the beginning.

Ever since the 7th grade i have struggled with (what i now recognize and have self-diagnosed as) Dermatillomania (compulsive skin picking). this disorder does not allow me to see flaws on my body like most do. for instance, if one was to see an ingrown hair on say, their thigh, they'd probably just leave it alone. but i wouldn't be able to do that; i'd pick and squeeze at the spot for days until it became irritated and 10x more noticeable than it originally was, then i'd do it some more so it eventually formed into a scar. don't get me wrong, i'm not trying to make this into a sob story or anything, but this has definitely affected my life so i figured i'd start a blog about my struggles and whatnot. maybe some people with the same struggle will find this blog. maybe not.

First, i'd like to give the background story as to how this all began.

*This isn't me. it's a photo of what someone looks like when they use meth. sadly, my face resembled this.


It was sometime in the 7th grade; i'd have been 12 or 13 at the time. i was using my mum's tweezers to do my eyebrows. (sidenote: because i was so young at the time, i was pretty horrid at it; i would pluck them everyday and try to get hairs under my skin that hadn't grown yet, which let to permanently red, cut-up, eyebrows [this would probably be the first sign of my problem]). i was using one of those magnifying mirrors ("magnify your flaws 5x so they look even WORSE!") and noticed some spots on my nose. i tried to dig these out with the tweezers, which led to a decent sized cut in the middle of my nose. i guess the bleeding didn't bother me, though, because i moved on to the concave of my chin and cut myself again there too. bear in mind this wasn't a form of self-harm; i was just so set of getting rid of my blackheads or spots or whatever they were that i didn't really acknowledge the damage i'd just done. eventually they scabbed over. i could have fixed them there; put some neosporin on them, cover them with a bandage, they'd be gone in a few weeks. but i didn't. i couldn't. i picked at them constantly. everyday at school i'd just sit there thinking about how i could pick at these huge scabs on my face when i got home. this lasted until the end of the 9th grade. for three years i looked like a recovered meth addict.

After my face had cleared up (by the way, sometime in the 8th grade i figured out how to do my eyebrows properly, so those weren't a problem anymore) i was so proud, i remember how when i got back to school guys would hit on me all the time, everyone would compliment me. good thing i lost control and screwed that up.

-r