Life Is Not a Race (Blog #732)

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This afternoon I saw my dermatologist for a follow-up after last month’s discovery that my skin is generally pissed off by, well, a lot of things. (Aren’t we all?) Anyway, it was the easiest appointment ever. We discussed a couple minor irritations, but basically my skin is fine now. Better than yours, probably.

So there.

After my appointment, I went to a coffee shop and finished reading a book by Sheldon Kopp my therapist recommended. And whereas the book was overall lovely and helpful, it also contained some dated statements (it’s an old book). For example, “Homosexuality is heterosexuality gone astray.” What utter nonsense. As if gay men, for example, really are attracted to the women but simply–unfortunately–wandered off one day, got confused, and couldn’t find their way back to a nice set of tits. Gone astray. Like, Dear me! How did I ever wind up in bed with this naked studmuffin? Please. This just goes to show you–don’t swallow everything you read hook, line, and sinker. Even people with letters after their name don’t know everything.

I guess today was a day for reading, since after finishing the book I just mentioned, I re-read some old blogs, numbers 61-70. In my attempt to re-read all over-700 of them, I’m taking them ten at a time. And whereas I could have read more this afternoon, I figure I won’t get worn out this way. Plus, what’s my hurry? Life isn’t a race. I’ll get there eventually.

Last night I started reading a book called Claim Your Power by Mastin Kipp. It’s basically about discovering your purpose and uncovering any subconscious blocks you may have to achieving it. But like my project of going back and re-reading my blogs, finishing this book is going to take a while, since it asks that readers complete a 40-day workbook/journal and recommends not skipping ahead. Normally, I would anyway. But in an effort to trust the process, this afternoon I completed “day two” and shut the book when I finished. Life isn’t a race. Plus, maybe the ideas in the book will have a chance to sink in this way, a chance to simmer.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This evening I’ve been fighting a headache. It started to creep up on me at the coffee shop, and since it didn’t let up, I took some pills when I got home. Thank god for pills. Still, they haven’t quite done the trick. Nor has the relaxation mediation I did about an hour ago. So now I’m blogging in bed, horizontal, trying to not make any sudden moves. I’m trying to relax. That’s something I’ve been hyper-aware of lately, just how much I tense up when I feel pain. This, I’m sure, doesn’t help a tension headache. So I’ve been trying lean into my unpleasant experiences rather than push against them. Is this fun? No. Is it helpful? Believe it or not, yes.

I’ve read in a couple different books that say our bodies actually relax more when we pay attention to our pain or tension rather than trying to grin and bear it or ignore it altogether. When we accept what is rather than attempt to push it away. There’s a similar idea that’s presented in the book I started last night–that our unpleasant emotions will dissolve when we fully feel or experience them–not when we shove them down or ignore them. I’m working on this. Earlier today I thought about money and immediately felt stress. And whereas I’d normally “think about something else, think about something else,” today I let myself feel the stress, the panic of scarcity. And I didn’t die. Later, when I handled a money matter online, I didn’t have to pep-talk my way through it. The stress was gone.

Now I’m ready to call it a night. So many times over the last two years I’ve soldiered through this blog despite being tired or sick or having a headache. I’ve soldiered through a lot in life–clenched my jaw, shoved down my feelings, and pushed on. But there’s a price to pay for this, I think, for not listening to the wisdom of your body and emotions. And whereas I often get frustrated because I don’t know what my body is trying to tell me, I think that any discomfort or pain is, at the very least, trying to say, “Stop. Slow down. Sweetheart, life is not a race.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops.

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A More Mature Look (Blog #731, Birthday #2)

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Currently it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I’m at Starbucks blogging. A friend I haven’t seen in a while just walked over and said I was beginning to get that “older” look. That was how he started our conversation; that was his lead-in. So that felt good. To be fair, he said it looks good on me. What he meant by “it,” I’m not exactly sure. Wrinkles? (Are you saying I’m a good wrinkle wearer? Why thank you!) Recently my aunt’s dermatologist said she tries to avoid the term “age spots.” I guess people (old people) find it offensive. Instead she says “maturity spots.” Yes, I like that better. I don’t have an “older” look; I have a “mature” look.

Words matter.

Today is this blog’s second birthday. (Happy Birthday, Me and My Therapist!) Two years ago today, I wrote my first post. Since then, I’ve written every day. I really will start talking about something else soon, but wow. I just spent the last hour crunching some numbers and using a website to turn my blog into a PDF, and here are some facts. In year one, I wrote 375,441 words, an average of 1,028 words a day. In year two, I slowed down a little, writing 286,930 words, an average of 786 words a day. That’s an overall total of 662,371 words and an average of 907 words a day for the last two years. In PDF form, in 11 point font with no columns (text running all the way across the page), this translates to 1,050 pages for year one and 1,010 for year two, 2,060 pages altogether.

When the blog turned one last year, I went out with friends and deliberately did some things to celebrate. And whereas I went out with friends last night, it wasn’t for the specific purpose of celebrating the blog; it was just a coincidence. I don’t know. Maybe year two of blogging is similar to having your second child; it’s not celebrated in the same way the first one is. When something becomes routine, it’s easy to take it for granted. Still, I’m planning a few things this week in order to on-purpose pat myself on the back for how far I’ve come both in terms of this project and my personal growth. I’m trying to remind myself, No wait. This is a big deal. This is something you can be proud of.

