I woke up with a startle in the middle of the night having a nightmare. And it was simply this: There was a giant, hideous, monstrous scab on my face, and I was picking it off. I can still remember precisely where it was: on my right side, where the picked at spot on my face is presently. The scab was between the size of a nickel and a quarter. It was as discolored and otherwise unpleasant looking as you might imagine, so I'll stop there. But I ripped it off my face, and instantly woke up to realize that I am not safe from the ways my mind drives me to hurt myself, even in my sleep.
This morning, groggy from poor sleep, the first thing I noticed in the mirror is that one of the small scabs where I had previously had a picked at spot was actually gone. In its place was healed skin, and a tiny tiny bit of dried blood. I wasn't sure whether to be glad, or worried: had I actually picked it off on the middle of the night? Or did it fall away spontaneously?
I'm trying not to worry about it. My first step, I am certain, is to stop picking while I am awake. And we'll go from there.