The Ring of Saturn

REFLECTION(s)

I mounted my pink stool and stared into my 24-inch mirror. I gritted my teeth and fought back my tears for, despite the numerous applications of various ointments, treatments, and the multiplicity of at-home “remedies”, it was still there. Eczema! The dreaded skin condition that was as synonymous with my existence as breathing. (Self) hatred grew within me. Attention, NASA! We have a problem. The ring of Saturn is no longer orbiting its home. Instead, it can be found around my mouth, ten time darker than my skin color, causing me to become repulsed by it.

I can never remember a time within my short existence on this planet when I was not affected by this condition. My skin often shows signs of discoloration, covered in bumps and rashes, or pink from scratching so intense that I often bleed. So much so, that I came to appreciate the anonymity of isolation so that no one could see the horrors that was so manifestly visible. I constantly cover myself in hoodies, even during times of sweltering heat, placing shirts over my mouth as a mask. Understandably, too, I came to appreciate solitude, preferring the proverbial darkness of invisibility from public life. That is, until the summer of 2012, when staying indoors was no longer an option.

During that fateful summer, my mother, sick and tired of me using the house as a cocoon, decided to enroll me in summer camp, despite my many protestations. Faced with the inevitable, I reluctantly consented to the program and became pleasantly surprised that, on entering into the common camp area, all my self-consciousness fell away as I encountered kids of my age happily engaged in the game of “tag”. With a little shove of encouragement from my mother, I made my way over to the other kids and began to, at first tentatively, then confidently, run around in participation, the covering hiding my mouth falling away in my joyous excitement. Until I heard the dreaded words that soon become recurring theme during days of camping: “what’s wrong with your mouth?” My euphoria evaporated the air from a deflated balloon, and my mouth felt like cardboard. I struggled to speak, but nothing came out. I looked around helplessly, hoping that someone, anyone, would step in to defend me. When no one did, I slowly made my way dejectedly to the benches, and resigned myself to the fact that the stares and questions would persist, as my ring of Saturn became my mark of identification as I continued my pariah status.

As summer days progressed, I became known as “the girl with that thing around her lips”, and my identity as an individual no longer mattered. Why do people only care about my imperfections instead of who I am as a human being? I thought to myself constantly. I buried myself deeper inside the “monster” I call my skin, using it as a glass ceiling that I couldn’t or had no desire to break. My self-confidence was at an all-time low. Ironically, I’d never felt so invisible. Oftentimes, I would go home, lock myself in the bathroom, mount my pink stool, and cry uncontrollably. The thought of returning to camp every day often filled me with trepidation, as I was fully convinced that I would never be accepted. So imagine my surprise when the daily attendance at that very camp became the catalyst for changing how I viewed and accepted myself.

Eventually, as I began to look outside of my condition, I started noticing that there were several others kids like myself, who never participated in any camp activities. Chief among them was particular boy who suffered with diabetes, which meant that, unlike many of his peers at that age, he was unable to partake in the enjoyment of the sweet taste of candy. His outlook, however, was totally different to mine, as he was forever joyful and pleasant in spite of his condition. Observing him forced me to engage in self- reflection, coming to the unfortunate realization that I was using my visible skin condition to define my entire existence. This moment in it’s entirety changed my outlook on my life, pushing me to further exuberate optimism and gain confidence within the depths of myself and my subconscious that I was completely unaware of. It was then that I made a conscious decision to reframe my outlook. I immediately rejoined the daily game of tag, deliberately overlooking the whispers and snark. I slowly developed a thicker skin(pun intended), and eventually began to exude more self confidence, which translated into other aspects of my daily life. It wasn’t long before I won the coveted title of an all-division plaque as a member of my school’s track and field team. Additionally, I was awarded with the distinction of “AP Scholar”, and become more engaged in my community in terms of community service, but most importantly, I developed an internal steeliness that empowered me to defend myself against bullies who used my skin condition to make me feel that I was less than. Shard by shard, my glass ceiling was being broken.

Before I started attending camp in the summer of 2012, I allowed my insecurities tied to my skin condition to control me. I sought, and found solace in my pariah status, hesitant to venture out publicly. Interacting with others who suffered with conditions not visible, however, enabled me to appreciate the fact that everyone bears crosses. What separates us is how to choose to respond to them. I am now active in many groups and activities within my school and local community, using my experiences to strengthen not only my internal resolve, but the very way I define myself. Now, when I look in that pink mirror, my skin condition is not the first thing that I see. Rather, staring back at me is a confident, goal-oriented young woman, who cannot wait to take on the many twists and turns that life has in store for me. Attention NASA, the problem is solved, and all it took was a life changing event from my time at my summer camp of 2012 and some well-deserved discovery of self-confidence a term in which was once foreign to me became well acquainted.