“Do not confuse my bad days as a sign of weakness. Those are actually the days I am fighting my hardest.”
This ‘diagnosis’ of ‘not sure what’s been going on’ has been so difficult. I have been scratched tested with allergens, injected with more, had my blood taken two days in a row (and will probably need more).
It’s hard to keep my eyes open, my fingers from scraping my shortened nails over my screaming skin, being imprisoned under red, dry, flaking patches that prevent me from being my full self. No more hard work outs, no more full out dancing. My energy is zapped, I feel like a giant scab, I feel like I could break down at any moment. And the staring. People love to stare. It makes me feel so helpless. I want to scream. I want to throw things and rip my flesh. I’ve never felt more like a stranger to myself. It’s debilitating. It’s embarrassing. It’s pride-stripping. It averts my concentration. I wake up with nose bleeds. I’m tortured with the reflection in my mirror. I stare wondering who that girl is meeting my blank gaze. What happened to her? Is she sick? Is she dying? Is she contagious? Words like pity run through my mind. Scarred. Disgusting. Ugly. I have a hard time even letting my husband kiss my face in fear it’ll upset my fragile skin. Everything about me has turned fragile. I used to be so strong. Maybe it’s all just a nightmare and I’ll wake up. I’ll have my energy back, and I can look in the mirror and recognize the girl staring back at me.
Even through all of these fears and days filled with mixed emotions, I know it will all work out, somehow, someday. It’s been rough not being able to work. I’ve looked forward to being a Personal Trainer for so long. I was supposed to start working this Monday. Now I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to start work.
But, forge on. Through whatever hardship you have, forge on.
Love, B. R. Wren