When I haven’t had a real flare in a while (flare in my case depicted by aggressive heating up randomly due to pressure or any prolonged skin contact, or when my skin develops a hot red undertone color), its timely arrival always knocks me down a few notches. Sometimes I liken my eczema to being some kind of monster that continues to hunt me movie after movie sequel, or I hear its irritating voice cutting through a crowd. This most recent flare comes across like a socially unaware drunk, and I like to lighten my mood by pretending it would act like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory:
Ugh. At any rate, I’m taking it day by day, and the good news is when I do fall asleep (and Fiona doesn’t wake me up) I can really sleep, thankfully. It’s strange, I don’t really remember what it’s like to naturally wake up anymore. In the immortal words of country singer Thomas Rhett, “ain’t it funny how life changes”.
But, when I am first in bed, sandwiched between the time before I can succumb to the depths of the dream world and the time before Fi wakes me up again, my head is filled with thoughts that I have to process.
It’s during this time that I find that I tend to blame myself for my flares. I’ll think back to things I ate and worriedly wonder if it was sunflower oil in the crackers causing me to develop a sensitivity to my moisturizers that have sunflower in them. Or I’ll berade myself because I had the fruit covered in dark chocolate. I’ll panic that I’m secretly allergic (but not anaphylaxically) to almonds and just never knew, or that it’s because I had too many calories and ate too many legumes and so I slugged my digestive system down and now I am paying the price. Or maybe I had a Polar Seltzer and who knows what those natural flavors are made of! Or I had a probiotic drink and maybe it was the wrong kind of probiotics. What if it was the coconut!? At any rate, the result is always the same, fearing food and feeling blue about myself.
This type of stress gets compounded by my clingy eczema, as it lingers over me constantly reminding me that there is a cause to each flare-up, so what was it this time? I also find that I scratch my hands a lot more at night from a combination of the heating up moments laying under the blankets along with the constant drying out (and literally nothing keeps the moisture in at this stage!).
What I’ve learned is that when I get super tired in the middle of the night, as I’m pawing away at my paws, I tend to have thoughts zoom around my head that make no sense but seem so logical in the moment. If I just scratch here then you know that assignment will get done. And random nonsensical thoughts like that. I honestly have no idea what I’m talking about when I wake up in the morning and looking at my picked scabs and scratch marks.
When I do have some skin healing downtime, I like to map out how I’ll treat myself later. I know it’s a pretty divisive option, but I love tattoos. I think there is something about knowing my skin gets all wrinkly and cracked and flaky that makes me not have those “well imagine how bad it will look when you are old and wrinkly” thoughts. I’m already wrinkly, and age has nothing to do with it. Me and this cat are basically identical:
At any rate, I like to find cleared spots and think about what kind of tattoo I would get there. Lately I’ve been thinking about lotuses. They have a lot of symbolism for women’s health which I really like. That and I really want to get a tattoo of a open book at some point. Generally I like dreaming this up a lot more than I actually execute action, but who knows what will happen after this flare passes.
I swear I have a post I’ve been working on that is (relatively) thought out and not like this one where I am just typing as I think things. But alas, I cannot finish anything lately and so that well-constructed post will be another day or two. I still spend many of my days in a haze, and not because of the baby, as you might have thought. Oh no, it’s because my skin has decided to develop a fresh subcutaneous sheen of itchiness. Barely perceptible to the naked eye (my skin looks pretty good lately, minus scabs and scars), it plagues me especially when I lay down for the night. Why am I flaring? I have no idea, especially since the skin is looking better. Maybe it’s the change in weather. Or perhaps it’s something I ate (which is always my fear). Who knows.
When not in a haze, I spend a lot of time scouring my kitchen for things to eat. As prescribed by the pediatricians I’ve been taking Fi to, I am no longer eating soy, dairy, wheat, or egg products in my food. Though I am no stranger to partial elimination diets or other dietary changes, I don’t think I’ve ever avoided egg yet while among the others. So now you’ll often find me longingly looking at a pasta box, and eyeing the forbidden cheese as a hobby. That takes up a bit more of my time.
Then (and eventually I’ll have to do a better post about this) there is the time spend dealing with my excoriation disorder (also known as dermatillomania or skin picking). I have always had a weird tendency to scratch at scabs and pop pimples (I know, gross) when I was young, but with the onset of global eczema and the constant scratching for months on end, I definitely fell firmly into this disorder. Sometimes I can be less destructive, or channel the destruction into societal acceptable forms (like using tweezers to remove leg hair), but other times I spend collectively hours picking off dead skin and harassing healing skin. I don’t have the common concurrent comorbidities of depression or trichotillomania (hair pulling) or OCD, though I have noticed that since the age of my worser flares, I do tend to be more obsessive with time wasting things (like trying to get my graduate notes perfect, which entailed me rewriting them over and over in different notebooks, never actually managing to finish one before I had a new idea of a better system to help me study more efficiently). Anyway, so to combat that I try to keep my nails really short, and keep my hands clean and busy, whether that’s typing blog posts, reading, or wildly gesturing to my baby to make her smile (still waiting on that first laugh), I try to condition myself to not focus on picking.
