It’s official. Accutane sucks.

I’m so ready to give it up. Except that drugs scare me. You know how you must finish your antibiotics or something really terrible could happen to you? Up to today, I have no idea what that ‘something really terrible’ is, but that’s what they tell you and so I figure I’d better comply … you know, lest something really terrible happens to me.

It’s the same with Accutane. I’m in drug-prison. I am hardly impressed by its effects and yet, I can’t stop taking it because … well, you CAN’T JUST STOP. It’s unheard of. Drugs and stopping? No way. Unless it’s real drugs, like the ones addicts inject into their arms at Chow Kit, in which case it’s really important to stop.

To sum it up: went to the doctor who was surprised that it wasn’t working miracles for me and decided to up the dosage. Have been on the upped dosage since early this month – all in all, am in week 7. So …

Q: So, is your skin doing better?

A: No. For the money I’d paid, hell, it should be like some flawless porcelain plate by now.

Q: Is it getting worse?

A: In comparison to the antibiotics, this is worse. Previously, it would’ve easily cleared in less than a week and pretty much flawless by week 2 onwards. With Accutane, first it gets a whole lot worse, then it kinda crawls on … it’s a little better, but not really. I mean, I believe in paying for quality but at 9 bucks a pill and with these results (or lack thereof?), it’s highway robbery.

Q: What are you going to do next?

A: I’m never going on this drug again. Once the course ends, I’m stopping. Forever.

Accutane: Entering Week 4

I am not one of many virtues. And among my many non-virtues is sheer impatience. I’ll soon be in Week 4 on Accutane and this is how my skin has improved so far:

(1) zilch

You mean I’m taking the risk of possibly becoming deformed and dying a painful and untimely death just for skin that doesn’t resemble the surface of the moon? With the horrific side effects of this drug, you’d think it would produce effects real fast. I’ve taken antibiotics that have worked in just a few days. What gives?

Okay, okay. Must stop whining and look on bright side of things:

(1) skin is tender and pinkish, which means I don’t even need blush anymore, which means my Max Factor will last a little longer than usual

(2) skin isn’t sticky or oily towards end of day (because it’s so dry now it resembles cracked cement. I’m exaggerating, of course)

(3) being ugly has its advantages. For one thing, um … ah … I can’t think of any. There are NO advantages to being ugly.

Every time I think of the possible side effects, I get a chill down my spine. I deal with this anxiety the best way I know how: I go into denial. These things won’t ever happen to me … they only happen to other people … gulp.

Suicidal Tendencies? Tick No

I’m feeling great today. I guess the suicidal tendencies of Accutane haven’t exactly set into my system yet. I wonder if I’ll be overcome with the sudden desire to plunge headfirst into a mini van during coffee break. Who knows? But for now, I feel absolutely great.

I feel great because I look pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. This probably sounds strange after my endless whining about the nightmarish state of my skin, huh? But truth be told, I have some way to go before I truly deserve the moniker Bride of Freddie Kruger. Despite having been dragged kicking and screaming into the other side (the side where people have zits as opposed to the side where they don’t), I’m glad to report that I’m still snuggled up in the ‘I-can-still-score-a-second-look’ territory. For now, anyway. Sigh. Of course, there’s always the chance that I may also be dragged kicking and screaming from here to the other territory. You know which one I’m yammering about … the “I-can-walk-down-the-street-naked-doing-the-hustle-and-nobody-would-bat-an-eyelash”...

… oh god! I can’t imagine a more terrible state to be in!!

It's All About The Cleanser

Simple Moisturiser
Originally uploaded by Mizeyeliner.

If my boyfriend only knew … if he knew I was on Accutane, he would absolutely flip. He who thinks I’m the greatest, most beautiful thing to have ever graced the earth is of the opinion that I’m nuts to take drugs for my zits.

As far as he’s concerned, all I need is...“All you need is the right cleanser. Maybe your cleanser and lotion thing in the fancy bottle you use aren’t right for your skin. Why don’t you just change the brand?”

“It’s not that simple. My skin is very complex, you know.”

“You're making it sound worse than it really is. If it really bothers you so much, maybe you shouldn’t eat so much fried stuff or sleep so late then.”

“I haven’t had a plate of char kway teow since they erected the Petronas Twin Towers la, what do you mean I eat fried stuff?”

