Don't. Scratch.

I was minding my own business, absently fidgeting when I noticed it.  Where did this...?  How in the...?  It was right there, this tickle just below the surface.  A curiosity.  A small little nothing really, but once I became aware of it my fingers didn't want to let it be.  This tickle so tempting to touch.

I know better.  Leave it alone.  Ignore it.  distract yourself.  Don't. touch it.

I've been here before.  I remember what happened last time.  I remember what it's like to worry that tickle until it becomes a full blown itch.  Feather touch fingertips become clawing hands on raw skin.  I can't think or sleep or function.  I am consumed.  It's impossible to hide and everyone who sees me looks on with a furrowed Aw honey sympathetic brow.  They offer suggestions I've tried and tried but nothing works.  I'm left alone wracked with sobbing desperation just please make it stop.  But once it gets to that point I just have to wait it out.  It doesn't last forever.  In my head I know this.  The pain fades.  The memory of wanting to climb out of my skin every second of the day grows distant.

I won't let that happen again.

I know better this time.


stupid poison ivy