It’s just me, the computer, and a bottle of J.D. The honey kind.
I don’t normally do this. Drink straight from the bottle. But the circumstances I have found myself in this weekend are not normal by any means.
I’m struggling to keep my hands on the keyboard. To keep my nails away from my skin. To prevent myself from breaking open new sores. Ever fiber of my dermal layer is in agony. I am simultaneously in pain and itching.
I have scabies.
I’m not sure where I could have picked it up from. I only know of one person who has had a case recently, but we have not been in physical contact.
But I am sure that I would rather be in full blown pitocin induced labor with no pain meds than continue to deal with this.
It started out as some minor itching. I figured I just needed to shave my legs and apply a hefty dose of moisturizer. But shaving and moisturizing didn’t help. After a few days, pink bumps showed up everywhere I scratched. The itching spread from my shins, to my thighs, to my hips, belly, and lower back. Then my arms, hands, shoulders, and upper back. Now they’re even in between my fingers and toes. The itching is creeping into my scalp, and has crossed the barrier of my pubic hair.
Skin mites. Burrowing into my flesh and laying their eggs. Inside of me.
FUCKING. IN. MY. SKIN.
I put on the prescription cream that’s supposed to kill them, but it does nothing for the itching. I’ve taken cool oatmeal baths and bought expensive bars of soap that are supposed to alleviate the constant need to scratch. My body is a mass of itchy bumps and open sores. I can’t help it. I have to scratch. I have to dig them out of my fucking skin.
I’ve changed clothes 10 times a day. Washed everything in hot water. Vacuumed carpets and scrubbed couches like the goddamn POTUS was about to show up on my doorstep. Sprayed disinfectant on every cloth surface that I even glance at.
I can’t touch my kids. Every time I do, I imagine these bugs rushing onto their perfect bodies. Sending them through the same agony that I am in, without the understanding of what is happening to them. This is nightmare fuel like I have never experienced it. My touch is like poison.
I can’t sleep. The feel of clothing is unbearable. The bedsheets send my skin into spasms. I tremble with the effort it takes not to scratch until my nails are nubs and my skin is strips of raw flesh.
This is embarrassing. Humiliating. Disgusting. Overwhelming.
I have never experienced misery like this.
Through chronic pain, depression, surgery recoveries, labor and deliveries, and anxiety, never have I ever been so miserable that I have thought of ways to purposefully render myself unconscious.
But I have bugs digging into and breeding in my skin, so I’m thinking of some ways now.
Which is why my friend J.D. and I have some catching up to do.