I still have chicken pox scars. I've resigned myself to the fact that the spots won't fade until a decent interval has passed (6 months to one year as one article I read indicated). Honestly? I don't mind having scars. They're just a physical indication of what I had gone through and I really don't think having the chicken pox is anything to be ashamed of. I mean, of course, it would be better if they disappeared, and I am doing what I can to help the process of fading along, but while they're here, I just live with them, no worries or frets. What does bother me though is having people make a big deal out of them. I don't mind children who are curious about them asking endless questions. They don't make me feel self-conscious and I actually like being able to explain about the disease. What I don't care too much for is when grown-ups act all sorry for me for having scars (mistakenly assuming that I feel as they would about scars: devastated and doomed) and reassure me that they'll fade in time (oh, gee thanks, THAT I didn't know) or nag at me endlessly about products I should try (again very certain that I'm feeling desperate about my complexion) when I didn't ask for their advice. The nannies in my building are all lamenting what happened to my skin. While I suppose there's a compliment there somewhere when they say they thought I had lovely skin in the past, they're also, in fact, saying that those days of loveliness are now OVER, lol. Am I so wrong in still feeling beautiful even with all these scars? If it is, well then it's my own delusion and nobody else's business, lol (si estoy loca es cosa mía - love that line). My mom did/does a great job drilling into my brain that I'm beautiful and I'm afraid the effect is irreversible, lol. Anyway, these reactions (very normal I'm sure), I know they're all stemming from concern, but they are making me feel bad about something I don't feel bad about at all. For instance, my appearance seems to prompt my dad to inquire if I'm being vigilant about applying fading cream, and it rankles. It feels exactly like all those years of being asked if I had done my homework (I was a good student; I always had. It really bit being asked, although I knew it's just one of those reflex things.). So anyway, if you know me and we see each other and I don't mention the scars (sometimes I do), it's really better if you just leave them alone.