Dr. May warned me against the dangers of makeup as she carefully scraped the caked foundation from my face. Then she gently peeled away layers of old skin, showing me each one as it came off. There was my Facebook profile, where I was a jock. Then it was my Twitter profile, where I was an intellectual. I couldn't even look at my Instagram photos. Finally the skin was gone, but Dr. May kept going. She cut into my flesh and raw emotion bled out. I cried and screamed and pleaded, but she dug deeper and deeper until she hit bone. Then she scraped and peeled and cut away all the anger and fear and resentment. With my skull completely exposed, she handed me a mirror to see. In it, I looked like I was twelve years old, about to start on my first day of school. My mom had just died, and my dad was dropping me off for the first time. He rubbed his face and some skin came off, letting a single tear leak through. That day, I took his skin and put it on my face before I ran into the building.