Boy, there are moments. I reach up to touch my face, and I have to swat my hand back down. When I walk into the bathroom, I stop and linger at the mirror for a second too long. But I'm trying not to be too punitive about these things, otherwise I think I'd be going even crazier than I am.
It's not going to be perfect, and it's not going to be easy. But I am committed to recovery. I don't want to live anymore with that horrible, gnawing, awful compulsion.
Honestly, right now, I'm not confident that I can conquer it. Why should this time be any different from previous times I've sworn off picking my skin?
I've given myself permission not to pick. Acne is not disgusting, and I don't need to "Fix it Right Now." It can sit right where it is, and be fine. It's ok not to have a perfectly flawless face. That clogged pore over here? That spot over there? They're ok.
I'll remember why it's a bad idea. I remember how I got that big scar on my cheek: from picking at my face, from my refusal to let my body heal naturally. I can't go back and take away the scar, but I can make a different choice in the future.
I don't want to pick anymore. It's something I do because I feel compelled to, not because it makes me a happy person. And it's time to free myself.