Author: Courtney McCullough
I was 12 when they told me the news.
My skin would never be the same, wouldn’t be normal.
“There’s no cure.” The doctor said.
“You’ll have it forever.” Said a nurse.
But what is ‘It’?
It is the bane of my existence.
It has caused me to feel so ugly and disgusting.
Like a leper from biblical times.
This only got worse my senior year, that last year of high school.
A flare up occurred, triggered by stress of growing up.
Of moving away.
Of becoming more.
I flared up.
Skin turning red and blotchy.
Scales forming.
From my head to toes.
Even in my ears and on the soles of my feet.
Even on my breasts, my stomach, my ass.
I was covered.
My classmates saw.
They looked at me, disgusted.
They started a saying, thinking they were cute.
“She has Skin Ebola, look out.”
I’d hear it all the time.
Even the teachers who should know better, just stared.
I stayed home from school more than ever.
I missed about 10 days.
The most I’d ever missed.
All because of cruel kids and a cruel skin disorder.
Why couldn’t they understand?
I can’t control my skin, it has a mind of its own.
I can try, try to stay calm, meditate and pray,
But it still happens.
I tried everything.
EVERYTHING.
Home remedies, lotions, shots, creams,
Even changed my soaps and detergents.
Nothing worked.
My skin remained ugly.
My own mother looked at me with pity.
She always spoke of how it was getting worse.
How awful it looked.
They didn’t understand though.
No one understands.
It doesn’t just look bad.
Looks aren’t everything.
Psoriasis does more than look bad.
It hurts.
Mentally, emotionally, and physically.
Those scaly patches?
They peel and bleed.
They get sore.
They get on your joints, making every movement painful.
It’s exhausting.
My skin is literally fighting my body.
It takes energy to create new skin cells,
Even if they aren’t necessary.
But it happens.
And it wears me out.
Makes me sleepy.
Makes me tired and weak.
Then of course,
There’s the hearing issues.
The skin in your ears can turn psoriatic.
I’ve had to get my doctor to clean my ears,
Taking out massive chunks of skin.
No wax, just skin.
Skin that shouldn’t be there.
Looking in the mirror to prepare for the day?
It was impossible.
I hated how I looked.
I was ugly.
Scaly and red.
I looked as if I’d been burned.
I was so ugly.
Who could care for me?
No wonder others gave me such dirty looks.
I had anxiety attacks.
You would never guess,
But Psoriasis and Mental Illness,
They go hand-in-hand.
With each new scale that appears,
A worried thought occurs.
“What will happen now?”
“What will be said?”
“When will this be over?”
“When… When will I die?”
Then a miracle happened.
I was able to try a new medicine.
One that worked.
A pill.
My skin was cleared.
Not overnight,
But within weeks.
I looked normal.
Normal.
I’d forgotten:
How beautiful I am when I smile,
How lovely my skin looks in the light,
How healthy I look.
Because of a few flakes,
And a few dirty looks.
What would I say if I could see them again?
The ones who looked at me as if I was a monster?
It’s my skin.
Sometimes it misbehaves.
Like a child.
It thinks it’s protecting me
From some unknown enemy.
So it raises my defense, creates more skin.
It tries to keep me safe.
It doesn’t realize how it looks.
How ugly it makes me feel.
How painful it is.
All it thinks of
Is that there is an enemy.
An enemy that needs to be stopped,
And stopped quickly.
Psoriasis.
It’s an autoimmune disorder.
I can’t control it.
I can try to treat it,
Can try to calm myself down,
Avoid triggers,
But it can still flare up.
Psoriasis is not:
Curable.
Contagious.
Or easy to deal with.
It’s a burden for life.
Something I’ll always have to
Treat and hope stays ‘in remission.’
It’s hard to live with,
Knowing the stigma.
Knowing how the dirty looks hurt.
How the words cut deep.
How the media and people expect
‘Beautiful’ people to look.
It hurts and it’s harsh.
People say they feel bad.
They pity.
They try to give advice.
Want to do something that is actually useful?
Stop acting repulsed.
Stop acting like it’s contagious.
End the stigma.
Millions of Americans deal with Psoriasis.
Some deal with it better than others.
Help make it easier.
Don’t stare.
Don’t point.
Ask questions.
Spread awareness.
End the stigma.
Stop the shame.
Help us to help ourselves
Realize that we are beautiful too.
And if you feel you must be nasty.
If you feel that you must give say something like
“Why don’t you take better care of yourself?” or
“My cousin’s friend uses this, it was cleared overnight.”
Remember this:
It’s my flaked-up skin, not yours.
