Delhi. Spew.

My face is back to its normal state. The culprit? Mango skins. Produces the same sort of rash like poison oak or poison ivy, as it belongs to the same plant family. Perhaps I got contact dermatitis around my mouth from scraping the mango pulp off of the skin with my teeth? Then the reaction morphed into bloated eyes and ears, a rash on my hands and arms and chest, and an itch that raged under the surface of my skin.
Eck, whatever the exact method of flaring a histamine response from my body, mango skins had everything to do with it. THOSE BASTARDS.
The funny thing is that I am constantly introducing so many new things to my body internally and externally that it was impossible to pinpoint any one thing that could be causing my face to balloon in a red rough plane of itchiness. Was it those new sheets that I bought? How about cashews? That mystery vegetable that I cooked the other night? That awful lip cream that I bought from the chemist?

To be honest I didn’t even suspect mangos. Only after consulting my mum and google for a couple hours did the idea even occur…

Anyway, the rashes are subsiding on my arms and hands and chest. More than anything I have gained an incredible peace of mind knowing that mango skins and I do not tango very well. I like not being skeptical of everything that comes in contact with my body. The helplessness of not knowing what is causing your body to rage against you is an awful feeling. Like any relationship, not being on the same page is really damaging. I should have just confronted my mango skins instead of ASSUMING we were compatible... what a fool I was.

That was one long week – worry what part of my face would be swollen when I woke up in the morning, if it would ever be ameliorated…
I think it helped with the staring, at least. People would dart their eyes over to me, as usual (because I’m white), and then they would get a glimpse of the rash I was attempting to conceal under my scarf – I think at this point they averted their eyes.