A new beginning?
Hey.
I have lived with atopic eczema for as long as I can remember, that's to say about twenty-one years now, so one would think I would have gotten quite used to it by now, but I haven't.
My mother is my biggest source of support, being the only being around me who both acknowledges the condition and its heavy impact on every aspect of my daily life, and does not recoil in disgust at the sight of my rough, raw skin and scars. And yet, though I know I kind of sound like a self-pitying and self-centered wreck saying that, it is still obvious to me how she cannot look at me without seeing these horrible marks spread on my face, neck, shoulders, arms and so on...
I have no one to talk to who could relate to the experience. I know she tries her very best to put herself in my shoes, but it simply doesn't work that way, and in a sense, I'd rather she doesn't understand what I go through rather than suffer the same pain, but at the same time, I really, really need to talk about this. I'm tired to hide my hideous skin, from the sun, from the stares of others, and even from myself (not very successful at that).
That's why I'm here today, writing my first journal entry in an attempt to reach out for support before I cave in. I feel dangerously close to giving up on everything, and I believe I need to get all those bottled up feelings of distress and frustration out before I can realistically consider focusing on what makes life beautiful, even for a wreckage like me.
I know that eczema is far from being the most painful or severe condition, but to me it feels impossibly crippling. I have a sister three years younger than me, with a perfectly smooth and clear skin, as well as a much more flattering figure than me, and it kills me to see her put on all these dresses and bikinis, and to have so much fun trying on a million different styles of make-up on, while just catching my reflection in a mirror or window makes me cringe. I feel like some kind of monster. Like a ragged doll, a broken toy. A defective product to be discarded. I am ashamed of my own appearance, and I am afraid that this train of thoughts end up turning me into a recluse of some sort, like a twenty-first century Beast or Frankenstein. I am aware that my own attitude towards myself and my body directly affects my condition, and yet I can't help it. More than the others' stares and disgust, it's my own stare that I can't stand.
I'm sorry for sounding so angsty and depressed. I'm very awkward socially, and I have little experience with putting words onto what I feel, but I would really like someone, anyone, to have the kindness to bear with me until I remember that there is more to me than this.
I want to be like those heroes who don't give up even when cornered into hopeless situations. I want to stand up for myself, because I'm bound to stick with my body until I leave this world anyway. I want to fight and win, or die trying.
I have lived with atopic eczema for as long as I can remember, that's to say about twenty-one years now, so one would think I would have gotten quite used to it by now, but I haven't.
My mother is my biggest source of support, being the only being around me who both acknowledges the condition and its heavy impact on every aspect of my daily life, and does not recoil in disgust at the sight of my rough, raw skin and scars. And yet, though I know I kind of sound like a self-pitying and self-centered wreck saying that, it is still obvious to me how she cannot look at me without seeing these horrible marks spread on my face, neck, shoulders, arms and so on...
I have no one to talk to who could relate to the experience. I know she tries her very best to put herself in my shoes, but it simply doesn't work that way, and in a sense, I'd rather she doesn't understand what I go through rather than suffer the same pain, but at the same time, I really, really need to talk about this. I'm tired to hide my hideous skin, from the sun, from the stares of others, and even from myself (not very successful at that).
That's why I'm here today, writing my first journal entry in an attempt to reach out for support before I cave in. I feel dangerously close to giving up on everything, and I believe I need to get all those bottled up feelings of distress and frustration out before I can realistically consider focusing on what makes life beautiful, even for a wreckage like me.
I know that eczema is far from being the most painful or severe condition, but to me it feels impossibly crippling. I have a sister three years younger than me, with a perfectly smooth and clear skin, as well as a much more flattering figure than me, and it kills me to see her put on all these dresses and bikinis, and to have so much fun trying on a million different styles of make-up on, while just catching my reflection in a mirror or window makes me cringe. I feel like some kind of monster. Like a ragged doll, a broken toy. A defective product to be discarded. I am ashamed of my own appearance, and I am afraid that this train of thoughts end up turning me into a recluse of some sort, like a twenty-first century Beast or Frankenstein. I am aware that my own attitude towards myself and my body directly affects my condition, and yet I can't help it. More than the others' stares and disgust, it's my own stare that I can't stand.
I'm sorry for sounding so angsty and depressed. I'm very awkward socially, and I have little experience with putting words onto what I feel, but I would really like someone, anyone, to have the kindness to bear with me until I remember that there is more to me than this.
I want to be like those heroes who don't give up even when cornered into hopeless situations. I want to stand up for myself, because I'm bound to stick with my body until I leave this world anyway. I want to fight and win, or die trying.
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