I probably won't be posting as frequently in the coming days, or at least, I can only hope that I will be able to relax enough to exhale and open my hands and uncoil my fingers. First, an update: I had a successful trip to the student health center and now have a topical antibiotic in my arsenal to get me through the next week with the sore, oozing picked-at spots.
I am convinced the antibiotic will help my face not worsen or at least, it will help me believe that my face isn't worsening. But after a visit to the restroom today, with my usual stop-and-stare-and-scrutinize, I realized that swearing off the scratching and the squeezing is only the first step.
The problem exists as much in my eyes as it does in my fingers. My mind, in some ways, operates like a puritanical mayor hellbent on witch burnings. My fingers are the executioners, but my eyes are the spies, the operatives that cry out, "That spot! Right there! It's a witch!"
Keeping my hands closed might be only the beginning--to truly starve the urge to pick, I think I will have to keep my eyes closed, too.