God, I am disgusting aren't I? Surely, this is punishment for a sin

The welts and pits on my thighs, my underarms, my ass

"Loving yourself is all about being comfortable in your skin" 

The funny thing is, my skin is what makes me ask 

"What did I do to deserve this?" 

I'm a freshman in highschool and I thought I just had bad hygiene 

So I washed religiously and scrubbed until I thought I'd cure whatever this is

But there are sores that hurt so bad, and I don't understand because I'm fifteen

I'm fifteen and I hate my body, I look in the mirror and see a fat, acne covered lard

What am I doing wrong? Sores come and they go, they vanish fairly quickly

But not this one, this one is right where I want nobody looking, but bearing the pain is hard

I call in my mother and with tears in my eyes I show her, and cry

"I'll call the dermatologist, okay?" 

"Okay," I say, "Okay, sounds good." I lie 

 

The light is white and blinding, this room is cold and I sit, naked and covered in thin paper

My clothes are folded on a chair beside my mother, the curtain drawn 

I'm waiting to be inspected and prodded at, because my skin is a traitor 

I have no dignity left, the shred I clung to when coming in has gone

 

No girl that age should have to be inspected and touched that way

My legs drawn apart, my back against the examination table 

Tears stream down my cheeks silently, my body almost lifeless where I lay 

I get a needle stuck in the least desirable of places on any woman and a sticky note that tells me what I'll see on my medication label

 

I go home, I stare at the girl in the mirror 

The girl who's been stuck and inspected and violated 

I pull at my skin, sticky, sticky, skin that won't come off and won't get any clearer

Skin that bubbles up and pops and stains my clothes with blood, skin that itself lacerated

Skin that I cannot be comfy in, because nobody would guess I have a disease

Nobody will comprehend the words 'Hidradenitis Suppurativa' 

They will look at my skin, sore riddled, discolored, and acne resembling and assume I have hygiene to attract fleas

 

I sit here now, 19 - almost 20 - in my reflection, still dissatisfied with my skin

I take 4 pills a day and hope it's enough to keep my pain away

I go through my day, I cry, I laugh, I grin

I sit here, and start some mornings with a disheartened "My skin hurts today"

But I can follow up with a simple "Here's why" and continue on without a worry

Because something I cannot control, should not give me fear 

I know I do everything I can to make myself feel better, there's no hurry

I'm in no rush to defend my appearance, my skin will never be clear

I may never be "comfortable" and never fit into the crowd

But I can say "This is who I am" 

And I can be pretty goddamn proud