Words matter. This is something I’ve learned during the last two years. The way you talk to yourself matters. Because that’s all I’ve been doing for the last over 600,000 words–talking to myself. That’s all I’m doing now, just sitting down and getting my thoughts out of my head and on paper. In a way, it’s like online journaling. Having a cyber man-diary, if you will. There is one difference, however. Whereas with a journal I might simply spill my thoughts out on to the page (barf!), with this project, in each entry, I make a point to talk myself into a better place. Internally I tell myself, Here is the ugly truth. Now how can we change our perspective about it? 

Lately a theme on the blog has been practice, the idea that if you just keep showing up to something–a blog, a dance class, a relationship–you’re likely to make progress. Napoleon Hill said, “Failure cannot cope with persistence.” And whereas I’ve thought a lot about the fact that my persistently blogging is making me a better writer, I haven’t considered until today that my persistently talking myself into a better place is making me a better self-talker. That is, we all have an internal narrator who provides a dialogue about what’s going on in our lives. Maybe yours says, “You’re too fat” or “You’re inadequate.” I know mine does at times. But I’m happy to report that more and more my internal narrator says, “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful–period” and “You are more than enough.” Occasionally friends have mentioned it must be nice to have thoughts like these. Well, yes, it is. But these thoughts have been practiced. Through years of self-help material, work with my therapist, and especially this blog, these thoughts have been invited in and encouraged to stay.

You don’t need to change; your thoughts do.

Sometimes I think you have to give up. What I mean is that our society, to its detriment I think, is hyper-focused on youth, beauty, and success by the world’s standards. We’re told that getting old sucks, so avoid it at all costs, and that what matters is on the outside, not the inside. And whereas most of us when pressed would say, “That’s bullshit, utter bullshit,” it doesn’t stop us from spending our hard-earned money on creams and lasers that claim to reverse the signs of aging or buying spandex to do for our skin what it can no longer do for itself. I’m not saying you should let yourself go. But I am saying that at some point the whole charade becomes ridiculous. Morrie Schwartz, the subject of the book Tuesdays with Morrie, said, “The culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough to say, if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it.” Think about it, for decades–decades!–you tell yourself you’re too this, too that. You convince yourself that YOU need to change, rather than realizing that it’s your thoughts that do.

Words matter.

Going forward with this blog, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I’ve told a few people (and now I’m telling you) that my goal is to reach a thousand days in a row. God willing and the creek don’t rise, that should happen just before this calendar year comes to an end. And since that’s close to a year from now, it seems reasonable to me to blog every day for another 365 days. That will be three years total. Three years–that was good enough for Jesus’s ministry, so it might as well be good enough for mine. Regardless of when it happens, I know at some point I’ll stop blogging and focus on other projects. There’s a saying that once you reach the other side of the river, you set your raft aside. That is, the important thing about this blog is not that I have reached or will reach a certain number of posts or words, but rather that it’s been a vehicle for getting myself to another place internally–a better-feeling, kinder-self-talking place.

A more mature place.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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Don’t Ever Give Up (Blog #701)

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Phew. After a few days of feeling like crap, I feel better today. Like, normal. Actually, my energy came back late last night, and I couldn’t fall asleep until four. Then I woke up five hours later, wide awake. Eventually I dozed back off and got up this afternoon. Since being sick, I’m sleeping in later than usual. And whereas I don’t fundamentally have a problem with that, I’d like to start both going to bed and getting up sooner. My doctor says it’s good to have a consistent schedule, even if you don’t have a job that requires you to have one. “Try to be up by, say, ten every day,” she says.

That seems reasonable.

Last night I dreamed that I was using a funnel to pour gasoline into my refrigerator in the middle of the night. (Weird, I know.) Refrigerators are common in my dreams. Best I can tell, they have to do with stored energy, which apparently I’m low on because I was having to “gas up.” Apparently my subconscious isn’t aware of the stored energy around my waistline. Anyway, when I woke up, my first thought was the dream had to do with my needing to get more quality sleep, since the dream was set in the middle of the night and sleep is the way our bodies “refuel.”

I’ve tried to go to bed sooner and get on a schedule before, and it was mildly successful. But you, know, shit happens. I was thinking about this earlier, that there have been several, maybe dozens, of things I’ve attempted since starting this blog that I haven’t succeeded at–cleaning up my diet (although that’s currently going well), cutting back on Facebook (miserable fail), getting more rest (moderate fail). And whereas I wish I knocked it out of the park in every area of my life, I obviously don’t. I can say, however, that I’m at least willing to try again.

Except for the Facebook thing.

Trying again. That’s what’s on my mind today. Yesterday I talked about a sinus infection I had last year that lasted for three months. This was after two decades of dealing with chronic sinus infections and not making much progress. However, finally, I found something that worked. Likewise, after months of having psoriasis on my elbow, I don’t now. I can’t say exactly what did the trick because I’ve been trying a number of different things, but I can say, “Fuck the dermatologist who told me psoriasis was ‘incurable.'” My point: the body is capable of amazing things when given the right support, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Sometimes you just have to keep at it.

