Part 9 - A Matter of Hygiene

Matters of hygiene at my childhood houses were usually traumatic and always dreaded. For instance, even at the age of eight my mom still gave me baths, insisting my hair was too thick for me to clean by myself. While she may have been right about my hair, bath time was still a dreaded event for my eight-year-old mind. I felt as though my mom violated my shy and innocent nature, and she often became angry when I didn't do things just right. Being hit on my wet skin, even in private areas, wasn't fun, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Just prior to receiving my journal I got my ears pierced. As a total tomboy, having pierced ears wasn't too terribly important, but it was a sign of growing older, so I didn't mind. However, soon after getting them pierced I realized there was a problem. My ears were always sore, and other symptoms were present that seemed to indicate an allergy to cheaper metals.

Shortly after the above-mentioned symptoms began, during one of my dreaded bathtimes, my mom went to wash behind my ears and found a purple mass the size of a small pea attached to the back of my earlobe. She immediately recognized it as a sign of infection, but rather than taking me to the doctor to have it removed, she simply ripped it off, taking a patch of skin with it. My ear bled for a long time, and I remember grabbing wads of toilet paper and holding them to my ear to catch the blood. My mom was unsympathetic, and told me to stop being such a baby.

Later that same year, I graduated to taking showers with my mom, and a year later, to taking them on my own. Even then my mom maintained control over things such as cutting my fingernails (she'd cut the quick) and towel-drying my hair. But that was all normal, at least for me.