I am the Queen of Bruises and I am here for my crown.
These two pictures were taken on the same day, less than 7 hours apart. Nothing spectacular happened to cause such intense bruising. I didn't get into a street fight. Nor did I rescue twelve kittens from a burning building or anything else even remotely awesome.
Amongst my manymanymany medical issues, I have low blood pressure and anemia. I'm not certain if these two alone result in the skin sensitivity, or if it's a compilation of my abundant faults all together.
Scars are not uncommon, either. My hands are a war zone of paper cut and cat scratch scars. Even a meatloaf cupcake burn scar or two. Piercings and tattoos take FOREVERRRRRR to heal; I still can't sleep comfortably on the left side of my face because of the cartilage piercings I got over six months ago.
For some inexplicable reason, the pretty, porcelain skin I take such good care of just hates me.
My doctor's favorite question is "Allison, do you feel safe in your current relationship?" (Yes, ma'am. My cats treat me very well, thank you.) Bathing turns into a twisted game of Where's Waldo. Combined with my Resting Bitch Face, it tricks people into thinking that I'm a total badass when really I'm just like a really sad potato.
I don't know where the come from, or why they do. I've given up trying to figure it out. I simply greet them with a poke (because if you don't poke your bruises to see how sensitive they are, what are you even doing?) and a cheerful "hello there, little friend." Because what's a girl to do?