Dear Derma: A Letter to My Foe

Dear Derma,

It’s been a while since I’ve written with you in mind.

I haven't fought with you nearly as much lately. I don't know if I've simply gotten used to my struggles with you, or if I've solved enough of them that I feel more at peace. It's been a year now since I discovered what plagued my hands and skin, and a year since I started blogging about it. It’s also been a year since I found a name for it: Dermatillomania. It's funny how putting a name to something and understanding the psychology of something can make it so much less threatening and so much more manageable.


You still bother me a lot sometimes. You make every glance in the mirror into a struggle. You make shower time a hassle. You make molehills look like mountains to my plagued eyes. You follow me into dressing rooms and make me feel ugly and dirty. But you don’t have the power to make me cry as much anymore, and I usually win our dressing room battles these days. I won small battles with you long enough to have a clear face for my friend’s wedding and long enough to have a smile on my face as I stood beside her as one of her bridesmaids.Then again, I've learned to smile with or without your tracks galloping across the snow of my skin.

 I’ve learned that trying to crush you in one powerful blow isn’t the way to win. I’ve learned to take things moment by moment and to stop giving you the power to steal my focus so much. I really can’t explain my victories. It seemed to get better when I learned to stop giving a shit and look the world in the face with my imperfect one and declare that I needed help. I’ve never hidden you with cosmetics, but I’ve covered for you with silly excuses. Mosquito bites, cat claws, a fall, a scrape, “accidentally” scratching myself. Denial was the best makeup of all.



I have learned that I will always battle with you. But I think that if I can win while my heart and mind and time are compromised with other troubles, as they have been in the past year, I can win many more times in the future when times aren’t so hard.


You will not get in my way. And I don’t mean that in an aggressive and confrontational way. It just means that when you come knocking at my door each day, I will answer it less and less frequently. You aren’t invited to my dressing rooms and glances in the mirror. You aren’t welcome, because I’m ready for you. My mental weapons are drawn and the real ones- the bobby pins, the safety pins, the finger nails, the thumb tacks, the tweezers- are put away.


Don’t be fooled, Derma. My skin may be clear, but I haven’t forgotten the way you give me temporary false confidence when things appear good on the outside. You are still in my blood. You’re still a part of my family. You seem to have a hold on many members of my family, though they will not listen when I try to tell them it could be more than a bad habit. To them, OCD seems to be more of an excuse to continue the bad habits that they could get rid of if they just trusted their god and prayed hard enough about it.


I have no god I can pray to or trust. Yet somehow I’m winning. I wonder sometimes if the face of my struggles with you is fading along with the face of the religious oppression from my childhood. And I am happy. I don’t need a god, and I don’t need you. The difference is that I have proof of your existence. And yet, there are so few believers when I explain why I have so many scars.
But like any person of faith would say, I don’t need others to believe what I know to be true.
You exist in the mind and control heinous deeds just like a cult god.
And just like I’ve walked away as far as I can from that god, I will walk away from you.
Both will still be a part of my history. Both may creep into my mind at night and try to sway me. But both will fail as the years fade them into dust.

The Face of My Progress

Wanna know something that's a big deal to me? It may not seem big if you don't understand the way Dermatillomania impacts those who have it, and if you don't understand Derma in that way, I highly suggest reading about it. My big deal today is that I have a giant zit on my forehead. It's been there for two days, and I haven't touched it. The same thing happened about two weeks ago with another large, sore breakout. Yes it bothers me. Yes it hurts. But I know it would hurt me more to try and "fix" a very natural process of my body. And somehow, I've been able to run with those positive thoughts. The lesson I am learning from this is that if you think something enough times, you can put it into practice. All of the time I've spent on this blog and all of the talk I've talked about letting mother nature do her thing and knowing I shouldn't bother my skin is paying off lately. If you understand Dermatillomania enough, you will also understand what kind of inner peace and progress my skin is reflecting in the picture below.






I may have mentioned this before, but something that really helped me get to where I am right now is a comment my ex made about my picking. Now, normally, nothing that anyone who isn't a sufferer has to say about my picking really helps. Usually, it just embarrasses me and makes me want to hide my skin from them. But what he had to say really did help. He basically introduced the unimaginable idea that picking wasn't healthy! But rather than saying "just quit it" or making some impossible demand, he explained that squeezing a blackhead or pimple was acceptable when said blemish was ready, but that if you did it too soon, it would just make it worse. For me, this internalized the concept that I didn't have to never ever ever touch my skin again...I just had to wait until it was ready to be touched and do it the right way. No tools. No aggression. No panic. Just a calm, peaceful squeeze when my skin showed me that it was ready for my help.

