I am allergic to a chemical! One that is found in hair color, oils, greases, gasoline, and some creams and dark-colored cosmetics. It is also in fabric dye, particularly of black and brown materials. Which is essentially my entire wardrobe.
So, I am allergic to life, meaning the outdoors is an enemy as are many fruits, vegetables, nuts and eggs. I had accepted the foods and if I avoid them, I'm fine. But I have noticed that I always feel awful. Always tired, always irritable and always sad. I have attributed this to me just being crazy. I didn't exercise enough or eat the right things. I wasn't sleeping well and refusing to see things sunny-side up. I was a negative person who didn't want to try and fail. Then! I decided to look at the facts. I took a step away from the feelings to pay attention to when I do feel good. My conclusion after monitoring myself over the summer times? ALLERGENS! Allergens are the key to it all. I thought I had discovered the cause of my omnipresent sadness: the same afromentioned allergens which are now making it impossible for me to be chic-ly clothed.
I had an allergist appointment to check my medication so I could go outside without a plastic bubble and decided I would present my theory. They confirmed the egg allergy and then did a patch test on my back to see if I was also allergic to chemicals. When they asked me why I felt I might be averse to chemicals, I tried to sum up how my scalp often burned like the boughs of hell when I used certain shampoos and oils. Mascara was causing my eyelashes to jump ship. They agreed this was odd. The test was administered. The initial result: "Sorry weirdo. You have no allergies."
I came home sad.
SAD!
Why would anyone be sad to learn that they are not allergic to chemicals? Chemicals abound on the planet, so if you are cool with them, shouldn't that make you happy? Well, with no allergens, it means that the reason I am crazy sauce is because I am in fact crazy sauce. It's because I am not trying hard enough or just not being enough, enough. I was devastated.
I had paid attention to myself. I was noticing physical differences. My eyelashes were growing back without mascara! My scalp, my poor, poor scalp! All of that was just because I'm nuts? There is no real reason for any of this?
And that is when I was surprise attacked by Oprah and one of her farewell season Aha! moments. I am always looking for some reason to explain why I am the way that I am, which according to my self-assessment is secretly horrid. Or, possibly visibly horrid. I believe that there is something inside of me that is inherently wrong, like a malfunctioning chromosome or cell or DNA strand. Something can't be right because if it was, I would be fine. Instead of fine, I always feel...odd. I recognized this need for an explanation as to myself and why. As I left the allergy clinic, I realized that I have to just accept who and what I am. I don't know the reason for my deranged times. This is it. This is me.
Except.
I don't really know what it means to accept yourself. I don't actually understand it at all. I mean, aren't we supposed to be trying to be better than ourselves? And aren't we always changing? Who is anyone anyway?
Oh, questions.
So, I had to go back for a final follow up and the doctor noticed that I do have a chemical allergy. I am allergic to one p-Phenylenediamine. Hooray! So, there is some medical reason for the insanity, but I am still insane.
And I am okay with that.
Right?
What?
Exactly.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand scene.
me
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