ANGER

I started this post about a two months ago. It's taken me this long to craft what I want to say. My feelings about my body, my skin diseases are complicated. My conditions are complicated.
an·ger ˈaNGɡər/

noun

1. a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.

                          "the colonel's anger at his daughter's disobedience"

synonyms: rage, vexation, exasperation, displeasure, crossness, irritation, irritability, indignation, pique;

I have spent a good portion of the past six years in a constant state of anger. Six years ago in March my world was flipped upside down and I don't think I have recovered yet. Six years ago was when my psoriasis went from being a dormant tenant, to the owner of my body. I went to the gym and used a machine without gloves, leading to what I thought were calluses forming on my hands. Things have never been the same.

My first vivid memory of the psoriasis on my hands is from my 22nd birthday dinner. We ordered a pitcher of beer and when I squeezed lemon into it, it came into contact with my wound and it hurt like a bitch. In that moment, I had no idea what I was in for.

That fall, I was back and Mizzou and I started seeing a dermatologist at Boone County Med. For about six months, I went three times a week to receive treatment that I later found out was only exacerbating the condition. My spots continued to form and I began taking medication, a type of chemotherapy drug, that made me sick on a daily basis. I was a senior in college. My hands bled often, I was sick all of the time, and I was angry.

I did not understand why. Why was my hair changing color? Why was my skin breaking out? Why was I sick all the time? Why was this happening to ME? Was it genetics? Was it something I'd done? WHY? Looking back now, I wish I could say that I didn't still ask these questions.

Fall of 2012 was when I began to lose my hair. It started slowly, and then all at once, BAM!, it was almost gone. Thick head bands and hats became my best friends because I was predominantly losing my hair on the sides and back of my head. Ben and I rushed to have our engagement pictures taken in January of 2013 after we got the results back from a biopsy of my head. My hair was going to fall out completely, and I wanted hair in those pictures. Looking back on these photos, I love our photographer - she did a phenomenal job - but I hate these pictures because I know that we only had them done then because I was losing my hair.

  

  

February 10, 2013 was the day that I finally broke down and went to have my head shaved. I went to a Great Clips because it was Sunday night at it was the only place that was open. I texted my closest friends and all that could came to the shop and watched the hairdresser shave (what was left of) my hair off. Sometimes you don't realize that you just have to hit life's curve-balls out of the park.

The next few months or so aren't documented well with photos. I was embarrassed by/ashamed of my hair. I felt like I had done something wrong and brought this upon myself. I CHOSE not to get a wig, but I still felt when I went out that people were staring at me and wondering what was wrong with me. Weddings were really the only events that I allowed pictures to be taken of me with my hair short.

  

Toward the end of the summer, my hair started growing out to a length that I could stand to be seen with. To be honest, I was very lucky in my hair-growth process. My hair grew back quickly and with the same texture/consistency. Frankly, the reason I decided to shave my head when I did was because I was getting married in January 2014 and I didn't want to be bald when that happened. The growth process was hard for me though. I started teaching while my hair was short and fielding questions about my conditions was hard to swallow most days.

I was lucky in the fact that my support system was everything I ever could have hoped for. My friends and family never judged me, complimented my hair cuts/growth, and honestly, just never made it seem like a factor. I was still me and they treated me as such. I think the biggest problem was ME and not feeling like I knew who I was anymore. I felt defined by my diseases.

  

  

By the time I got to the wedding, my haircut looked intentional. It was short, but it was styled, so I looked like a normal person in those pictures. That was what I had wanted the entire time, but I was still angry. I was still unhappy. As 2014 went on, my hair continued to grow. My skin was somewhat clearer, but at this point I had just gotten used to my skin being broken out - my hair was what I felt like defined me. Those who knew me knew I had cut it off because I was sick and I just wanted it to look the way it had looked before all of this had even happened.

At this point in my life, I had just graduated from my accelerated Masters program at MU and I started my second year of teaching in Cameron, MO. Nobody in Cameron knew my story until I told them, so it was nice to have the opportunity to feel normal.

  

  

By summer of 2015, I felt like I looked like me again. My hair was almost as long as it was pre-shave, and I was in a good place with my other skin issues. Looking like my old self had become the new focus, but when other aspects of my life erupted in flames my psoriasis flared the worst it had since my diagnosis in 2010. Family issues, work, and other miscellaneous factors caused my hands and feet to worsen, and my plaque psoriasis to come back.

I've spent the past eight months or so really struggling with my condition. Even six years in, I still ask myself those same questions. Why me? When will this ever get better? I am still so angry some days. To be honest, I had a stint earlier this year where I wasn't on my medication for a short time, and even though the situation wasn't good, I was almost relieved to not have to take medicine every day. I think that's the worst part of it all - constantly feeling like I have to be medicated to live a normal life.

   

I know that I am blessed that I do not have a condition that is life threatening. I know that I am blessed to have learned so much about myself through this process. I know that I am blessed to have a great support system to hold me up on the days that I can't do it myself. But things are hard. I am constantly frustrated that my 15-year-old cousin has to open jars for me. I am constantly frustrated when I have to wear band-aids on my feet because they're so broken out that it hurts to walk. I am angry that these diseases are such a large part of who I am... but the fact of the matter is, they are.

 

I think what I'm having to learn every day is that my diseases may be a part of who I am, but they're not ALL that I am. I am also a teacher, a student, a blogger, a sports fan... I am so many things. THAT is what I need to remember on the days when I feel angry. I may be angry, but I'm surviving at the same time. THAT is who I am.