Concealerism

Concealerism 1.0

Mother and I enter ULTA to browse its products.

Eyeliner.

Blush.

Lipgloss.

Things that do not interest me whatsoever.

I spend my time fooling on a collection of eyeshadow palettes, vainly attempting to properly blend the azure and crimson shades the way an artist would with ease. Mother is already conquering the other side of the lot, shifting onto hair products.

As I focus on the palette I hold, the models on the shelves seem to reveal themselves to me.

Oh....she has high cheekbones.

I subconsciously locate the contour items.

...

"Excuse me, sweetie?"

I didn't pay attention to the employee behold me.

"Hello?"

"Oh, yes!" I arrive to reality and try to beam a genuine smile.

"I was just wondering, do you perhaps use any makeup to cover your acne?"

Acne?

I instantly reach up to touch my face. My mouth agape.

"Um-"

Nervous chuckle.

"No, I don't."

She gives me a half-pitied, half-concerned gaze as the employee motions for me to follow her lead.

I feel very...insecure...

"Here we go!"

She brushes her fingertips across a section of

Concealers.

"That should make you look prettier!"

---------------

She believed she was my hero. Yet, why do I feel that I was put in deeper danger?

I still took the concealer. It sits on my pearly white drawers, just waiting to be used. I give it some attention every dawn, contemplating whether or not today is the day that I should make use of it.

But I hate it. I hate that I need it. I hate that I despise my reflection in the morning. That I need to paint over my skin to look beauti-not even beautiful, just reasonable. I hate how they don't disappear like mosquito bites- those silently appear then move on.

...I'm using the concealer tomorrow.

I promise.

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If you feel comfortable, you can always send me a story/poem-like text regarding your struggle with acne/makeup, if you feel that this place would be a great platform for you to express your feelings. It is up to you whether or not you would want your side posted on this story anonymously.

I love you,

Fia