Barbie World
My twenties were encumbered with painstaking efforts to treat my blotchy and scarred cheeks after struggling with cystic acne from 17 to 21-years-old (during my college years), a crucial period for evolving and socializing but that I, filled with insecurity and shame, refrained from. I paid for any affordable procedure that could correct my inflammation and scarring post-acne: chemical peels, facials, cryotherapy, microneedling; I invested in serums, exfoliators, and retinols to brighten my dull complexion.
Born Tired
One day, during my junior year of high school, I was transitioning from one class to another, resting my pile of textbooks on my desk when I felt something strange, a compression in my chest that felt like someone was squeezing my insides as I squeezed the sides of my desk.
Photo by Militza Molina
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