So my dermatologist yesterday said that a patch of irritation I’ve been experiencing is most likely due to the soap I use. Now I get that millions of people unknowingly use things that are bad for their skin, it gets irritated, and their dermatologist has to tell them to stop doing that. Yet when you struggle with anxiety and depression and impostor syndrome, you are fairly sure that this is your fault.
If fact, you are so sure of it that what you hear is your dermatologist telling you that you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how to shower properly and she is going to tell everyone what a giant fuck up you are. She is going to publish in the New England Journal of Whatever, wow everyone, look at how much this guy fucked up his skin.
And then she takes two patches of skin off your back and you start to think for a second that she is just trying to save your skin piece by piece from your own stupidity and that “suspicious moles” is just her cover story. And yes, okay, this last bit is a little bit of hyperbole, but only a little bit. I mean, it is suspicious that she couldn’t look me in the eye while saying any of this. Then again that just could be the fact I was still lying on my stomach so the nurse could dress the wounds of the skin she just removed in an effort to save it, I mean me.
And if all of this sounds absolutely ridiculous, that is because it is. It is also horrifically true. That is the horror of mental illness, it lies so well that it makes these absolutely absurd thoughts run through your head until you are so worried that you probably start breaking out, which was probably the doctor’s plan all along so that she could just steal I mean save more of your skin from your own anxiety-ridden stupidity.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be researching whether Amazon sells fake skin to cover the skin that I screwed up and that my doctor is now trying to steal. Have a good weekend everyone.