It's Not You, It's Your Bedbugs
WebMD might be an enabler of delusion, but I can't stop itching.
By AMY BONNAFFONS
Dear Mark,
This is really hard for me. My hand is shaking as I write (which will not be apparent to you because I'm typing into a gmail dialog box. Please take my word for it). Mark, I don't think we should be together anymore. It's not youit's your bedbugs.
I know they've been gone for six years, but since you told me about your 2004 infestation I can't get it out of my mind. You are probably right that the thing I saw in your apartment was just a pumpkin seed. I admit: It's unlikely that a bug that large would lack legs, although I do still think it's plausible that he lost them in some kind of bedbug warfare. What do we know of their internecine disputes, their tribalisms and grudges?
It's also true that I only started itching after seven hours studying pictures of bedbug-inflamed skin on the Internet. I recognize that WebMD is, as you put it, "an enabler of delusion." But I wanted to leave no stone unturned. Unfortunately, the more I looked, the more I experienced phantom itching, and the more I itched in my imagination, the more I scratched in reality. By now, any actual bites have been camouflaged by my self-inflicted rash. You can see how complicated my situation is.
You have been very patient with me. Yes, it was perhaps excessive to require your grandmother to wrap her sofa in plastic before our visit, and to put on that hooded poncho and face mask before I hugged her. (I did hear her when she loudly whispered, "Markie, is your girlfriend one of those Bubble People? Is she allergic to air?" but I didn't take it personally.) But surely you see my point that Nana could have a bedbug infestation without knowing it. She has so many health problems already that she might not notice a little itch here or there. And since I have made so many personal sacrifices, I believe I am entitled to ask others for small lifestyle adjustments.
Nonetheless, Mark, I recognize that I have a problem. I need help. And I need to be on my own to get it.
I won't even ride the subway anymore. Who knows who might have sat there before me? It's exhausting to commute on foot every day between Brooklyn and Midtown, especially when I need to sidestep constantly in the more crowded areas to avoid accidentally brushing up against a stranger's clothing.
The bottom line is I think I have to get out of New York. I've heard there are no bedbugs in Canada. They also have stricter gun control and greater funding for public radio. So those are pluses.
To return to the purpose of my letter, though: I wish you luck and love as you embark on your life without me. Be well, Mark. Sleep tight, and don't let the . . . I'll stop here.
Sincerely,
Your (ex)girlfriend,
Judith
