My face says I’m stressed


Mandy Moore

Last time I checked, middle school and high school are over. No more braces, gigantic glasses, zits, awkward clothes, and bad haircuts.

According to my college diploma, signed by the pres. and other high-ranking deans and provosts with “Magna Cum Laude” stamped next to my name, I graduated two years ago (May).

So. Those were stressful years. For very different reasons.

Stressful days worrying about boys, friends, movie selections, passing drivers ed and obtaining a license, fashion, and Hollywood gossip.

Sleepless nights working on projects. Hours logged in the library and on facebook. Nail-biting. Poor eating habits (gross, I ate and survived cafeteria food?). Drama in the dorm halls.

So. Again. Those were stressful years. And in a way, I knew they would be. Somewhere I had been told they were fun-filled and care-free but required hard work and determination. Someone had told me along the way that sacrifice was required in order to come out on top – in order to tread water – to fake it till you make it. I absorbed those words of wisdom.

I faced those years head on. Sometimes boldly. Sometimes cowardly.

But these years? The years those years were supposed to prepare me for, I don’t think I’m facing them so boldly. Sure, some days I feel the type-A girl that pushed hard through those years to excel, kick me in the rear. But mainly, the stress of those years didn’t quite equip me for these post-college days.

I could sense, in my younger years, when stress was staring at me down the barrel of a gun. Instinctively, I knew when I needed study breaks (facebook, prank calls, girl chats in the dorms, snack attacks, TV with roommates, etc.).

And in those years of late nights, early mornings, and days filled with classes, labs, and off-campus requirements, I could accept the stress. Possibly better than I accept it now. Because now, I don’t recognize it as easily. Strange, since I know myself so much better than I did back then.Yet, I don’t see myself very clearly. Most likely due to the ships (zits) that have decided to dock in the harbor (my face). Lovely.

So. These years, which no one really told me, are stressful. I assumed, silly me, that they were stress-free – filled with fun – void of childhood drama and ZITS. Those little buggers that have followed me through all these years and pop up at the worst possible times. Little reminders that life, no matter what stage I’m in, has it’s own set of stresses.

So. I will, like I did all those years, face these years head on. Proactively, I will fight my way through these years – the years no one prepared me for – and somehow, someway, I’ll survive. Maybe not on top, maybe not with signed documents proving my hard work, but I’ll make it.

I’ll have the zits to prove it.

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