A Really Bad Rash

So I went to the hospital yesterday to find answers. I've been having inflammation in the neck and jaw area in the form of little pea-sized bumps that's been freaking me out crazy. On top of that my dermatitis struck again and now, from a simple rash, my ears seem like they are about to fall off. I know, not very flattering. Trust me, this isn't even my worst case scenario.

So after three consults from a Dermatologist, an Internal Medicine Doctor, and an ENT, they came up with one conclusion: it's stress. When they came up with it, my head just went "Wow, what a useful peice of information." I didn't know whether to be amused or insulted. Then they went ahead to saying that it will never really go away, and that this is something that I should get used to living with for then rest of my life. (Unless Brangelina adopts me as their next daughter, then I'd have the luxury of living stress free.)

Now among the number of prescriptions I recieved were antibiotics, paracetamols, creams, and etc; their main advice was to stay away from stress triggers. The dermatologist, a wonderful old lady in her 50's, even wrote me a prayer and went on to interrogate me about my lifestyle. She was a very hip old lady, she didn't care much that I drank alcohol, stayed up late, and woked two jobs (not a big fan of cigarettes though, naturally). Upon digging through my precarious lovelife history though, she said the weirdest thing:

"There's your rash!"


There's my rash? What a funny way to put it. My lovelife is making my bodily systems disintegrate. Wow. Well, as Vivian Green said, "Loving you ain't nothing healthy". I just didn't know she meant that literally.

Ladies and gentlemen, the point of this blog is very simple.

Like a bad rash, is there a cure for bad love?

Sasha and Taytoe, my two main bestfriends seem to have the same opinion. Sasha, being the founder of the new feminist movement since she was 12, and Taytoe, being the posterchild for Rhonda Byrne's The Secret, thinks that bad love is a self-inflicted disease that is curable by willpower and common sense. As insulting as that seems (with me being in a cycle of bad relationships, implying that I am completely devoid of both) I do get their point. Still, once it's there, is I don't believe that it's possible to just let go. I know. Pathetic.

I am a victim of bad rashes all my life. And just as how they are, my lovelife seems to show a pattern of reccurence, which by the way I am not necessarily proud of. Like a rash, or an addiction, do you really ever get beyond it? How much do you have to put into it in order to really be over?

Okay so look, unlike Carrey Bradshaw who has some enlightening conclusion at the end of her articles, I have no answers. I'm a victim, and still am. I'm a firm believer that in order for you to say that you really have loved, you must love truly, deeply, with no holds barred. Call me a complete love-sick idiot, but really, how does a love like that ever become disposable? How could it not haunt you over and over?

And doesn't another saying go: "If it itches, scratch it?"




And just like my rash, that would apparently never go away, not one person, professional or not, could seem to make me understand and figure this all out.


Damn. Somebody come up with a remedy.