If the weather presenter has a smile on their face, mine quickly drops. It means sunny, warm days and probably even more sweating from me than usual.
Hyperhidrosis, or excessive and abnormal perspiration, isn’t as simple as it sounds. While I sweated heavily as a child, I attributed it to being unfit. But it was at university when I first realised my body didn’t act like other people’s.
Walking to the library with friends, I felt like an anchor weighing them down with my purposefully shambling pace to avoid the worst of the sweating.
The signs of this curse are obvious. Beads of sweat on the brow coupled with an inkblot pattern of moisture tattooed on the back of my t-shirt. If it’s really hot, drops slowly slide down my leg.
This, brought on by walking alone – and it being too uncomfortable – spurred my decision to find answers. My GP soon confirmed my diagnosis and it was a relief to have a name for what was happening to me after so much self-doubt.
My condition makes me produce much more sweat than a ‘normal’ person – even in winter it doesn’t disappear. When others are shivering, I’m trapped in my coat of perspiration, unable to switch off the heat.
It starts at the slightest increase in temperature. Putting on layers, sitting near radiators and even walking to different rooms can activates it – the flood gates open and my clothes are ruined.
It’s not just a case of doubling up on deodorant and drowning in talcum powder. My sweating adds a layer of social anxiety that saps my confidence whenever I go out.
It sounds melodramatic, but when you’re just walking down the high street, out of breath and sun blaring on your neck, this experience can feel crippling.
I’ve seen and heard people’s sideward gazes and muffled comments. One person might point to show their companion the circus sideshow walking past them, soaked and tired.
On several occasions, people have shouted out at me to mock my waterlogged appearance.
‘Oi mate. you want a towel?’ one man once yelled from across the road. It’s not like I can slip into a wetsuit, however functional that might be.
It drains you, literally.
Returning from shopping or walking to a bus stop, and feeling the damp drips on my t-shirt, leaves a bleak impression on my mood. I feel dragged down by this helpless stain on my clothes and body.
When I’ve visited gyms in the past, a quick few minutes on the treadmill leaves me and my clothes looking more like I’m running in a washing machine. It takes a lot of strength to ignore the cascading drops in front of me, as I try desperately to keep going.
I can’t help but assume the much fitter, more determined athletes notice my drowned rat impersonation, which leaves me feeling even more exposed and yearning to leave and never return.
Hyperhidrosis can affect a single area such as the feet or armpits, or in my case it can be much more widespread. For those who have the problem in one spot, treatment is more realistic: botox injections or electric therapy to rattle the sweat glands.
But it’s a bit difficult to treat the condition when every part of your body is affected like mine. I wouldn’t expect a doctor to sit there for hours, slowly zapping every bit of skin or injecting goo into it.
Teachers would often enjoy pointing out my lateness or wet appearance to the class
The advice from dermatologists and doctors for us sweatboxes is painfully generic and condescending. From simply being told to wear loose fitting clothes to trying leather shoes and absorbent socks, it’s unrealistic and pretty unhelpful.
So, what can I do? It sounds like I’m forever swimming in my own pool. When the advice is so obvious and treatments so unreasonable, it leaves me stranded.
I’m worried for young people especially. The pressures to look ‘normal’ are difficult to ignore when you’ve got hyperhidrosis. It’s not a case of ignoring playground banter and hoping it goes away.
It’s a grim, torrid reality.
Though I wasn’t a sporty kid, returning from some torturous PE lesson to the changing rooms was an ordeal. It was worse if you had a regular lesson straight after.
Teachers would often enjoy pointing out my lateness or wet appearance to the class, only building up my self-hate further. School breeds these anxieties, sowing the seeds of future failures.
Sex isn’t great either. It’s much less romantic when you need to towel down at halftime. No cuddling afterwards. Not unless you want to wake up in your own pond. Foreplay becomes the main course when you’ve already drenched your duvet.
It’s made the idea of romance seem impossible. Why would anyone want to be with a guy who can’t hold hands or hug?
Sweaty people are the subject of ridicule. We’re an easy target, glistening in the sunshine.
But here’s the thing: everybody sweats. Some more than others, some less. Everyone’s body is different, reacting to the world around it. Mine just happens to react more fluidly.
There’s nothing I can do to drastically change my sweating. Losing weight is the capital task but the stains will always be there, ready to fill my washing machine with every single day.
Body confidence is key for us all. We can learn to appreciate our sweaty, saggy bits and in turn see others’ as beautiful.
When you see someone like me in public suffering with sweat, think about what we’re feeling. It might look unattractive or gross to you – but don’t look at us like we’re hideous.
We’re only human. Sweaty, but human.
Do you have a story that you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing james.besanvalle@metro.co.uk.
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source https://metro.co.uk/2020/07/08/hyperhidrosis-excessive-sweating-12906949/
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