I hope that by sharing this little tidbit, others will come to experience the progress I have.
And I sincerely plan on keeping things headed in this positive direction.


I am healing.

Accept YOU for YOU

I am proud.
I'm in a difficult spot, yet my skin doesn't reflect the inner turmoil for a change.
I'm emotionally frustrated. I'm hopeful. I'm angry. I'm determined. And sometimes I'm drained.
I have that compulsive urge to "fix", but it's not directed at my skin; it's directed at my situation.
I'm pushing and fighting for what I need and what I deserve.
Respect me.
I don't care how old I am or what my skin looks like. I don't care if you're sexually frustrated and think I'm the cure for your dry spell. I don't care if you think your faith gives you all the answers and my lack thereof makes me clueless. Talk to me with respect. Make the effort to be good to me, or stop wasting my time. It's really not hard.
There's a lesson here. Stop pushing what you want on other people and accept them for what they are. That includes yourself. Stop hiding behind expectations and social norms. Talk about your squishy, emotional, sappy feelings as a man without shame. Having a penis doesn't make you innately stoic; that's society's doing. Don't let them control you. As a woman, be proud of a healthy body, no matter what number size it may come in or how much shame a magazine tells you ought to go with it. As a picker, flaunt the scars of the past with pride, knowing you may have lost battles, but you're still fighting the war and winning so long as you don't give up.
Accept YOU for who YOU are. And make others do the same if they're going to be in your life.
Of course, how can anyone accept you if you don't let them know who you really are?

Stop Picking on Us.

If you don't love me for who I am, you are a waste of time.
 Don't pick me apart for not meeting your selfish standards.
If I don't meet them, walk away.
It's one thing to point out legitimate flaws- to tell me that I need to love myself more or that I need to think more positively.
But to tell me I'm too thin, too pale, that my skin isn't good enough, that I'm not exactly what you want...there's no good reason.
You are looking for a perfection that will never exist and pressuring me to fit a visual mold my body is simply not meant to fit.
That's precisely one reason why some of us pick; we are constantly told we are not good enough.
It causes an inner anxiety, mostly when those who say such things are people we love and trust.
Stop picking on us.
We do it enough ourselves.
We don't need your bullshit.
We don't need to look in the mirror and have your words echoing in our already conflicted minds:
"Too thin. Too pale. I want a girl with beautiful skin. I bet there are prettier girls out there than nag less than you do. Your skin is a turn-off."
How about this:
How about you look at the heart of the person you're dealing with.
Because when it comes to that, I guarantee you that I'm a vision of perfection.
I believe that on average, pickers love so selflessly that we forget to love ourselves sometimes.
And when you rain on our parades with your bullshit and negativity and pick us apart, you only help to squash any of the self-love we have developed.
Don't treat us like shit and act like an asshole and then wonder why it triggers our OCD response.
Don't mistake my attention to my skin for self-harm.
For some, it may be that way, but for others, we look at your skin and have just as much of an urge to "fix" yours as we do ours.
Make the effort to understand.
And if you're not willing to make that effort, stop fucking whining about picking.
Educate yourself.
But overall, treat us with the softness that we sometimes fail to treat ourselves with.

Anger

Tonight I struggle with anger. The anger of working hard for the things I want…yet having them still just out of my reach.  My good grades aren’t even satisfying. I would rather have all Cs and have the things that truly mattered to my heart. A grade is just a silly letter anyhow. I’m tired. Tired of missing people and wondering if they care enough about me to ease that pain with their presence. I’m tired of the struggles inside. Of looking at my skin and knowing I’m doing better, but still feeling like it’s not good enough because I still have to think about not touching it. I want it to be automatic. I want everything to flow naturally. I’m tired of working for insufficient pay; of trying hard and holding on to the good while letting go of the bad, and still finding no relief. Tonight I will go to bed early and dream of things I will wake up only to miss again. 

Influences

Sometimes we need to stop and take a look at the people in our lives. We need to think about what kind of behaviors they influence us to take part in, and what feelings they influence us to feel. Sometimes we need to reevaluate- to get rid of those who are bad influences and make us feel negative things, and make those who are good influences and make us feel good things a bigger part of our lives.

Think of a person in your life.
Do they make you smile, or do they make you feel bad about yourself for nothing?
Do they check to make sure you're okay, or is it all about them?
Do they blow up at you often, or do they only raise their voice every so often and offer apologies afterward?
Do they treat you well, or do they only pay attention to you when they need something?
Do they try to help you make the right decisions, or the decisions that are only in their best interest?
Do they love you, or are they only using you?