When I was a kid, my dad kept a cartoon taped on the wall at his business. In the drawing, there was a frog being eaten by a giant bird. Like, the frog was in this bird’s mouth. It was a bad day. But the frog, who wasn’t going down without a fight, had its hands clutched around the bird’s throat. The caption said, “Don’t ever give up.” This is something I think about a lot–giving up. Because it’s tempting, especially when you’re up against a wall and things appear to never get better. And I do think there’s value in accepting life as it is. A lot of value, actually. But I don’t think that accepting life as it is means you have to accept that it’s never going to change. I think there’s room for both acceptance and hope. I mean, life always changes, so who’s to say it can’t change for the better?

Everything is subject to change.

Last night while lying in bed, I thought of the many things in my life that have changed for the better even though, at one point, I thought they never would–the sinus infections, the psoriasis. My neck and shoulder have been hurting lately, and both my muscles and the pain feel so solid, I wanted to remind myself that few things in our lives are truly solid; everything is subject to change. Plus, when something is bothering me, it’s easy for me to put all my focus on what’s wrong, and I think it’s important to slow down occasionally and focus on what’s right, on what feels good, on what is working.

You know, once every month or two.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

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On Being Irritated (Blog #687)

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Last night I dreamed I was being bitten by mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes. When I woke up, my first thought was that the dream had to do with being irritated. Mosquitoes, after all, are SOOO annoying.

This morning I had my third and final appointment with my dermatologist this week. On Monday I got patch tested for skin allergies by being exposed to 74 “common household ingredients.” On Wednesday I found out that I’m immediately allergic to four things, the worst of which is mercury, the most common of which is peppermint. Today I found out that I had “delayed reactions” to two OTHER things–cinnamic aldehyde (cinnamon) and neomycin sulfate (as in Neosporin). Geez. What the hell–delayed reactions? I guess that’s my skin’s way of saying what I’ve said to many an ex-boyfriend–“Initially I thought we’d get along, but now that I’ve had some time to think it over, I can’t see things working out between us.”

Or as Simon Cowell would say, “It’s a no for me.”

Believe it or not, when I got the news about my skin being allergic to a total of six different things, I didn’t freak out. Granted, cinnamon and peppermint are in every mouthwash, toothpaste, and dental floss out there, but whatever, I don’t need to take care of my teeth. After going through a battery of immune system tests last year and being told repeatedly that nothing was wrong, it was actually good to be given an explanation for at least one of my problems–contact dermatitis. And whereas the worst of it (a rash) is already under control, perhaps now we can get the least of it (itchy skin) under control. My dermatologist said, “I know it seems daunting, but all you have to do is avoid these ingredients.”

Encouraged by this pep talk and the ida that I could see results in as little as a month (because that’s how long it takes skin cells to regenerate), I went to the natural food store this afternoon to buy new personal products, since all of mine are on my no-no list. “Just think,” my dermatologist said, “you can go on a shopping spree.” (Like I needed an excuse.) Anyway, armed with a phone app that reads barcodes and compares product ingredients against my allergens, I started checking products. Y’all, I scanned at least two dozen toothpastes, shampoos, conditioners, body lotions, and shaving creams, and–no shit–every one one came back either as “not in our database” or “not safe for you.” (I kept thinking, No soup for you!) And whereas this normally would have sent me over the edge, today, for whatever reason, it made me laugh.

Perhaps this was a grace.

At this point, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Honestly, I think I could keep using the products I’ve been using and survive, since my reactions have been slow and delayed. However, I would like to listen to my body, clean things up, and give my skin a fresh start, so I’ll probably end up ordering some products the app recommends online. And whereas it’s frustrating that my choices are limited (because apparently my no-no ingredients are in EVERYTHING), at least it makes the selection process simpler. Plus, I was only using ONE shampoo, ONE conditioner before, so it’s not like a need a hundred options anyway.

This evening I’ve been telling myself that this isn’t a huge deal. I don’t have a major disease; I have irritated skin. Chances are that’s what my mosquito dream was about last night–the fact that my skin is even more worked up than normal because I haven’t had an antihistamine in a week (because of the testing). But it’s not lost on me that I’m generally irritated and worked up about something. They say that’s common with people who’ve been through  significant trauma–you can’t really calm down because you’re always holding your breath, waiting for the other show to drop. So I want to continue to work on that part of it, to do whatever I can to exhale.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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On Enjoyment and Being Worthy (Blog #685)

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Today started off well. I had errands to run, so I got up early. I had a lovely breakfast. When I left the house, the sun was shining. (I love the sun.) Then I had some time to kill, so I finished (finished!) yesterday’s paperwork. Then I went to a coffee shop and read a book for a couple hours. (I love reading.) For whatever reason, I delighted in all of this. Lately the idea of enjoyment has been on my mind, and I’ve been trying to soak more of it out of my everyday routine.

I’ll explain.