“Okay, but I really don’t think you need to see the dermatologist or pump your body with drugs! Your doctor should stop prescribing you all this!”

Ah … the naïve, simple words of someone who’s never had a zit in his life. People like him – you know the type: the ones with skin as smooth as a baby’s arse – will never truly understand the anguish of people like me. He thinks antibiotics are evil, so if he knew I was on Accutane (which can deform innocent little fetuses and turn me into a manic depressive), he would go berserk.

My Skin: The Unravelling

one. ugly. monkey.
Originally uploaded by berbercarpet.

My skin history is a sordid one. I’ve always had flawless skin. So flawless in fact, that it wasn’t unheard of to have strangers come up to me to comment how good my skin was. Fair. Rosy. Smooth. Not a zit in sight. And even when I did have an occasional zit, it was small, insignificant and fleeting.

And then my epidermis bliss ended. I turned 25. I started this new job. And I got a zit. And another. And another … and another … I started to really panic when I noticed a sinister pattern to my zits: (1) they didn’t dry up and go away after their customary three days, (2) they travelled in groups and (3) they started to hurt.

Now, you have to understand that this was tantamount to a Code Red situation for me. I am, to put it mildly, a shamelessly vain person. Looking good and having people look at me looking good are very important aspects of my life. True, I’m smart and funny and can pronounce really difficult words like ‘phantasmagorical’ effortlessly but suddenly, all these qualities don’t matter anymore because I had ZITS.

THE UGLY FENCE

Suddenly I was on the other side of the fence. The ugly side. The side that dreads looking into the mirror at your own reflection; the side where washing your face is not unlike running your fingers over a reflexology mat; the side where you wait with trepidation for the next person who comes up to you to say, “What happened to your face?!”; the side that envies all the people on the other side … “Why god, why?!”

Of course, I did what every desperate, newly ugly girl would do: sign up for a bunch of facials and purchased an entire range of must-have of skincare products (makeup remover, gel cleanser, clay cleanser, toner, essential oils, booster, serum, moisturiser, sunscreen, the whole works).



THE FACIAL FARCE

I can sum up my whole facial experience in two words: very expensive and very, very painful. Okay, those were six words. And goddamn, were they expensive (and painful). It was two hundred bucks per session and they went by packages which simply meant that you had to buy something like half a dozen sessions at once. And they were heinously painful. I swear, they can abolish the death penalty and just sentence convicted serial killers to a lifetime of facials. That’ll teach ‘em to kill, steal and destroy.

Facials are very traumatic experiences. Not only do they hurt like hell, you come out each session looking like mini volcanoes had taken up residence on your war-torn visage and had erupted one after another. It’s vicious. Red. Bloody. Poked. Prodded. Destroyed, absolutely destroyed.

But I went back again and again and again. Partly because I’d paid for the thing, but also because – miracle or miracles – they worked.

I went for facials for two to three years. My skin got better, then worse, then back to normal, then slightly better … it was a roller-coaster ... and then, the facials just stopped working. And after a while (and lost of money flushed down the toilet), I just got sick and tired of the whole routine. I wondered why I was putting myself through such physical agony when my skin wasn’t even getting better. I mean, it’s one thing to suffer and get better in the end but when you suffer and still keep on getting worse, I mean, that’s just plain freaking dumb. So I decided to stop.

TO THE SKIN DOC

I went to see a dermatologist. The real kind. At a real hospital. He had a Dr. in front of his name so I figured he must’ve gone to university and all that. Maybe he could put an end to my misery. He did. For a couple of years anyway. The antibiotics worked wonderfully and I could go back to worrying about more important things like what clothes to wear, how to colour my hair and which lip gloss to buy. My skin was finally behaving itself. I loved it.

But alas, good things always come to an end, don’t they? And they recently did. A couple of months ago, my forehead started acting up. You know that familiar sense of dread you get when you suddenly feel a little bump on your face after months of clear skin? Yes, that’s the one. And they starting popping back up, like mushrooms after the rain. All over my forehead. Pop pop pop.

I went back to the good Doctor and whined to him about my skin. I can’t remember what I said exactly but I’m sure I uttered the phrase, “Oh god, please do something before I stab myself in the stomach with a wide-tooth comb.” And that’s when I first heard about Accutane.