My confesion ... living with the dreaded P
So I have a confession, one that will shock you, one that can potentially fuck up our relationship and the understanding that you have for me. You see it is easy, whilst typing away and not having to face new people to forget the fact that I am, as some have said a bit of a freak! “How? “ I hear you ask.
Well you see, I haven’t always been this way, this change happened when I was about 24. I have the dreaded P, psoriasis. It all started when I was working 70+ hours a week, stressed and run down. It crept up on me like a sniper, it all started with a small patch on my upper thigh, that at the time the doctor thought might be ringworm. However I think my parents (and me deep down) knew what it was and how shit things would become. You see I have inherited all the amazing genes from the rents and it’s my dad’s genes that have led me to this flaky existence.
My dad had had psoriasis for a long time, really bad and thick skin, that tore holes in his trousers. So I lived in some fear of getting it, but then as the years went on was happy that I didn’t have it so would never get I (or so I thought).
And yet here I am a red, itchy, flaky mess. Don’t get me wrong I am way better now than when it started, oh then I was literally covered from head to toe. Even got it on my eyelids and all in the space of weeks. I turned from a confident, outgoing young woman to a person who hides behind clothing and hates meeting new people. I hate meeting new ignorant people should I add. The ones who think I have aids and HIV and think I am contagious. Yes these bellends actually exist. There is nothing like being out and about and having a relatively good day, for one of these stupid bastards to shout “Er look at her, yuk. Don’t touch her you will get it” to pretty much piss on your parade.
I am happy to say that now I am not covered quite as badly as I was. However it is still on my hands, arms, legs and scalp, so bad enough. I have good days and totally black, shit days. I want everyone to know you cannot catch it. It is an autoimmune disease. It has taken away so much from me, so many nights and days out, so much time crying, the possibilities of outfits to wear shrank to next to nothing. There are days when I want everyone to have it for a day, so they can see what it is like and increase the understanding. There are other days when I think “sod it” and just try to get on with life. I wear a vest top and show the world my shitty arms and just deal with the stares and comments, even the pointing (which everyone’s mam should have told them was rude) .
I try and rise above it, but believe me that isn’t easy. Some days I want to give up and other days I have more fight in me than Tyson (without the dodgy disrespect for the law).
I can only think of a couple of positives that came out of this (and believe me I want to end on a positive) and they are as follows.
· I have learned who my real friends are.
· I know that for a fella to like me (or even a new mate), it is definitely and somewhat ironically more than skin deep.
· The we shouldn’t be so quick to judge others, based on looks and everything more.
· That some days are shit, but that I will live through them.
· Most of all, we should love and respect ourselves and our bodies, because we are all unique, whether in a good or a bad way.
· My personality can get me through most situations and that will never fade, unlike external beauty.
· I will be like this forever and it’s not the end of the world.
· Not to pull others down to keep us up.
· We are all going through our own shit, just some people don’t show it, or it isn’t as visible as mine.