so. i've been itchin' for a couple of months now. serious itching. i'm not talking about that tame stuff, the mosquito bites and the paper cuts have got nothin' on this itch. it's an itch that never goes away.
this itch is so horrible that i'd rather endure pain than this horrible, gnawing feeling at the back of my head that says "SCRATCH THAT INCH OF SKIN IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER TRUST ME". i can handle pain. i'm probably a bit of a masochist, seeing as how i always pick on my scabs until they bleed, and i used to bite my lips until they bled when i was nervous or irritated. not good traits. but i can never deal with itchiness. i apparently have sensitive skin, according to my mom, who tells me that when i was a kid i used to scratch my neck until it bled and it was so bad that they had to put those neck braces used for broken necks on me. i'm a scratcher. whoopee.
it also ties in very well with my slight (self-confessed, but very likely to be true) obsessive compulsive disorder. i tend to be obsessive about weird small things. (why oh why can't i be ocd about work?) like, when i remember something in the middle of the night, perhaps say, i forgot to unpack a suitcase or something random, i will fuss and frown and obsess over it so much that i'll finally just get out from bed and just unpack already, dammit.
so this itch makes me feel like if i don't scratch it i will die and scream and it makes me feel so uncomfortable that it's just...it's just a lot less of a hassle to just scratch it. get it done with. but that of course prompts more scratching and now the itch is spreading everywhere. to my face. my hands. my legs. it feels like a thousand spiders on every surface of my skin. i'm aware i sound a bit like a lunatic now but it can't be helped. it's just how i feel.
i've been to numerous pharmacies for medications, several clinics, and two skin specialists in my search to get rid of this drasted thing. it always comes back. what is it that i am so allergic to? is it because i don't exercise, so the toxic stuff is always under my skin, just waiting to seep out? is it because of bedbugs? is it scabies? allergy to food, water, preservatives, or my cat? maybe it's a heat rash? all these points thrown at me by doctors, pharmacists, people who all mean well. but i'm not better, so they must not mean well enough.
so i scoured online for some clues as to what i have and how i can get rid of it. or at least how to stop this stupid itch from being so mind-numbingly consuming. one of the solutions was interesting. it said that this itch i'm having, 98% of it is coming from the brain. what? you mean...that i imagined that i was itchy?
heh. i've heard of crazy, but never this. so apparently there's a catalyst that starts this itchiness, say an ant crawling across your leg. it registers into your brain, and due to stress, instead of feeling a light touch, you feel a maddening need to claw at it until you can't feel your legs anymore. the stress is making you itch, and the itch is making you stressed. creepy.
so stress is a large part towards this itchiness issue. okay. i can zen out. i take a deep breath, clear the room so it looks less cluttered, and proceed to listen to the holy quran on my phone. okay, i'm cooling down. it's not so itchy anymore. after some time i retrieve a face mask from my fridge which put in there the day before so it's cool and relaxing and okay, this feels good. plug onto my laptop instead and lie down with my face mask on, listening to the dulcet and soothing tones of benedict cumberbatch read john keats' an ode to a nightingale. practically melting on the floor now, i'm so relaxed.
then after some time i had to get up and do the laundry. hey, i'm feelin' good, no itchiness at all! yeah, take that mind! then, 10 minutes later, i nearly bawl when my fingers have found their way onto my arms, and i'm scratching like crazy. AGH! failure is a hard pill to swallow.
i dunno why i made this post. maybe because i had like 2 hours of sleep last night? and i'm crazy? but all i know is i'm going to get my ass into a skin specialist's clinic tomorrow if it's the last thing i do. so booyah.
countless books on shelves, all with stories to tell. books with endless pages of memories, of hurt and loss, of love, desire, passion and pain. some books are colourful. some have pictures. some are in black and white, single margin, lonely.
some books are filled to the brim. you've got the book sagas, the trilogies, people who have lived their lives to the fullest and can fill up more pages than they can count. some books are short stories, but nonetheless are interesting, and unique in it's own right.
we're all books. we're all stories waiting to be told.
we've got the main character in the book, ourselves. and the supporting characters, the people around us. some are more important than others. but they're all apart of our book. we've got drama, and adventure, and love stories, thrillers.
god, our lives are so much more interesting than we believe. sometimes we're so unappreciative of the things we have in our lives. the people we have. the clothes on our backs. the air filling our lungs.
somewhere out there in the world, there's a story that's about to end. someone out there is gasping for a breath. someone out there is all alone, crying in the darkest corners of their room, wishing for things to be different somehow. someone out there has no friends, no one to swap secrets with. someone out there cannot feel love. and yet, here we are, throwing things away. disregarding the people who love us. the people who care. sometimes, our stories are actually fairy tales gone wrong. a love story turned into a thriller. it's...sad.
i wish i could learn to appreciate my own story. learn to love my own book. yet, sometimes i wish i could live someone else's life. read someone else's book. be someone else. anyone else.
hoooomaigod. i am obsessed. again. i am always obsessed with something. always. alwaysalwaysalways.
*starts pacing around the room with manic expression*
this time, i am in love with...drumroll please, sherlock!
nopey dopey, not the hollywood sherlock but rather, the british version from bbc. i mean, okay, i admit that i do love the hollywood version of sherlock, how could i not, it has downey jr. and jude law innit right?
but this, this! this sherlock, this series, it's a masterpiece. it's amazing. brilliant. a gem. it's...okay, you can tell i am obsessed. (no doubt this obsession will change in a month's time, because the 3rd season of sherlock isn't due to air until 2013 so i need to find other ways to occupy myself. 2013? rly? SIGH. i hate waiting!)
aaanyways. this series depicts a modernized version of the sherlock holmes books by sir arthur conan doyle. i confess, i don't think i've ever read the series, ashamedly. no matter, i will undoubtedly pay more attention to the books now that i have. to. wait. for. season. 3. anyway. grr.
can you tell that i'm trying to speak in a posh british accent now? lawl.