Most of the time, I’m going, going, going, always thinking about what’s next. For example, sometimes when I eat breakfast and finish everything on my plate, I get up to put my dish and utensils away before I’m done drinking my tea or coffee. I have this inner mantra that constantly sounds like, What else can I DO? Of course, this is a good way to be hyper productive. America loves that. However, it’s a terrible way to relax, since this thinking necessarily leads to never being able to slow down. Another consequence of this mentality is that it always feels like life is something to be enjoyed LATER. I end up thinking, I’ll be happy WHEN (when I put the dishes away, when I’m healthier, when I have more money, when I’m in a relationship).

Frustrated with my own logic, today I tried something different. At breakfast, I forced myself to leave my dirty dishes on the table until I finished my hot tea. Sipping it slowly, I thought, I like tea. Then instead of pacing throughout the house while brushing my teeth with my electric toothbrush, I stood still, closed my eyes, and thought, This is kind of fun; it tickles my tonsils. This continued into the afternoon. Not that I was stupid happy over everything, but I purposefully took time to enjoy the things I normally take for granted or rush through in order to finish–feeling the sun on my skin, listening to Come On, Eileen on my stereo, reading my book. It was fabulous.

Then something happened.

This afternoon I went back to my dermatologist to get the results of my skin patch test. Two days ago they plastered 74 “common household ingredients” to my back to see if my skin would react to them, and today was the moment of truth. (I’ll try to keep this brief.) The good news is that I had ZERO reactions rated as 3, the worst. I did, however, have one reaction rated as 2 (to Thimerosal) and three reactions rated as 1 (to iodopropynyl butylcarbamate, dimethylaminopropylamine, and peppermint oil). And whereas I’ve been all worked up about finding out my skin allergies, I actually took it pretty well. I thought, That’s not so bad. Then my dermatologist said it was so bad. Actually, she said, “It’s sort of a lot.” But then she said, “But not for someone who has rashes [I assumed she was talking about me]. This morning I had a lady who was allergic to 18 things [18!].”

Here’s a picture of my back when they removed the patches. The red spots are difficult to see. I go back in two days to see if I’ve had any delayed reactions. “But wait, there’s more.”

My dermatologist set me up with a supposed-to-be-handy-dandy phone app that keeps track of my allergies and tells me whether or not a particular product (shampoo, washing detergent, deodorant) has one of my no-no ingredients in it. However, when I came home and started scanning barcodes, I discovered that a lot of what I use isn’t currently in the app’s database. Oh well, I thought, I’ll read the ingredients myself. But that ended up being a bitch because some products don’t list their ingredients, and the no-no ingredients often go by, oh, three dozen other names. (Shit.) And another frustrating thing–when the app does identify a problem product (like my mouthwash, for example), it doesn’t say why it’s a problem. That is, it doesn’t say whether or not the issue is one of my four allergens, an allergen that’s similar that goes by a different name, or what. Consequently, I now have a bathroom counter full of products I may or may not be able to use without my skin freaking out.

If you see anything you want, come and get it.

Overwhelmed by all this information, I took a nap earlier. Having rested, I feel better. For one thing, I’ve only had ONE major skin rash this last year. And whereas it was awful, it got better when I changed my laundry detergent. For another, my allergies are three out of four mild, and the one that is moderate (Thimerosal, otherwise known as mercury) isn’t used in many things (other than vaccines, thermometers, and some antifungals and cosmetics). Granted, the mild allergens are used in many things, but we live in a world where there are tons of alternative natural options, and surely I can only benefit from finding out what they are and using them.

As I said yesterday, I can do hard things.

Another thing that’s been on my mind today is the word worthy. I prefer the word worthy over the word deserve. That is, I don’t think as humans we really DESERVE anything–good health, money, praise and adoration, a loving relationship. But I do believe we are all WORTHY of these things. Anyway, the word worthy came up while I was thinking about enjoyment, my thought being that we are all WORTHY to enjoy anything we want–a cup of hot tea, the sun on our skin, a good book–even if everything else in our life isn’t perfect. For me, that means that I can enjoy my book even if my shoulder hurts while I’m reading it. It means I can enjoy my dermatologist (love her) even if I don’t like the news she delivers. It means I can enjoy my dinner (I just ate a burger patty and a sweet potato) even if I don’t know what shampoo I’ll be using tomorrow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One day a change will come.

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Take a Year If You Need It (Blog #683)

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I didn’t sleep well last night. I guess I was worked up/ worried about the leaks under our kitchen sink and a few things I’m not looking forward to this week including Valentine’s Day (because I’m single AF). Much to my chagrin, I discovered when I got up this morning that my efforts to stop one of the leaks didn’t work. Boo hiss. Anyway, my dad called a plumber, so now we’re waiting. And whereas I wish I could have handled the problem myself, sometimes you simply need reinforcements.

I’m talking to you, people who learn to dance on YouTube.

This afternoon I went to my dermatologist’s office for the first of three visits this week because I’m being patch tested to see what “common household ingredients” my skin reacts to. My dermatologist suggested the test when she found out I had some issues last year that were most likely connected to a laundry detergent I was using at the time. Anyway, the testing process consists of having 74 different potential irritants exposed to your back and–later–seeing how your skin responds. That is, I go back in two days to see if I’ve had an immediate reaction, then again two days after that to see if I’ve had a delayed reaction.

