Beyond two kingdoms5/20/2023 ![]() ![]() ![]() But no one seemed to know for sure, so I tried not to make a big deal out of it. A general practitioner surmised that it was stress related and gave me samples of an antianxiety medication. A nurse at the college health center thought it might be eczema and recommended a cream. ![]() “It might be a parasite you picked up while studying abroad,” a Chinese herbalist told me before sending me off with foul-smelling supplements and bitter teas. Bloody harbingers of a mounting struggle taking place inside of me. A scree of oozing nicks, thick scabs, and fresh scars soon marred my legs as if they had been beaten with rose thistles. I itched while dancing with friends on the beer-slicked floors of basement taprooms. I itched under the big wooden desk of my library carrel. I itched during my part-time job at the campus film lab. Without realizing what I was doing, my hand began meandering down my legs, my nails raking my jeans in search of relief, before burrowing under the hem to sink directly into flesh. I tried to resist scratching, but the itch was relentless, spreading across the surface of my skin like a thousand invisible mosquito bites. A maddening, claw-at-your-skin, keep-you-up-at-night itch that surfaced during my senior year of college, first on the tops of my feet and then moving up my calves and thighs. Not a metaphorical itch to travel the world or some quarter-life crisis, but a literal, physical itch. ![]()
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