Yes, I said Fuck you.
Excuse me as I vent. In my previous post I stated I was fat, in part due to my medication. What I didn’t mention, is that I’ve been suffering from worsening psoriasis for more than 7 months. Psoriasis that only infests on my scalp. Although I am thankful it hasn’t devoured any other part of my body, I feel like I’m victim of a penniless hate crime. Hate crime with my bold identity as victim.
I think the Psoriasis has worsened because of the increase in stress and alcohol intake over the past year and of course, the festive season. And yes okay, I haven’t been taking my pills as I should. I have a love/hate relationship with my tablets- I attempted suicide with pills, so the eerie feeling remains. Bearing non-compliance in mind, alcohol is often seen as a quick pick-me-up’er and so my binge-drinking has caused much cringing.
My sister in law noticed my flakes and before she threw out the dandruff card, I confessed to having psoriasis. I am on numerous occasions asked, ‘Het jy dan skilfers?’. That painfully translates from Afrikaans to, ‘Have you got dandruff?’, often I sense it’s embarrassing for them to ask the question. My sister-in-law smiled softly, in a sort of it’s-ok-don’t-worry look on her face. “Kim Kardashian has it. She used breast milk on her legs.” YAY! Another suffering celeb I can relate to! (The first is Catherine zeta Jones. Am I being sarcastic? I’m not sure, I’m dusting off these silver flakes off my shoulders after scratching profusely.
I wish they warned me about this potential crap on my head. I am aware that we can opt for change in a treatment programme to alleviate, but what the hell? We just came right with this set of pills! The ones that make me fat, remember.
I’m upsetting myself. But I’m upset for obvious reasons, this condition is unsightly. That and, below the surface, I’m still trying to figure who I am as an Yvette, a bipolar. Redefining my identity, my limitations and goals. This skin condition messes with one of the most important parts of me I was proud to show the world. My hair, my afro. I used to say, my hair is an ‘extension of my personality’. I would look really dodgy during my depressed days and people still used to make comments on awesome my hair is and what I do with it. So now, I need to cover it, or when I don’t cover it, people stare at the flakes or at my pink sore skin, hardly able to look into my eyes. It hurts. It’s embarrassing and I feel ugly.
There are numerous types of ointments, shampoos, pills etc for the condition. I’m currently using two different types of shampoo and two ointments. The issue with that is that I need to use them everyday, wash my hair everyday, have the shampoo sit in my scalp for 15min before I lather etc, every single day. WHAT A PAIN WHEN YOU HAVE 3 KIDS AND YOU’RE TAKING SEROQUEL EVERY DAY THAT MAKES YOU SO SLEEPY!!!!!
All these side-effects are depressing me. And that isn’t a joke.
This is difficult. I’m continuously presented with challenges, it never ends. Sometimes I feel like, God or the Universe is trying to strip me of everything I know and start strong, alive new, fresh. Strip me of pride. Strip me till there is only wisdom and bone to carry it all.
If that’s the plan, I want new hair. The type that when I get out of a pool it stays down. And I want to wear a bikini.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
———–> Mrs H