Dear My Acne,
Listen, we have to talk. I know we've been together for a long time. Since about grade 6, in fact. That's a long time. Almost 20 years!
Almost 20 years.
I hate to have to do this, Acne, but I think it's time we went our separate ways. I know, I should have said something earlier, but I had always hoped that our relationship would naturally fizzle and you'd go away on your own.
Maybe it's time I was more assertive. I was never comfortable weilding the proverbial pitch fork of chemical weapons. I couldn't stand the thought of increased cancer risk or peeing hormones out into our water systems so fish grow testicles on their foreheads (or whatever happens). Not just to scare you off. No. While people probably think I'm not that shallow, I am; but I still won't let you change my stance on this.
Please leave me alone. I'm 30, for goodness sake.
And no, before you ask, I'm not cheating on you. I've not taken up with psoriasis or even some rebound exzema if you leave me. In fact, considering your unhealthy addicion to my hormones, the only other condition I'm likely to contract by the time you leave is osteoporosis! (As an aside - I hope you get some help - you are ugly when you're on your monthly hormone bender.)
Did I ever tell you that the biggest lie I was ever told was that I would grow out of you? Get over you? Like you're the fucking love of my life?
Well, fuck you, Acne. You've scarred me in more ways than one. You're put on notice.