My whole life feels like a delayed reaction.

Last summer I was tested for allergies via a test in which my skin was actually scratched three dozen times or so. Thankfully, I didn’t get scratched today; the potential irritants were adhered to me. Below is a picture of what my back looked like right after the patches were stuck on. Tonight’s main photo was taken after this one, and it shows what my back looks like now–covered in tape to keep everything secure. The nurse told me, “No antihistamines, no showers [a bath is okay if my upper back stays dry], and no excessive sweating.”

“But a moderate amount of sweating is okay?” I asked, thinking, I don’t control my sweat glands, lady.

Eight hours after having the patches stuck on, I feel fine. A few times today I’ve felt a little itchy in a spot or two, but not all over. Of course, I’m paranoid that my skin is freaking out and am imagining that I’m allergic to everything the Dow Chemical Company every invented. The nurse did say, “Sometimes people blister and don’t even feel it.” BLISTER! Still, whatever will happen will happen, and I’m telling myself this is just information, and the more information I have the better. Not to mention, somehow I’ve survived in the world of “common household ingredients” this long.

Otherwise, today’s been whatever. When I left the dermatologist’s office, I forced myself to go to the library and do some paperwork. Woo. Every since then I’ve had a headache, this low-level throb that won’t let go no matter what I try. It’s just demanding enough that it’s hard to write, focus, or be optimistic. (Insert period of time here.) Okay, I just took (more) pills. I’m going to the gym later and don’t want to be miserable. Sometimes you simply need reinforcements.

Earlier this evening I saw my friend Bonnie and told her that despite a part of my brain knowing “this too shall pass” and that I’ll feel differently about things (Valentine’s Day, my health, my life) later, most of my brain feels like every current challenge in my life is permanent. Like, Hang it up, Marcus. Nothing ever gets better. Bonnie said, “That’s not what you’d tell a friend, though.” And she’s right, I wouldn’t. I’d say, “Sweetheart, everything changes. Give it a day or two. Take a year if you need it. You’ll feel differently soon enough.” So I’m trying to be patient with both life and myself. I’m trying to talk to me like a friend would.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.

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Jacob Holding onto the Angel (Blog #662)

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After six weeks of battling a skin rash–a yeast thing–this afternoon I called in the big guns. I went to my dermatologist. Thankfully, after a year of them not taking my insurance, they do now. This means I got to see my favorite skin lady ever, who always listens to my long list of problems attentively and non-judgmentally. (I’m never short on things to worry about it.)

For my rash, my dermatologist wrote me a prescription for an anti-fungal cream, since the powder I’ve been using has been helping but also irritating my skin. (Two steps forward, one step back.) Then she gave me a cream for a spot on my elbow that’s most likely psoriasis. Ugh, I hate that. My grandma had psoriasis all over her body, so I always envision the worst whenever I hear that word. But my dermatologist said, “Don’t freak out. I’d rather someone have psoriasis than acne. We have so many options for it now that we didn’t have ten or twenty years. We’ve got pills, shots, creams, you name it.”

I’ll take one of each.

Otherwise, we took two moles off today–one on my scalp and one underneath my right sideburn. Weird how you can carry something around on your body for years and then it’s all-of-a-sudden gone. I’m telling myself that, likewise, my other issues can clear up in a flash–my upset stomach, my irritated skin. My dermatologist said psoriasis is an inflammation, and I said, “Oh my god, every issue I have is an inflammation. My entire life is an inflammation.” Seriously, that’s what it feels like, like my body’s on high-alert. I think, How can I turn the alarm off? How can I calm the fuck down?

Despite the fact that I got a lot of good help and information today, it’s difficult for my inner hypochondriac to not freak out. You know, because now I have more labels. Psoriasis and Yeast Infection on top of Acid Reflux and Just Had Knee Surgery. It’s hard to not feel like I’m a wagon whose wheels are falling off. It’s also hard to not blame myself. There’s this thought that if I were doing all the right things, eating the right foods, taking the right supplements, and exercising more, that I wouldn’t have these problems. And whereas maybe that’s true, there are countless people who do everything “right” and still get sick and die.

Because people get sick and die.

This evening while my parents watched America’s Got Talent: The Champions, I practiced knitting. Well, just after I got started, I realized I screwed something up. I still don’t know what happened, but I ended up with more stitches in a row than I was supposed to, so I unraveled the whole thing and began again (for the third time this week). This time, I really paid attention and didn’t rush. When the show was over, I was about eight rows in with no mistakes. We’ll see what happens tomorrow, but I figure this is the deal in life. Sometimes you simply have to begin again.

And again and again.

Personally, beginning again exhausts me. Like, I’ve been fighting this yeast rash for six weeks, and now I’m being asked to apply this new cream to it twice a day for a least four more. Four more weeks! That feels like an eternity. But my friend Bonnie pointed out that, shit, I’ll be rehab-ing my knee for six months, so four weeks is nothing by comparison. Plus, I know I’m not really starting over. A lot of progress has already been made. I’m just not at the end of the road yet.

