Slaying The Dragon

There was a point in time I didn’t know the difference between lotion and moisturizer. Hell, there was a time I didn’t even know what contouring was, let alone how to do it correctly.

(For those of you unaware, contouring is essentially the same as shapeshifting – only more expensive.)

As much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, my best friend is why I didn’t walk through high school looking like a 90’s glam-zombie. I favored the edgier looks back then and frankly, I still cringe when I catch a glimpse of the rare surviving photo. I had absolutely no idea how to actually use makeup, like most fifteen-year-old girls. Growing pains, am I right?

(Seriously, I cannot even begin to drive home the horror story that were my eyebrows.)

I digress.

Over many years of refereeing between my original tomboy persona and the small sliver of myself that actually gave a crap about how the world perceived me, I learned one particularly important lesson: unless taste in men is involved, Cheyenne (aforementioned best friend) is always right.

I was recently diagnosed with a very slight case of psoriasis and upon hearing the news I immediately thought back to that one summer afternoon in Chey’s old bedroom.

My Chemical Romance playing in the background, dogs barking out in the yard, the little consistent tap of the makeup brush as she dusted off the excess –

“You got psoriasis, girl. I’d bet my album collection on it. You need to start using better skincare products otherwise it’s just gonna get worse.”

She did my makeup a lot back then. I was a test dummy of sorts, always gaping a bit in awe of her skill with liquid liner. A common theme, though, was painful dry skin and flaking. It always showed through in blotchy clumps, ruining the results of her efforts. This happened no matter how thick the foundation and was usually even worse the more makeup we used to try to cover it – little patches of dragon scale peeking through to remind me I definitely wasn’t a princess.

My girl called it over a decade ahead of time. I always meant to sneak into the dermatologist, but it just never seemed important enough. There was always something more pressing and I was so used to my scaley countenance greeting me in the mirror that I just didn’t see the urgency. It is a very mild case, you see. Never mind that it still impacts my self-esteem or is painful.

Fast-forward to fifteen years later, and she’s basically dunking my head in the sink. Our weekly girl’s night was a ritual - she brought a facewash she swore by, and was dead set on getting me to try it. Cerave was a brand I’d heard of before, but I never got around to trying it during my period of rapidly consuming face products in attempts at conquering my inner lizard.

The results were, in a word: unexpected.

One facewash had my skin feeling softer and scale-free. The moisturizer in the same line only boosted this feeling, and one use had the redness and irritation fading to almost nothing within thirty minutes. Continued daily use over the next two weeks of both facewash and moisturizer had my symptoms fading gradually more and more until breakouts became exceedingly rare. My skin is clearer and more hydrated than ever now, and I don’t have to break the bank to achieve the results I want! Cerave is effective, affordable, and they even have a skincare line devoted to my condition!

Nowadays my skincare routine is on point, my makeup skills are at least on a college level, and I have officially slain my inner dragon. I’m tons more confident and have Cerave and Chey to thank for it – she jokingly told me I owe her my first born in return.

At least, I’m fairly sure it was a joke…