Story #354
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When I was nine years old, my skin began to break out with very severe, cystic acne. No, acne is not a life changer, but when you are the only nine year old you know with severe acne, it’s humiliating. The teasing and mean nicknames were endless and I became very self-conscious. The dermatologist said it was genetic and I just had to live with it. Thousands of dollars and literally every form of treatment-prescription, organic, or otherwise-later, it was still just as bad as always. I had thought about praying for it, but I always thought it was too small and insignificant and that it would be vain to ask for clear skin when there were people dying of cancer and heart attacks. The ridicule got worse. More than once, I found Clearasil and bars of soap that had been placed in my locker. I distinctly remember staying home from school a few days to avoid facing my peers during a bad breakout. (CONTINUED)