In a stress-filled daze of rage, I attack the pimple with 400% benzoyl peroxide, hydrochloric acid, and mustard gas. However, the pimple, having had over twenty-five years to prepare itself for battle, usually only gets enraged at this attack, and subsequently, becomes worse.

And then, I start feeling paranoid. I worry that everyone I encounter will see nothing else but the pimple on my face. I begin to avoid even rudimentary social interaction. When the neighbors knock on the door, I hide in the kitchen with the laptop, out of the way of windows. No matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I firmly believe that the pimple on my face has rendered me a cross between a gargoyle and an amoeba.

Of course, eventually the pimple does go away, and I can once again walk freely in society. For a short time, I am allowed to experience what's left of my fleeting youth without high school era facial distractions. Sometimes, I even succeed in convincing myself that maybe, that last time *was* the last appearance of the underground bacterial venomous pimply evil.

But deep down, I know the new life-destroying pimple is already in the War Zone twelve feet underground, calculating, waiting for that perfect sunny day to once again rear its ugly head:

-V