Creeping horror

If you won the generic lottery and consequently have psoriasis, you can often beat it into submission for a while (in my case with anti-leukemia drugs that probably damage my liver). When it comes back – and rest assured, in my experience it always does – it starts in such tiny little amounts that you don't even notice it visually until you catch yourself scratching it. But then you actually notice that hey, there are a few of these tiny patches around the place. But they're not so bad.

Except hmm, maybe this one patch in particular on your left leg is pretty big, and rather angry looking and itchy. But you can still apply the topical cream to that small area, right? Yeah, that's knocked it back. Oh, except actually, now that you scratch absentmindedly back here, this is a pretty big bit of itchy scaliness as well. But you can just apply the cream to the original place, and here as well, that's still pretty easy to keep up with – oh, just apply some to this third bit here too now, and then some more back on the first leg one again but oh, see the the cream's stopped being effective on that original leg bit because it seems to build up a tolerance – that's right, it does that, doesn't it... and ah, actually now you can see it in the mirror coming out again on your face as well, you'll need the other cream for that but first damn that leg is itchy, oh balls, you scratched it in your sleep and made it bleed and now it's going to get bigger, just don't GOD MUST SCRATCH SCALP, where the hell did you put that cream wait, apply sparingly? Screw that, squeeze the last bit out so you can finish coating that entire limb and whoa, so much skin in the bed! and GOD ITCHINESS and yeah, sorry you're pretty much the zombie puppet of the thing now.

It's pretty good, if you need a metaphor. Just as one example, if transported back to 1950s America, I could tell the people running the propaganda machine "Hey guys, this is exactly the kind of thing you're looking for to describe Communism!" and they'd say "Why is he covered in scabs and constantly scratching himself?" and I could wittily retort "MUST TEAR AT OWN FLESH WITH CROOKED TALONS".

Oh, how we'd laugh.