The road. The long road. Tonight on America’s Got Talent there were a number of performers who said they slugged it out for years–even decades–before their big break came along. I guess we’re all looking for a break in some respect–in our careers, in our bodies, in our relationships. We all think, I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. That’s what wears me down, not the fact that I have dry skin on my elbow the size of a quarter, but the fact that it’s one more awful thing that’s shown up and is refusing to leave. One more burden to carry down this long, long road.

In my better moments, those moments when I don’t blame myself for my problems (Byron Katie says, “Do you have to take credit for everything?”), I tell myself that I have no idea why my problems are here. When I was a teenager I would have given anything had my mom been healthy and my dad been out of prison, and yet these two challenging experiences absolutely shaped me into the man I am today–strong, independent, more compassionate than I was before. This afternoon I read more in Wayne Dyer’s I Can See Clearly Now, a book he wrote when he had leukemia, which he ultimately died from. Still, despite his diagnosis, he said he absolutely knew that the disease was in his life to grow him. No self-blame, just acceptance. This is something I’m working on, not pushing away every awful thing in my life, but rather embracing them as my teachers. Not that I don’t want my challenges to go away, but like Jacob holding onto the angel, I don’t want them to go away until they bless me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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Spring Is Coming (Blog #357)

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It’s five in the evening, the sun is shining, and welcome to The Daily Rash Report. (Thank you for joining us.) As many of you know, for the last week I’ve had a rash where no one wants a rash. Yesterday my dermatologist said he wanted to do a biopsy, so now as we speak a small piece of my scrotum is being shipped to Houston, Texas, to be analyzed in a lab by a complete stranger. My dermatologist said, “If you get a bill from Texas and think, I didn’t go to Texas–Well, part of you did.” (Everyone’s a comedian.)

Hopefully my scrotum is being mailed in a box marked “handle with care.”

I’m glad to say that the rash is much better today. The perfectionist in me would like to go on record as saying it’s not “completely better.” Like, if I stare at it long enough, I start to worry. That being said, the itching has significantly decreased. It’s not keeping me awake at night like before, and I was up for over two hours today before I even noticed it. Likewise, the redness and swelling have gone down. Again, it’s not a miracle, but I think we’re headed in the right direction. (Fingers crossed.) At the very least, I no longer want to cut my junk off with a kitchen knife, which–last week when things were at their worst–I briefly considered as a viable option.

So, thank you, Lord, that I no longer want to do that.

This morning I received an encouraging message from my dear friend, Sara. She said that her daughter used to struggle with skin issues and that after much frustration and many failed medical and alternative therapies, they ended up solving the problem with diet and probiotics. Considering that I’ve been gearing up to focus more on my diet lately and that my doctor already has me on (some) probiotics, it was the just nudge I needed. So this morning I cut out bread and coffee from breakfast, and this afternoon I ordered more probiotics on Amazon and picked up some Kombucha (a probiotic drink) from the health-food store.

For those who are interested, here’s a full list of what I’ve done or am doing in order to treat this rather-personal rash.

  • Washed and double-rinsed my sheets, towels, and all my clothes in “free and clear” detergent by ALL
  • Applying prescribed steroid cream (Triamcinolone) twice daily
  • Applying a probiotic mist my regular doctor suggested for other skin issues twice or three times daily (I can’t tell that it works, but I’ve already paid for the shit and might as well use it.)
  • Taking an Epson salt bath once a day (recommended online for eczema, etc.)
  • Sleeping or being naked as often as possible in order to “air out”
  • Cutting back or cutting out wheat, dairy, sugar, coffee, and alcohol (although I may have a beer tonight)
  • Drinking Turmeric or Dandelion tea instead of coffee (Turmeric is an anti-inflammatory, and Dandelion is a diuretic or “cleanser.”)
  • Increasing intake of flax-seed and fish oil (Again, these are anti-inflammatories and sources of Omega-3 fatty acids.)
  • Drinking Kombucha and taking daily probiotics

I realize this is a shotgun approach, but clearly something is already making a difference, so I’m going to keep everything up. Plus, I assume that the problem has had multiple contributing causes (overall decreased immunity, stress, diet, detergent/irritants), so it might as well have multiple contributing solutions. Either way, we’ll see what happens.

Now it’s six in the evening, the sun is still shining, and birds are even chirping. I can’t tell you how much hope I receive from the the simple fact that it’s not dark and cold outside, from just a little improvement in my environment and physical well-being. It truly is a shot in the arm. Earlier today my friend Sara said, “Spring is coming to EVERY area of your life!” I said, “I am naming and claiming that benediction.” But seriously, I hope she’s right. I really hope she’s right.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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Surely This Too Shall Pass (Blog #356)

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What a frickin’ terrible day. (Hi, my name is Marcus, and I have a bad attitude.) Yesterday I wrote about a skin rash that’s recently developed on my scrotum. (For everyone who wrote or called me in response and asked, “How’s your penis doing?”–Thank you, your support means the world to me and Junior.) Anyway, this morning I saw my dermatologist. Convinced my problem was related to my family’s change in laundry detergent, I hoped he’d simply look things over, tell me the worst was behind me, and recommend a different soap. Instead he looked things over and said, “I’ll be right back. I’d like to do a biopsy.”

