Abigail M. Schilling

I need to complain about something. I feel a little bit guilty about complaining, because I've already been complaining to everyone I know about this, but I CAN'T STOP.

On my face, right there ON MY FACE, is a CYST. I tried to figure out exactly what kind of cyst, but I ended up learning way more than I wanted to about all sorts of things I didn't need to know. The facts: it's not huge, thankfully, but it's super super itchy. It's rather small, but inflamed, and I've had it for four days now. It has no zit properties, which means my fail-proof zit-getting techniques are useless. I get it about four times a year, and one time I clawed it so badly that I created this huge scar that took up a lot of my face. So I've been making myself NOT do that this time which has made me talk about it even more. SAVE ME.

See it there? Buried beneath the skin and layers of scar tissue? IT TORMENTS.

I have a related confession. One time I had a bad face cyst and it was ruining my life (standard) and somehow--I don't remember how--I ended up on YouTube watching videos of people popping cysts. I roped Katherine into this sick little film viewing experience and we couldn't stop. YouTube kept suggesting more and more and more and we just kept watching them. We'd gape and gape and then scream and turn away. And then watch another. There is something really disturbing and vaguely satisfying about watching a really big cyst on the shoulder of a frat guy get stabbed by his drunk frat guy friends.

I'm sorry. I can't help it.