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Personal Narrative: Red Skin

Decent Essays
Did I get my period? I thought to myself when I was 10. After I did some investigation I found that I had drawn blood after scratching the skin on my right forearm in my sleep. Not only had I not become a woman, but I now had another open sore. When I showed my dad he asked me, "Don't your classmates ask you what happened?" I told him that nobody had ever asked me why my skin was always so red.
I went to school, and it felt like any normal day. It was not until art class when the boy sitting next to me asked, “What happened to your arm?”. I was stunned. I did not know how to explain it to him. I scratched my skin off in my sleep. I thought about saying. No, that makes me sound like a freak. “I got burnt,” I told him. I wa relieved when he nodded in understanding and went back to his coloring. It bothered me that he had asked. Why did it concern him? It made me feel insecure and self
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When I became frustrated or mad because of my family or school, my eczema would flare up. The patches of dry, red skin would confront me in the mirror, a product of my own emotions. I still could never understand why my skin would never heal, and people never stopped asking what happened. My go to excuse became “I got burnt.” My hand have always been extremely susceptible to flare ups because of how drying washing my hands could be. The cracks and open wounds were impossible to hide. My friend Cindy asked me one day, “What happened to your finger?” but before I could recite my excuse she added, “unless you do not want to talk about it.” I was again stunned, but this time for a different reason. All of the sudden, I felt like I wanted to tell her the truth. She made me feel like she cared about my feelings above her curiosity. I realized that her compassion changed everything. My skin condition was beyond what either of us could understand intellectually, but her willingness to care for me emotionally changed how I felt
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