The clusters showed up in the places where my body pressed against the mattress. Each itch was subtle but relentless, like an alarm I kept silencing instead of responding to.
Nothing else in my life had changed—same soap, same food, same routine. The only difference was the space I was sleeping in, and once I realized that, the discomfort felt heavier and harder to dismiss.
Old apartments keep their own secrets. Bed bugs can hide in seams, fleas in carpeting, dust mites in pillows, mold behind walls, and chemical residue in fabrics. You may not see any of it, but your skin can react as if it does.
Some of the bumps disappeared quickly, while others pulsed when I scratched. Lying awake, I kept wondering what else might be sharing the room with me—and whether my body had recognized it before my mind caught up.
So I started paying close attention. I examined the edges of the mattress and the headboard, washed everything I owned, and showered as if I were trying to rinse the place off my skin.
Eventually, the irritation eased, but the message stayed with me. Skin responds for a reason, and discomfort is often information—not a coincidence.
Unfamiliar spaces carry invisible histories. When your body begins speaking in welts and clusters, it may be warning you that a place is not as harmless as it appears.