Then a large portion of every day I spend worrying that I should be working, that finding/creating these part time opportunities while staying home with Fi is not enough and that I need something full time. I don’t know why I’m so insecure about this, the people in my life have been nothing but supportive. Perhaps it’s from the occasional comment, or the sporadic question about when I’m going back to work, am I back at work, do I enjoy being back at work. Or my favorite one to answer, “what do you do?”. The sassy bit of me wants to retort, “well I exist, so eat, breathe, sleep, and shit are on the list. Then I like to round myself out by engaging in basic hygiene, getting exercise, and enjoying sunshine”. Obviously, I keep these kinds of comments in my head.
Even when I was little I was less interested in a career pathway than in making adventures and experiences into stories (well, except for a brief stint where I wanted to be a dentist because I thought teeth were interesting and I wanted to be the gentle-handed one that removed people’s fear of getting dental work done). I wanted to be a writer because I loved stories and just wanted to create my own. I was obsessed with reading multiple books even at social events because I loved finding out what happened next. And if I’m being honest I still want to be a writer today, just a different kind. Then after that I decided I wanted to be a naturalist… only at the time I thought naturalist entailed tying a cloth around a stick and adventuring into the woods to forage for edibles. I do think that was just a storyteller’s bend on biology (which I then went on to study in college… hmm). Momentary break.
What was this post about? I actually had to quickly scroll up to see the title I wrote earlier. In my defense, I walked away from the computer for a while to change Fi’s diaper and make more food, then to feed Fi again. Oh right, distractions. That’s apt. I guess I should have said distractions from what. I suppose distractions away from making a clearer post. Unfortunately that’s the nature of the game I’m playing lately. I have all these ideas for posts, many of which I’m working on, but the more research they require or the more motivation for words I need to work towards, the longer it takes to actually complete.
Oh, and another distraction is the book thing. I have a book problem. I tend to get 10+ books at a time from the library and then pigheadedly want to finish them all before their due dates, despite not having unlimited time to read. So instead I end up binging books in the middle of the night which doesn’t help with the insomnia. And then I’m more tired the next day. Whoops.
Anyway so this winter I am trying to distract myself from bad habits. This winter I’m am going to try extremely hard to keep my skin going in the right direction: healing. Usually once the cool air touches down and I inevitably become more sedentary, my skin becomes crap. So now I am trying to mitigate that by embracing winter’s cold touch (and trying a rotation of new products for different flare periods) and making sure I exercise more. And to combat the winter body blues (also in lieu of doing a drinking game with a TV series), this past weekend my husband and I made a fitness game. We tally up various events in a show which then equate to an exercise to do. After each episode we have to do the routine before we can go to the next one. Currently, we have one template for True Blood and I’ll describe our rules below.
True Blood Drinking Fitness Game (amended to make a single episode be more or less a full workout)
anyone cries tears = 10 body weight squats
someone dies = 1 lap around the house
someone makes love = 5 pushups
someone drinks alcohol or blood/V/trublood = 2 burpees
someone is racist/sexist/vamp phobic = 25 calf raises
Sookie responds to thoughts = 10 mountain climbers/side
someone shape shifts = 5 high jumps
there’s a fight = 10 bicycles/side
someone is invited into or kicked out of a house = 15 second plank
a main character is threatened/in danger/attacked= 5 bridges
a new supernatural being is introduced = 50 butt kickers
glamour is used =10 lizard steps
someone is shirtless = 10 bear steps/side
some says a sexual innuendo = 10 side steps/side
someone has a dream/nightmare/daydream = 1 turkish get-up
someone says “f*ck you/off” = 5 single leg deadlifts
a vampire speeds somewhere = 2 lunges/side
someone says “Sookie” or “Sook” = add one to a previously blank or lower tallied number above
a main character dies = x2 to all above
So far it’s been entertaining and usually we get a decent workout. We started adding more stipulations as we continued watching, which led to longer workouts (a good thing since True Blood episodes are about an hour long, so we are up and moving for longer periods between). Anyway, I’ll leave off this post there, especially since I keep getting distracted by the yummy smells coming from the oven telling me dinner is ready!