Voodoo Child v. 17: Welcome to the One Woman Show

I'm up late again...seems that's my life story. Luckily I don't want TV. At all, well, expect for Lost. And soon that will eventually run into reruns. So I wind up aimlessly surfing the web. I keep telling myself to be productive, but I have work to be productive for, right? Why bother.

I need to vent, I guess. See, I have this raging psoriasis that is eating me to pieces. There are days when I struggle to walk around because my skin, well, isn't as flexible as a normal person's...I don't have the luxury of a bending knee without splitting skin open. It's hard to take for granted how easy it is to move about when every move feels like you're getting ripped apart.

I drive a lot, normally, that's what a city girl does. But I started wondering why I kept leaving the seat warmers on. Silly me, they're not on, that's just my skin saying, hella warm, dude. Hella warm. I feel like, I guess to explain what this feeling is like, that I have a sunburn on my entire body. Yah that's a good way to describe it. It hurts, it's sore, it's annoying, and gee it's a fuckin' pain in the ass. There I said it.

I used to go through life saying positive things about my psoriasis, but I think I'm over it right now. I read somewhere that it was important for a patient to think like that. Well, hello psoriasis, you're a pain in the ass. What bugs me even more is that it's on my face. I haven't had it on my face since i was 19. It's one thing to have a disease you can cover up. I can't very well put a bag over my head.

You'd never know how much it bugged me, did you. Well yah. I hate being itchy all damn day. I mean really. All I want to do is scratch. By the way, don't tell me what works or doesn't work. It's probably not going to work. Yes I'm a realistic cynic. it's hard to be anything but with this so-called "heartbreak disease." Someone once had the nerve to say that to me. I glared at her and just walked away. Gee thanks.

Is it stress? Maybe. Is it the weather changing? Probably. Is it lack of sleep? Maybe. Is it life? Yes.

I feel bad when my mom just doesn't know what to do. She offers up suggestions and in general looks at me sad sometimes. My dad too. This deal is hereditary, and I can't help but wonder if they feel bad about me being this way. I hope they don't. This is the genetic lottery at work.

I could go back on the drugs, but that's a demand I don't want to put on myself right now. And it would be so easy to all of a sudden be clear. What a joy that would be like, but I know the risks. I can't breast feed. I can't get pregnant (not that I'm trying, but I'm trying to make a point here, calm down). I can't do a lot of things with that med. but it would make me so much better in less than three weeks. No lie. Tank tops and skirts better. Instead of jackets and jeans. All the time. Funny thing, even when I'm clear? I go out in jackets and jeans. Hard habit to break.

In a meanwhile, let me wrap this up by exhaling. It helped to write this. And maybe that's what I needed to heal.

Voodoo

PS: did you know I go through a costco sized bottle of lotion every two weeks? strange but true. I am the anti-ashy.