Tattoos Helped Me Make Peace with My Eczema
Covering up the scars from a condition I spent years trying to cure [13/06/22: author’s note: my condition got A LOT worse a year or so after I wrote this]
I’m 14, and I’ve just lost my virginity on my parents’ sofa. The fact that I ejaculated almost instantly (true story—sorry, Emma) isn’t the most embarrassing part of the situation. What really mortified me was that, after the deed, I had to scoop up and dispose of an avalanche of my crispy, flaky dead skin cells from the couch. Removing my own skin from the sofa — in front of a girl I felt in love with — was like removing any glimmer of hope that she might be back for seconds.
Having eczema makes the whole “being a teenager” thing infinitely worse. It makes exams harder, because you have to deal with the stress of passing the thing, which means you can’t stop ripping out chunks of your skin. It bleeds. It hurts. It makes you hate yourself, because you’ve just sacrificed skin on your arms for one fleeting moment of magical scratching bliss, which despite providing more relief than an orgasm, is followed by immediate and determined regret.
My mom resolved to help with the skin problem I was born with. It’s hard to quantify how much effort she put in, because it was…
