Thursday, June 12, 2014


       *A piece written for english class this past year on skin  

        My rash is perhaps one of the most torturous things I’ve had to deal with lately. It’s like when you have the worst mosquito bite, and you dig your nail into it hoping the pain will ease the itching. My rash has even more fun though, for it only intensifies each time you cave in and itch, and it appears all over your body, as much as it wants. I can’t see my rash, but it’s an incredible itching sensation, and my only wish is that I could rip my skin off. And when I do itch, my skin turns bright red and has the appearance I’ve been clawed by a very large animal. Not only is it ran enjoyment to feel, but also to see.
            I took skin for granted before mine became diseased. Besides rashes, I’ve also had open lesions. In seventh grade I had an open lesion on my elbow. It was bloody and had puss oozing from it all the time. It stayed for weeks. I had to wear bandages covering that whole section of my arm. No one knew what it was, but they did take a biopsy. That was a weird experience as well. They just cut out a chunk of my skin, while I watched. With a special instrument (knife), a piece just popped out of my body (it seemed too simple to me).
            My skin, due to Scleroderma, has also begun tightening, especially in my arms and face. It’s not exactly painful, just uncomfortable in an odd sort of way. You want to almost take the skin off your body, pull and stretch it out, and put it back on. You feel incredibly constrained.
If I dwell on what is happening, this itching, sometimes gross, shrinking skin of mine forms the idea of a prison. It is not a fun thing to deal with.