Prim Atikarnbodee

For most, showers are relaxing. For me, showers feel like needles raining from the sky. For most, beds represent tranquillity. For me, beds represent restlessness – bloodstained sheets and a landfill of skin flakes. The unconscious nocturnal scratches I inflicted upon myself perpetuated a relentless cycle of pain.

 

When I was 3 years old, I was diagnosed with severe atopic dermatitis, a skin condition commonly known as eczema. 

 

In elementary school, whenever I approached kids in my class, they saw my linchenifications and excoriations before they saw my camaraderie. They saw my rashes and announced that I had leprosy. Everyone had fun running away from me, the class monster.  

 

In middle school, I hid my rashes by wearing long sleeves, even during scorching days. My confidence plummeted to its lowest point as flares began to mar my face. At this point, concealment became impossible. My condition was out for everyone to see upon first greeting. My flares were so severe that they distorted the shape of my eyes and face. Even my phone would not accept me upon facial recognition.  

 

At a time, when other teenage girls were beginning to explore the world of makeup and perfume, I had to restrain myself from experiencing the merriment for the sake of my skin. As the flower of adolescence blossomed, my friends became sought-after petals, whilst I felt like a thorn on the wilted stem, scaring away the boys.  Each step outside the house filled me with dread as my heart trembled to the prospect of worried stares from strangers. A constant sense of abnormality weighed heavily upon me, making it unbearable to face my own reflection, as each glance into the mirror led me deeper into a pit of self-loathing and revulsion. Having nobody to relate to, loneliness lingered like a heavy weight, threatening to crush me into dust. I became good at being invisible, since I believed that if they couldn’t hear me, they wouldn’t see me and notice all the imperfections on my skin.  

​

However, I eventually realized that all this hiding wasn't for my own benefit. I had been so preoccupied with what others thought of me that I forgot to live for myself. It became clear that if I didn't fight for my own worth and happiness, no one else would. I knew I had to switch my mentality. I started to realize that my eczema was not something that I should hide. I put an end to forcing myself to sweat under long sleeves and started wearing clothes that were actually comfortable. The scars on my skin resemble strength and perseverance through the worst of my flares. I could choose between feeling insecure about my eczema and feeling confident in my own skin. I realized that at the end of the day, I will always get second looks and snarky comments, but I won’t let them get under my skin. I decided to come out of my invisible cloak and show everyone what I had been hiding for so many years. I became more outspoken and engaged more with my peers. I stopped measuring my self-worth based off my appearance and liberated myself from the constant need for external validation to embrace my true self.

 

If you’d asked me 2 years ago, I would have wished to never have had eczema. But now I would say that the journey it has given me has been one of the best experiences of my life. My eczema has enabled me to connect with and empower people from all around the world, but most importantly, it has taught me to live authentically for myself, unburdened by the opinions of others. This condition, once a source of insecurity, has become a catalyst for my personal growth and resilience.