Today was my first day at work without make up. Deep breath.
I timed it wonderfully so that my first meeting happened to involve the entire company. I’d rather everyone see my warped face at once and only have to endure an hour of shock than to relive that moment 45 times in various hallways throughout the week.
I feel ugly and vulnerable, but also weirdly entitled. Entitled to whinge, as I have done the last few weeks, and not be seen to be unduly complaining because I’m no longer trying to hide the damage my eczema has done with coats of foundation and crafty eyeliner to reconstruct any semblance of symmetry. I’m almost glad people see me this way before it (hopefully) heals so that they know what I’ve been through. So many people misunderstand eczema as ‘just a bit of dry skin’ (there is little more annoying than having to react nicely when someone asks “Have you tried, like, moisturising it?” No, I’ve just been sat here in agony, wondering if a £2 bottle of E45 could cure me, but it just seemed like too much effort, really).
My skin does look more clear, but it’s dry. Sooooooo dry. I’m flaking everywhere, which I hope is the old, shit skin shedding off so that new baby skin can come through. Please please please. I can wipe my arm gently and watch the scales fall off. Guess I’ll be continuing to wear long sleeves, then.
Last night I had a super-dig and managed to rebreak the skin that had been trying to heal. It’s almost as though the healing together has made the skin tighter, and that tightness makes it easier to scratch in ways that it hasn’t before – it normally resembles more of a fat graze than an actual scratch. I look as though I’ve been in a fight with a cat:
But overall I’d say my arms were looking much less aggressive; here’s a before and after pic for day 3:
It doesn’t look that impressive until you zoom in onto the inside of my elbow…
I’m still itchy, but it’s less of a deep itch. ‘Deep itch’ is the perfect way to describe eczema because it feels as though you have to rip off the top layers of the skin to get to the itchy part. I suppose a good way to think of it would be to imagine your muscle itching under your skin. Even when the skin has long been scratched away and you’re digging into your bare flesh, the itch is still there. Pain doesn’t register until after you’ve stopped.
Last week, I got so into my scratching that I tore away enough of the insides of both arms that I couldn’t bend them even an inch. I had to ask my boyfriend to apply emollient to them (both of us wincing) and slept with my arms leant against the wall behind my head, elbows locked. What is this life?!
