help me before i am gonna die due to skin pain
Every morning begins the same way: with the slowing pain of opening my eyes. The skin on my face and body is not a protective layer; it is a prison of tight, angry tissue that cracks and bleeds at the slightest movement. It feels like a thousand tiny paper cuts, each one set on fire, and there is no escape from the sensation. This is my reality, a constant, humming agony that has stolen my life.
Simple, human moments are now exercises in endurance. A hug from a loved one is a wave of searing pain. Putting on a shirt feels like dragging sandpaper over an open wound. The cool breeze that others enjoy is a blade of cold fire against my raw nerves. I haven’t slept through the night in years, as the pull of the sheets against my skin is enough to jolt me awake, a fresh, stinging reminder of the body that has betrayed me.
But the pain is more than skin deep. It is the weight of every sidelong glance in public, the shame of having to explain, the crushing isolation of knowing my own body is a source of fear and revulsion. I have withdrawn from the world, not by choice, but because the sheer physical toll of existing within it is too great.
The surgery I need is not a luxury. It is a desperate, last chance at a life without constant, debilitating pain. It is the hope of being able to hold someone’s hand without flinching, to sleep through the night, to finally feel the comfort of my own skin instead of its perpetual torment. I am humbly, and with a heart full of both hope and shame, asking for your help. The cost is overwhelming, but the cost of doing nothing is a lifetime of this suffering. Please, if you can, help me buy my way out of this pain. Your support would not just fund a procedure; it would give me back my future. Thank you for your kindness and for reading my story.
