My new meds make my skin throw a fit. Itās not terribly bad, just a few things here and there, but itās bumming me out because Iāve never really had too many run-ins with acne.
My four-year-old sister, however, is under the impression that itās just ā3D frecklesā, and that they look very, very pretty. She wants all of my freckles to āpop outā, especially the ones across my nose; theyāre her favourite.
And it puts me in this weird position where I canāt say, āNo, this is acne, and itās bad,ā because I donāt want to teach her that itās a bad to have unclear skin, you know? I tried to tell her that my skin was sick because of the new medicine, but she was having none of it. She didnāt think they were any different than all of my literal, actual freckles, despite my efforts to delicately tell her otherwise.
The more I think about interactions I have with children, the more I realise that children will consistently compliment āflawsā until theyāve been taught not to.
Like, a kid at the library, whose sister has vitiligo, saw my scars once and suggested that his sister and I should be cats for Halloween, since I have ātabby skinā and she has ācalico skinā. āI can be a black cat,ā he immediately added. āItās not AS cool, but theyāre the spookiest.ā
When I started losing weight, my little brother immediately demanded that I gain it back, because I wasnāt as comfortable to cuddle with anymore.
And my other little sister always wants to wear her paint-stained clothes to school so that āeveryone can tell [sheās] an artistā.
I donāt know. I guess talking to little kids just reminds me that all of this superficial shit we worry about really is 100% made up.
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