Y’all, if you’ve never had a chunk of skin removed from your private parts, I don’t recommend it. Like, if you’re ever given the option to have it done, go to a movie instead. Granted, it wasn’t unbearable. The rubbing alcohol followed by the shot for numbing the area were the worst parts. (Yowza.) I didn’t actually feel the skin removal. But then the doctor cauterized my flesh back together with what essentially amounted to a miniature cattle prod, this little magic wand that just so happened to be plugged into an electrical outlet. “Is that the sound of my flesh burning?” I asked.

“Yes, and the smell,” he said.

The doctor said the biopsy should take a week to get back, but that my “situation” could possible be psoriasis, which, he was encouraging enough to point out, isn’t curable. (I personally take serious issue with this idea, that a magnificently intelligent body and universe can produce a problem but not a solution.) “But we don’t know that’s what it is,” he said. “It could be a form of eczema, or even cancer. There are, after all, 3,000 skin conditions in dermatology.”

Uh, is this supposed to be a pep talk? I thought.

“So this just, like, popped up?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “There has to be a first day for everything.”

I still can’t decide if he was being funny or serious.

Before I left his office, the doctor wrote me a prescription for a stronger steroid cream than the one I’ve been using, so I went to Walmart to have it filled. While I waited, I picked up some Epsom salt to use in the bathtub, since that did seem to help when I tried it a couple days ago. Also, I bought some “free and clear” detergent for sensitive skin, even though the doctor said he thought the fact that this problem showed up after our detergent change was a coincidence. My logic in buying it was that I have to try something. Also, considering the fact that my skin has been extra sensitive and full of histamine since last year when my big sinus infection drama started, why not do everything I can to avoid making it any more irritated than it already is? To that end, I’ve been doing laundry all evening, washing my sheets, towels, and every piece of clothing I own. (This is where being a minimalist and not owning many clothes comes in handy.) So, that’s why I look naked in the above picture–all my shirts are hanging up to dry.

I’m starting to think of my body as a gypsy wagon.

Tonight I spent some time reading about psoriasis and skin conditions online. The “granola people” (natural health food folks) claim skin problems can be caused by anything from yeast overgrowth to parasite infestation. Both thoughts terrify me, and yet I can’t stop reading about them. Currently I’m thinking about every even-slightly red spot on my body and scaring myself to death, imaging myself turning into The Elephant Man. Since these last few months have been one medical problem after another, I’m starting to think of my body as a gypsy wagon bouncing down a rocky road–everything falling off left and right.

Regardless of the cause of various skin conditions, the consensus on the internet says diet is “the answer” (along with these supplements that just happen to be on sale, of course). Be a vegan, eat Paleo, whatever–basically cut out sugar, wheat, dairy, coffee, and alcohol–or, in other words, your entire social life. Honestly, I’ve tried strict dietary changes before. And whereas they do help, they’ve yet to produce any miracles. Not that I’m unwilling to try again–eating clean would surely only help my body–but it takes a lot of willpower, energy, and focus to “eat right,” and–quite frankly–I’m out of all three of those things at this point in my life.

Now I’m ready to go to bed. Each night before I fall asleep, part of me hopes that all these physical problems that just popped up will disappear while I slumber. Sometimes I think of chronic health problems I’ve had in the past that eventually went away and remind myself that my body truly is capable of healing. I can’t think that healing has ever happened as fast as I wanted it to, but it has happened over and over again. So tonight I’m telling myself that if “there has to be a first day for everything,” then there has to be a last day for everything too. Surely nothing in this universe comes to stay. Surely this too shall pass.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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Every Square Inch (Blog #355)

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First, before I say anything else, let me say this. Praise God and all the saints, spring has officially arrived. That’s right, it’s the spring equinox. Today marks the point at which each day will become progressively sunnier, progressively warmer for the next three months. I can’t tell you how excited this makes me and how hopeful, especially considering what a serious bitch this last season has been. So hang a basket of flowers on your front door or put a bird on your shoulder–hell, buy some Claritin–but whatever you do, let’s mark this auspicious occasion. Winter is finally over.

The wicked witch is dead!

Okay, now let’s talk about something personal. As I’ve mentioned several times over the last week, I have this rash, a super-irritated and itchy section of my body that has been driving me crazy non-stop for a while now. I’ve been saying that it’s located “where no one wants a rash,” but I’m just going to go ahead and be more specific–the rash is on my junk, or as my mom (the nurse) taught me to say when I little–my scrotum. I’ve been hesitant to put this fact in writing, partly because it’s a little embarrassing and partly because (believe it or not) I do consider some things in my life private and sacred. Like, I don’t wake up on the regular and think, I know what I’m going to do today–I’m going to get on the internet and tell the entire digital world that my balls look like an angry apple.

(Call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t consider it classy.)

