In high school, I’m like a duck. From the shore, everything looks calm, every feather is in place, and I seem to be gliding across the water. Underneath the surface, those ugly webbed feet are frantically kicking, trying to keep from being swept away by the current.

From the outside, I look like I am having the high school experience anyone would want. I have close friends, play sports, date a girl I am crazy about, and get along with most people. I am peak late-’90s fashion: puka shell necklace, earrings, sun-bleached hair, popped collars with baggy pants, and reeking of Drakkar Noir or Abercrombie cologne. I look like I could have been in a boy band that originated in Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket. That is the version of me everyone sees because that is all I want them to see.

Underneath all that, I am all ducked up.

To explain the real story, I have to go back to the beginning of high school.

Before the start of my freshman year, I start to develop acne, like many teenagers do. It is nothing crazy, but I am extremely self-conscious, so I ask my mom to take me to a dermatologist. We try a few creams and other treatments, but quickly move on to Accutane. My acne gets worse before it gets better, and for a few long months, I struggle with my appearance and low self-esteem. Before long, my skin rapidly clears up and seems to miraculously heal, but my preoccupation with how my skin looks does not go away.

I lose both grandfathers, and I am not sure how to mourn or deal with their loss.

I have a lot of issues at home with my family.

I have put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to perform in school and athletics. I fear that despite all my effort, I am danger close to failing at my goals and living with that regret for the rest of my life. I feel constant pressure to be the person everyone thinks I am or should become.

My life feels out of control, and to cope with it, I search for something I can control: my appearance. What starts as normal teenage self-consciousness slowly becomes something bigger. My routines around grooming, shaving, showering, sweating, and checking mirrors begin to consume more and more of my life. Several hours of my day revolve around dealing with acne that isn’t really there and flaws that are imperceptible to anyone else. I am distracted, missing school, missing social events, and afraid.

I never talk about any of it. I am terrified that admitting I am struggling will ruin my chances of accomplishing my goals, so I hide it, manage it, and try my best to keep performing. 

To keep swimming.

Eventually, my best is not enough.