Think about it.
Act on it.

Late Night Thoughts

Take me back to a loft in Brooklyn.

The last time I felt loved and secure about who I loved.

Has it really come to this?
Is it too much to ask to have the person I care about?

To have my skin accepted as I heal?

For promises to be kept?

For respect and love to prevail?

Why is life making this so difficult?

Has it really come to this?

Better and Better, Little by Little

Today is good.
So was yesterday.
In fact, things have been going very well.
I have my moments of emotional nagging that beg me to do something about a blemish.
But it gets easier and easier to tune the negative voice out.
I'm getting better and better, little by little.

Untitled

My skin (face especially) just feel and look dirty. I'm struggling right now. And I feel like I have to do something about it. But I know I shouldn't do a damn thing.

:)

I wish you could be here to see how well I'm doing.
You would be so proud.

Resilient

These days, I am able to say "No" much faster.
And when I say it, I'm more able to stick to it.
It's not just a matter of willingness.
The ability grows little by little, like a muscle.
Like anyone with an addiction or impulse control disorder, I will mess up.
Sometimes the muscle gets pulled and I can't use it so well for a couple of days.
But it always gets better.
I'm coming to some very silly realizations.
Did you know, that when you leave your skin alone, it heals?
It seems so obvious, yet I feel like I'm just discovering this.
Did you know that when you leave pimples alone, sometimes they go away much faster than they would if you had interfered?That if you leave a scab alone, sometimes it takes only 2 days for it to go away?
And even if you don't, it still finds a way to patch itself up.
I'm baffled by such resilience. 
And baffled again when I realize that I too am just as resilient.
Why didn't they teach a skin class in high school...about how amazing it is...
About how fabulous is it that our skin forgives us and heals, no matter how we seem to screw it over?
Yet when observing someone with Dermatillomania, I often find that they too seem to get screwed over often and forgive just the same.
We are a lot like our skin;
We heal.
Sometimes faster or slower depending on the circumstances,
But we still find a way.

Coming to Peace

I am beautiful.
I am healing.
There is no work left for my hands to do to my face, by back, my arms.
My body is beautiful.
All of it:
Every hair out of place,
every blemish, bump, pimple, mark, and wound.
I am coming to peace with myself.
My war-torn skin has cried out too many times for me not to listen.

Words Aren't Enough

I once was told

that the rain would turn to skies of gold.

But rain, it still falls-

rolling down the windows and the walls.

And now I see

that golden skies weren’t meant for me;

I was made

to dwell in the rain.

Night is falling,

but I can’t sleep.

Dawn is calling

but sleep, sleep, I can’t sleep.

And your eyes

turn to golden skies,

and I’m lost in your love.

Oh, how I love you,

how I love you,

so much that words aren’t enough.

Enough

Cos you showed me

even rain holds its own beauty.

You were brave

to show me the way.

Night is falling,

but I can’t sleep.

Dawn is calling,

but sleep, sleep, I can’t sleep

And your eyes

are the reason why

I’m lost in your love.

And I won’t rest

‘til I see gold skies

shining bright up above.

Oh, how I love you,

how I love you,

so much that words aren’t enough,
enough

Cos I’m lost, I’m lost,

Lost in your love.

Lost,
Lost,

I’m lost.

Love Me or Leave Me

I am human. Sometimes, humans mess up. Humans are not perfect. I am not your tan porn star, your glossy magazine girl, your Miami beach babe, your beautifully-obedient, smiling fool. I hold neither bible nor cross in my soft hands, yet I am gentle and moral and kind. I'm not what I seem, but exactly what I say. I'm a challenge. I'm a maze of sass and flaws. So love me for who and what and how I am. Or get out of my life.

Who You Really Are

Clear skin. Healthy body. Happy heart.
Free spirit. Good life. No Fear.

Alone

I presently live in a house with five other people. Yet I feel alone. I know my family loves me, and I forgive my parents for the things they've done that hurt me because I know it was not their intent, but I can't help but be faced with the thought- if I were not related to them, I'm not the kind of person they would choose to love and hold in their lives. If I were any other atheist girl walking down the street, they would not care. I sense my presence as an obligation to many family members as they feel the tension of their beliefs being challenged by my lack of agreement. How can a girl raised in such a good family go sour? Well, we've identified the official black sheep. Let's keep the little ones away from her- she's a threat. I am not happy here. And I can't help but feel like it's time to move on with my life and start seeking the materials to build a family of my own.... even if that family is just me and an apartment full of cats.

