This ugly bag of mostly water

“Très vite dans ma vie il a été trop tard. A dix-huit ans il était déjà trop tard… J'ai un visage lacéré de rides sèches et profondes, à la peau cassée. Il ne s'est pas affaissé comme certains visages à traits fins. Il a gardé les mêmes contours mais sa matière a été détruite. J'ai un visage détruit.”

~Marguerite Duras (L'Amant)

My whole life is written in and on my body. When I quit drinking my youthful face transformed overnight into a road map of my emotional journey. Everywhere I look there is some mark or scar, like points on my timeline. The way my body looks is generally a pretty good indication of what’s going on inside of me. I have always been something of a slave to the weather and the seasons, both literally and figuratively.

Several times last week I noted an unfamiliar sensation. At first I thought the seat of my pants was damp because it was this sudden, cool feeling when I got up from a seated position or moved just so. Then I realized it was actually air against the backs of my thighs as the fabric from my loose pajama pants swung away from my skin. (I’m picturing Susan Powter on a television stage yelling to her ex-husband that her thighs don’t touch.) Something similar happened once before idk how long ago when I noticed a strange sound while brushing my teeth. Turns out it was my upper arm flab smacking against my side boob flab as I brushed.

My weight is seldom related to my diet or fitness level and it fluctuates a great deal. Twenty pounds fell off of me practically overnight when I left my husband, but a major depressive episode saw me close to 300 and in physical therapy. These days my biggest food group is chocolate in all of its delightful forms but I spent this past year in a culling phase and now my clothes are all too big.

My skin is second only to my brain in imagination and unpredictability. Allergic reactions, dermatitis, eczema, pox, hives, rash, acne, you name it. New ones tend to manifest during spring and autumn transitions, ranging from the mundane to the disturbing. For about the last year I’ve been dealing with chronic, relentless itching. It comes and goes as it pleases but it tends to kick up at night. Sometimes there’s a visible irritation on the skin surface, sometimes no mark at all but this almost supernatural-level itching sensation erupting from somewhere underneath the surface. Nothing quells it. Topicals, you say? Cortisone cream, calamine lotion, colloidal oatmeal baths? Tea tree or other essential oils? All-natural herbal home remedies? Good old fashioned Benadryl? My itching laughs at your ridiculous attempts to tame it. At times the severity is maddening.

I could go on but I’m already behind in my weekly posting schedule and I have to stop somewhere. I look forward to shedding this human vessel. Existence in this form is exhausting at best.