Love Me: The Manoir

Stress Breakouts & Rejection

We're always told that acne is something you grow out of, and by the time I got to Year 13 most people had. However, this first term was one in which my skin decided to go wild.

In hindsight it was most definitely brought on by stress. My whole life – being the daughter of two Oxford graduates and an Oxford professor – that I would at least try and apply for Cambridge. And therefore the deadline for my UCAS application was October 15th. This combined with three coursework pieces, a prefect role, getting over my love for someone and trying to at least tolerate the way I looked was enough to send my system into overload.

And so it reacted to these events in the most soul-destroying way it could – it littered my face with massive bumps. This wasn't like the acne I had seen before. This was huge, swollen spots that would scar like crazy and leave little holes in my face. I didn't know how to cope with this, and nothing seemed to work at getting rid of them.

I felt disgusting. This time I knew everyone was looking at my face like I was some kind of mutant. People would offer advice and help, but this only made me realise how severe this had become. I could barely even look my teachers in the eye anymore, knowing fully well what they thought of me.

I would cry about this constantly. I would look in the mirror and sob about how horrible I had become. It was no wonder Caitlin could never see me in that way, how could anyone see me when I looked like that?

And then came Wyatt.

One of my best friends was celebrating her birthday with a house party, but unlike some of the ones I was now going to on the regular, this was with a new group of people. I was no longer apprehensive about meeting new people, seeing myself as a goddess of socialisation.

As I scanned the guest list one of the guys caught my eye, and in the common room my friends and I stalked his Facebook page only to find that he wrote poetry, recorded songs, and had beautiful curly brown hair. This was the boy I had been waiting my whole life for.

As we set up the party, I had a few glasses of wine to ease the stress of meeting so many people. The minute Wyatt walked in, my brain knew he was far too good for me. He was wearing a long tailored coat, and he had an aura of mystery about him. At the time I wanted to swoon over him like some black & white Hollywood actress. I now realise that mystery is just a code word for red flags.

But he was also so far out of my league that I didn't even dare to dream. I didn't allow myself to indulge in that kind of fantasy because I knew that it would never work out. I was sick of hurting myself with fantasies.

As I got more drunk I began talking with him more and more, and found that we had what seemed like a lot in common. He was funny, but also incredibly serious and not like other teenage boys that I had met. We were pushed into a room together as teenagers are by our friends, and we awkwardly lay on the bed talking.

"I hope I'm not giving you the wrong impression, but I don't want to get with you," he said something along those lines and I felt my heart do a little sink, "It's because I don't get with people at parties, and I think I actually might like you."

I was not expecting that sentence to follow and so it took me a moment to process. This beautiful guy who I actually liked, was telling me that he liked me back. Even with the smattering of acne all over my face and my smudged makeup. I was waiting for the punchline.

But it never came, and by the end of the night we found ourselves in a double bed as we spoke about the most mundane to the most profound. He showed me his poems (which weren't great), and I pretended to see the meaning and significance in them. He played me some of his music and I thought he was the coolest guy ever.