That being said, my standards have been rapidly declining recently. Hell, in the last week alone, in an effort to figure this problem out, I’ve called up two doctors and one nurse on the phone and essentially said, “I don’t make it a habit of saying this to everyone, but let’s talk about my dick.” Unfortunately, none of the conversations have led to a solution, but the good thing that came from all of them was this–not one of the people I spoke to was as embarrassed by my situation as I was. Rather, the feeling I got from them was, this is pretty routine for us. Like, come back when you grow a third testicle.

A few years ago I saw a urologist for what ended up being non-bacterial prostatitis. The doctor said he was 99% sure my prostate wasn’t infected, but that we should check anyway. Well (in plain English), that required him to stick his finger up my butt, and whereas I might have been down for that sort of thing on a Friday night, I wasn’t exactly prepared for it on a Tuesday morning, what with the harsh lighting in the exam room and all. (I would have preferred candles.) But still, beggars can’t be choosers. (As the exam was happening I was like, “This is seriously what you do for a living?” And he was like, “Yeah, it’s not the easiest thing to talk about at Thanksgiving.”) Anyway, my point is this–had their been a meal involved before my prostate exam, I would have been ready to introduce this guy to my family, but it was all in a day’s work for him.

He probably doesn’t even remember my name.

But back to my junk.

Part of the reason I’m talking about my junk is that after almost a solid year of writing this blog, I’m coming around to the idea that we all have it. (Junk in general, not my junk specifically.) What I mean is that, yes, we all have physical junk, private parts we often consider embarrassing. But we also have emotional junk we keep to ourselves because we somehow believe “I’m the only one” or “No one would understand.” But having spent the last year openly and honestly discussing my fears, insecurities, and challenges (as well as my dreams and desires), I no longer believe these beliefs are good excuses to keep everything inside. Since not once has someone responded to even one of my most intimate posts by saying, “You’re a complete freak–I’ve never felt that way,” I’m convinced we’re more similar than different.

One of the great things that’s come out of this blog project is that I’m much (much) less embarrassed or ashamed than I used to be. I’m honestly not worried about telling anyone–anyone–that I’m gay, that my nut sack feels like it’s sitting on a family of fire ants, or that there are still days when my sweat smells like Easter eggs–because all of these things are true. Along these lines, my therapist and I recently had a conversation about vulnerability, a hot topic in the self-help world lately, largely due to the work of Brene Brown. I said, “My experience lately is that I don’t feel vulnerable when I tell someone something ‘private’ about me because I’m no longer afraid of their reaction. I’m no longer worried about how they’ll respond.”

“Right,” my therapist said. “When I think of someone who is vulnerable, I think of someone who is weak or unable to help themselves, like a child or someone being held captive or abused. But people who know who they are and aren’t afraid to speak their truth don’t feel weak or vulnerable when they do so–they feel strong.”

But back to my junk.

After a solid week of my junk itching and burning and a few days of my inner thighs itching, I thought, Maybe this has something to do with my boxer-briefs. So last night when I got home from Houston I asked my parents, “By any chance, did you start using a new laundry detergent?” Well, as it turns out, they did–about a month ago. Convinced the new detergent was the culprit, I took a shower then went to bed without any clothes on. Y’all, this morning things looked and felt significantly better. Not like perfect, but also not like an angry apple.

A distinctly upset apple, perhaps.

This afternoon I taught dance, so that means I had to put clothes on. (I’m not a complete animal.) I found a pair of underwear I haven’t worn in a while (and therefore would have been washed with the old detergent) so I wore those. And whereas things “flared up” after a couple hours of sweating and moving around, they’re still not currently as bad as they were yesterday or the day before. I guess I’ll see what the dermatologist recommends tomorrow, but I for one think the solution to my problem is simple–join a nudist colony. I mean, it is spring now, and clearly Junior could use some fresh air.

If you want to know the truth, I’ve given Junior a lot of grief over the years, either for not being “the right size” or looking “the right way” or “not working right” (I have a small bladder). In other words, I’ve been critical of Junior. But to be clear, I’ve been critical about a lot of my body parts. Actually, there’s probably not a square inch of my body that I haven’t been critical of at some point in my life. Like, I think my nose is “too big,” my back is “too round,” and my nipples stick out “too much.” But after a week of my junk feeling absolutely miserable, I’ve realized two things. First, there isn’t a square inch of my body that can’t make me miserable or shut me down in an instant should it decide to stop working or flare up. Second, the moment any part of my body stops working or goes wrong, all my thoughts about physical appearance and “too much” or “not enough” cease to matter. If they don’t, I’m not in enough pain. Because when I’m really physically miserable, I don’t care what I look like–I just want things to function as they did before.

Surely this is an innocent mistake…

For these reasons, I’m determined to be kinder to myself, to stop criticizing all the parts of my body that, for the vast majority of my life, have done nothing for me but work. Better said, they’ve done nothing for me but serve. My legs and feet take me where I want to go, my arms and hands dance with and hold the people I love, my big nose helps me breath, and my junk provides me daily relief and–sometimes–a lot of fun. All this my body does for me while asking nothing in return, even when I’m embarrassed by it or think it should be different than it is in this moment (as if that’s even possible). Surely this is an innocent mistake on my part, looking at a perfectly beautiful body and somehow finding it shameful, wanting it to be more or less than it is, being anything but grateful for every square inch of myself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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