trigger warning: compulsive/self-destructive behavior, blood mention.
As I discussed when I originally posted this poem, a little while ago, compulsive skin-picking has plagued me for a really long time–since I was seven years old, at least. It’s something I’ve been doing so long, I guess I’ve kind of learned to normalize it.
I wish I had some coping mechanisms to give you guys about this, because it’s a really hard thing to struggle with, and honestly there aren’t enough people talking about this stuff openly online. But to tell the truth, I don’t know what I’m doing any more than you do. I’ve hinted at it with my therapist a couple times, but I’m still terrified to bring it up any more deeply with her. (Ironically, I feel like therapists are in general probably some of the least judgmental people out there.) I’ve heard lots of stuff thrown around online, and tried some of them. But I guess nothing has ever really stuck with me, because deep down, it doesn’t feel like a problem I need to fix at all. It’s just something I do, and the only real drawback of it is, yanno, spending three hours on the bathroom convincing myself if I just make myself bleed a little harder it’ll heal over perfect, and glowing, and beautiful. (It never does.) And the weird trancelike place I enter, where I don’t even feel like myself. And the anxiety of constantly criticizing my appearance. And the deep-seated body image issues that make me feel that self-conscious are a huge part of why I pick at myself in the first place. But it still just sort of feels, no matter how much I try to reframe it, like a normal thing I’m just going to do no matter what, and that isn’t really harmful to me.
But mixing this piece was somehow just really therapeutic and helpful. And I think it was something I really needed to do. To just sit with this monster in my head, and try to understand it for a while.
Lots of love,