 

 Maybe it's a matter of just wanting someone who I feel does not judge me for my beliefs...for my skin...for my disorder...for anything, really. I want a home, and a companion...good food, a fireplace, and peace. And I really don't feel like that's too much to ask for.

Baby Steps Toward a Healthier "Me"

Practical

About a month ago, I took a trip up to my university (I live off campus) to speak with a career counselor about getting help with declaring my major. We talked a little bit about my interests and capabilities, and when I finished telling her about myself, I lifted my chin, took a deep breath through my nose and firmly told her:

"I want to make the most sensible choice that will be most likely to give me a successful future career."

I explained how I had some factors in my life that I felt were keeping me from thinking 1000% clearly, and that I wanted her to be blunt about what was best for me. She asked me what the factors were specifically, and I shrugged.

"Well, they're not academic factors so much as they are personal ones, and it's not your job to listen to me gush- I don't know if I should be bringing them up."

As it turned out, she was a psychologist as well as a career counselor, and again invited me to share anything I felt comfortable sharing. I confessed that I had feelings for someone, and was concerned that those feelings would cloud my mind to the point where I didn't make a smart academic decision. I told her I didn't want to be one of those "stupid" girls that put their life on hold for a boy. I told her of my desire to be close to my family, but the trouble I had feeling welcome as an atheist when they were all baptists. I told her I wanted to be happy, but that I knew I needed to be practical. She looked thoughtful and rubbed her chin. I almost expected her to pull the stereotypical "and how do you feel about that?", but instead, she asked:

"Tell me, what would you do if you weren't practical about this and just went with your feelings?"

I didn't hesitate:

"If I wasn't being practical, I'd get the hell out of this city because I hate it, I'd move far away from the judgement I get as an atheist in a family full of baptists, and I'd go try to scrape up the remains of my fucked-up long-distance relationship and either try to tie the loose ends and say a final goodbye, or put it back together because I'm a lonely moron and I can't seem to hate him no matter how I try."



The rest of the conversation was spent talking about finding the balance between strictly practical and strictly wishful. She told me that well-being in the present was just as important as my potential future career. She assured me that if  I felt like moving away and trying to salvage a broken relationship or tie the ends and finish it off, it would improve the way I felt and give me closure (one way or the other), and that I should do that AND pursue my major. That was when I learned I had the option to do an online major. I figured it would kill many birds with one stone- I would be able to live away from that dreaded college town, it would free me up to move wherever I wanted and not be forced to live in close proximity to the blatant differences between me and my family, and I would be free to go tie loose ends.

All in all, this woman made me realize that practical is more than just doing the best thing career-wise, but that practical has a lot to do with being emotionally happy enough to be in a position to prepare myself for that future career. I've realized that my inability to change factors in my life that were bothering me has been keeping me emotionally down. Feeling stuck where I don't feel loved has me feeling depressed. And with this change in my ability to rid of the factors I don't like, I hope to lift my spirits.

Knowledge is Power

I am hopeful. With my business hopes on the rise, my schooling taken care of and on top of (I'm even taking a business course), my major declared, and some other uncertainties about to be resolved, I feel as though I have come a long way from when I first began this blog. And maybe I only have one or two consistent readers, but that's okay because this blog is mostly just for me to have an outlet.

If more people understood what it was really like to be a Dermatillomaniac, and didn't just assume it was a bad habit (I don't think my family really believes in OCD or Impulse Control Disorders) or me trying to hurt myself ( to be fair, I used to think it was like cutting), maybe I wouldn't have to express myself on a simple web page among billions that most people will never see.

If more people understood, maybe I'd be getting more encouragement from the average Joe/Jane, rather than remarks and questions that put me on the spot. When I try to explain it, many people tell me to go to group therapy or see a doctor. And I've tried both. But no one there understood my issue, even though they offered their condolences.

Dermatillomania is not like Alcoholism or drug abuse in the way that every town has AA meetings or recovery centers for drug abuse nearby. Most people have never even heard of it. Even those who have it don't always know that it's a legitimate "thing", rather than a stupid and embarrassing habit. In fact, it wasn't even a year ago that I myself found out that Compulsive Skin Picking was a real thing that thousands of (if not more) people struggle with. And if I hadn't signed up for an online "Stress Management and Well-Being" course at my university that quarter, I often wonder if I would still be in the dark.

And since finding out that my "issue" is many people's "issue" too, and since I began reading, I've made leaps, bounds, and strides toward becoming healthier.

Because knowledge is power.

Knowledge gives you the power to make a difference, to head in an educated direction, and to better your life.

Peace.