Featured image credit: Brad Helmink on Unsplash
Since I was a baby I have had eczema. It’s come and gone in severity through the years but for much of my childhood and early teens it remained on my body in the typical locations: backs of knees, crooks of elbows, anywhere that folded or got sweaty. But then I turned 18 and my face and neck decided they wanted in on the action.
Starting from my upper back and heading on up, eczema came to encompass my hands, arms, shoulders, neck and head, I struggled to sleep because if my neck so much as brushed the pillow I was in pain. I struggled to eat, smile, and talk as the corners of my mouth and lips were split in such a way that I like to compare with the Mouth of Sauron from Lord of the Rings.
Those who have never had to deal with chronic skin issues, would be forgiven to assume that ‘bad’ skin is solely about aesthetic. It is not. How you look has a direct impact on how you feel about yourself, particularly when the issue is situated on the parts visible to others. Then you also have the risk of staring and comments, and while some may mean well, others can be cruel.
There is also a quality of life element to it. Severe eczema and cystic acne, for example, are painful and, depending on their location, can inhibit daily activities such as eating or sleeping. If the eczema weeps or the acne bursts, you’re cleaning up a mess while dealing with discomfort.
And then there’s the all-consuming itch that even the most strong-willed will find themselves scratching. There’s the obvious itch. It comes on strong and you scratch almost immediately. Then there’s the stealth itch. It lingers under the surface, you try to resist for a while but it’s all you can think of. It’s inevitable you’ll cave. And, like a tube of Pringles, once you scratch you can’t stop. You wind up causing more damage, reversing any healing that may have occurred, which only perpetuates the problem.
From childhood I used hydrocortisone cream and prescription moisturisers. Diprobase, Doublebase. Anything with -base at the end. Thick and greasy with a distinct fragrance of paraffin, I hated putting them on. They also did little to soothe the major flare up I was experiencing at 18.
I dread to think the amount of money I spent on treatments and products during this period. I tried, with ever-increasing despondency, more brands than I can actually remember. Over-the-counter, drugstore, luxury, handmade, homemade, one ingredient, one-hundred ingredients, natural, organic, chemical-free, chemically, fragrance-free, SLS-free, paraben-free, and preservative-free.
I would mix together sugar and sweet almond oil, and scrub myself silly to get rid of the flakes. I made a turmeric concoction that necessitated me to stand in the bathtub for however many hours for fear of staining absolutely anything. I smothered myself in olive oil and again patiently stood in the bathtub for the oil to penetrate my epidermis.
I tried, half-heartedly and unsuccessfully, detoxes, food eliminations, a no added sugar diet, a low added sugar diet, probiotics, prebiotics, supplements and herbal remedies.
I saw an allergy specialist for a skin prick test which confirmed the things I knew I was allergic to, and was prescribed a compound cream that was a special order mix of a steroid and moisturiser. I was referred for a skin patch test that told me I have a slight allergy to latex and nickel, and left me with a tiny chemical burn on the side of my back from one of the cleaning chemicals I used at work.
They confirmed that I am a reactive person, but they didn’t offer much explanation as to why my eczema had erupted so suddenly. There was no rhyme or reason why my skin would flare which made it all the more infuriating. My skin was drier than the Atacama and flakier than a croissant, and had me begging the Gods of good skin to tell me what I could do to appease them.
I was working and attending college at this time and am very fortunate to have had tutors, supervisors and managers who had experience of dry skin and eczema, either themselves or family members. They were understanding on the days I couldn’t face other people.
After multiple trips to the doctor, only to be prescribed the same creams and ointments over and over, finally, I was referred to a wonderful dermatological nurse who recommended I ask my GP to prescribe something that actually worked.
My skin was at last settling down; I was feeling less self-conscious about myself and my self-esteem was starting to improve. There was a slight relapse when, after standing outside in the cold on Bonfire Night watching the local firework display, my face and neck went beserk upon stepping back into the warm. What followed was a slight mental breakdown as I thought the temperature change had completely reversed my skin’s progress and my Mum called the nurse for advice as I wailed and scratched every inch of my skin I could in the background.
Today, the only thing that brings my skin under control, when it decides it wants to resemble the surface of Mars, is a steroid cream. A strong one. The type that, when prescribed, you are told not to put it on your face as it thins the skin. But where the blazes am I supposed to put it when my eczema is located mostly on my face and neck? So to hell with side effects, I’m applying it there out of desperation. It may feel revolting, it may smell disgusting, it may tingle a bit on the areas that are sore, but in a few hours, relief.
It leaves me free to use regular skincare products, just as long as they are suitable for sensitive skin; although I have all but given up on Western brands and solely use Korean these days.
As I venture further through my twenties, I like to believe my skin is starting to settle. It does sometimes feel like I’m attempting to terraform Mars, with the mission being somewhat successful until a sandstorm forms and my efforts end up covered in a veil of Martian dust. It is a balancing act that I haven’t quite got the hang of; if I don’t moisturise my skin gets parched but if I’m too generous with the application I get spots and my pores are visible from space.
My most recent flare up has coincided with my coming off antidepressants and the anger and mood swings that have followed. The age my worst flare up occurred coincided with the death of a close family member, which got me thinking; where I thought the condition of my skin impacted my overall mood, it may actually be the reverse: the state of my mental health is the cause of my eczema. And while my skin leans far on the dry and sensitive side, the cause of a flare up lies within my head.
It’s a revelation I wish I had come to years ago as I might have saved my bank account from weeping every time I made a new purchase. But that’s life. And it’s another avenue for me to explore…
The Lilac 