You Jump, I Jump, Jack
- Sierra Gillespie
- Mar 6, 2016
- 4 min read
A thank you to all my readers
I have made a difference. I think we all deserve to say that. And however cliché it may be, we all have made a difference somewhere along the line. There’s a reason “It’s A Wonderful Life” withstands the test of time; the meaning prevails over decades. While we may not all be celebrated doctors, reality TV stars or fitness gurus, our lives will affect many others we come into contact with. And to some, it will be a lasting and positive influence. That was the goal of my blog—to let others know that I suffered from acne, that change in said condition is possible, but that we should not be ashamed of a natural bodily reaction either.
While beauty differs from person-to-person, I think it’s pretty safe to say that acne is never appealing to the eye. My goal wasn’t to hear that I was “beautiful on the inside and out,” because let’s face it—the welts that covered my face were not beautiful. They were filled with puss and oozed redness—it’s okay, readers, I am not offended. Instead, I wanted to show the world (or all those who came in contact with my blog) that flaws happen. And covering up those flaws gives them power. Sometimes, by exposing flaws –or for lack of a better term
“celebrating” them—their power decreases. With that, other parts of you become more important. When I exposed my acne back in August of 2015, I got a lot of puzzled reactions. I didn’t talk to random people on the street about my condition—let alone acquaintances from high school that I happen to still be Facebook friends with. Most people were surprised I had the condition. More often than not, people told me that when I wore makeup in photos, my acne didn’t show at all. So why bring it up if it doesn’t even look like that big of a deal? Unfortunately, photos were incredibly deceiving, and in person, my acne was much more noticeable. Living with it was a big deal to me. And after hours of research, I realized that many other people I know are suffering with the same thing that I am—but no one is talking about it. So I jumped. And many of you jumped with me. My close friends all read my Facebook posts and likely my blog too, and will tell me about their likes/dislikes in passing. But the people who affected me most were those of you who I don’t speak to often. The ones who I added on Facebook back in 2007 because we knew a friend of a friend, or the ones who sat on the opposite side of the room for that one class sophomore year of college. You all are the reasons that I put myself out there—because you show me that I made a difference. Every time I post one of my monthly blog posts, I receive texts, Facebook messages, Snapchats and conversations in-person from people I ordinarily wouldn’t discuss my complexion with. Overwhelmingly, people are supportive of my blog, and have told me their stories too. Many people have offered suggestions that could work for me, based on what worked for them in the past. Suddenly, I was welcome into an underground world of care, where people openly shared remedies and support for my condition. The dementors were no longer pursing their lips for a kiss, but instead, Professor Lupin had finally given me that bar of chocolate. With each passing blog post, and additional feedback from my readers, my confidence increased. And the chocolate bar became obsolete, as I learned to create my own Patronus. It moves me that I have helped other peoples’ personal lives because of this blog. You have all helped
me too, by taking the time out of your day to let me know that I am not alone. If you’re a loyal blog reader—you’ll know that I have had one case of negative, indirect feedback. I’m sure I have others, but those people are nice enough to keep their thoughts to themselves. In said case, I found the comment (shown here), and used social media to call said person out. In fact, I’ve done that on this blog twice. Have your negative opinions, go ahead. But judge me based on the way I live my life, not by the path my body naturally chooses. Even then, know that people make mistakes. Decisions I’ve made over the past year have gravely affected many parts of my life, and I’m sure other people have their own skeleton-filled closets too.
This blog has opened my eyes—when they’re not crusted shut from the dryness Accutane doles out as a side effect ;) People are much deeper than the 2-dimensional posts we see of them on social media. They’re living, feeling people—who are unhappy while being happy, motivated while lacking ambition, struggling to get by while breezing through life. Each life is as individual as a snowflake, so I have no idea what most of you are dealing with as you journey through it. I hope I can inspire more with my complexion, but even more with my zest for life’s understanding. I am so grateful for the many near strangers who have reached out to me with messages and care, and I would love to extend them all back to you.
You all are the reason I continue to write this blog, and feel that the past year of my life has not all been darkness. Simply, thank you.
To those I do know personally and have seen my struggle first hand, thank you for drying my tears. Thank you for ignoring my dry lips and not judging my excessive Vaseline use. Thank you for sending messages of congratulations, as you've seen my face progress from acne-ridden to smooth and radiant. Your support has been necessary to my mental health the past seven+ months, and I am honored to have such amazing people in my life as you. I cannot wait to put this part of my life behind me, and with it all the darkness that 2015 and early 2016 has brought me. Unfortunately, I can only assume that the genetic lottery will continue for my offspring (third generation, severe acne sufferer in the house!), and they will require this drug too.
I'll just consider Accutane treatments a form of hazing, and refer them to this blog. That is, if the Internet isn't completely obsolete by then.
Thanks for reading, fans. Any acceptance speech I make, I'll be sure to thank you straight away.
Comments