I have a large...plug. It's sticking out of my cheek, in fairly close proximity to my mouth. It's just that. A hard, waxy plug, sticking up from a pore. I reach up to run my hands over my face, and I feel it there. So far, I have not picked or scratched at it, but man have I come close. I even tried "drying off" my face with an extra rub with the towel right there. You know, because it needed to be dry, right? Sigh. I realize that I will probably never lose the compulsion to pick at
So I've been reflecting a little bit more on how it is that I've managed to make it more than two weeks at this point (!) without picking, squeezing, scratching, or otherwise disturbing my face's irregularities. And I think if I had to pick just one thing that has been the most critical to my "success" (I have so far overcome picking, but not the urge to pick) it has been making not picking my face virtually the number one priority in my life. I know that sounds a little bit crazy, but hear me o
I can't believe it's been 18 days since I made the commitment not to pick at my skin. By and large, it's been a smashing success. If by success, I mean that my face is finally clear enough that I don't feel the need to go stare at it every six seconds. I still...reach up to touch it. I have a big plug sitting in one of the pores on my damn nose. I have a couple of tiny plugs on my chin. I hate them on the chin. Drives me bananas. If by success, I mean: I'm twitching with irrit
Maybe I should call it "worried" or "anxious" or something that makes me sound less like a five-year-old. But that's exactly how I feel right now. Scared, like a little kid, alone in the dark, not sure whether or not there really is a monster hiding behind my bookshelf. Anyway, right now, I'm standing on the precipice of a major shift in my career that will drastically change my lifestyle for the next several years. And even though I'm happy that I have the opportunity to be doing what I'm
First, on the positive side: I've been 99.999% successful in not picking at my face. And I throw the less-than-100% in there because I removed a tiny bit of dead skin from a healing spot. I'm not perfect. But I'm trying my best. And at the end of the day, I guess that's all I can do. It's hard for me to explain in words how difficult this has been. In some ways, it's actually been easy for the last couple of days. I've been busy with life, and for good reason: I have a major test tomorrow.
I should be happy right now. My face is probably the clearest it's ever been since I was 12. And yet, all I can focus on are the imperfections: the lingering red marks where picked-at cysts are still healing and peeling. The scarred areas. My face has been super-duper dry in the last couple of days, so I tried something new this evening: a barely-there smear of petroleum jelly. My skin seemed so much smoother, but I was panicking that it was going to break me out in painful, awful, nightma
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 rea
Tonight, when I was applying my 10% BP, I noticed that a small "plug" poking out from my jaw seemed to have grown. It wasn't painful, but it was definitely fairly prominent. I applied some AHA, and sat back and waited, then applied some more. Then I layered some more BP. Then, I as I was sitting on my counter staring at the mirror on the medicine cabinet, I felt a swell of terror. I realized that this is how it begins: paying attention to one spot, and ignoring the bigger picture. It was l
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
It's day 3, and things are going surprisingly well. One of the picked-at spots is not terribly noticeable. Well, to anyone except for me, of course. The other spot is still there, but the antibiotic seems to be kicking in. It was oozing when I got out of the shower this morning, but it dried up into a small, brown, hard scab. It doesn't hurt, and there's no redness around it. And so now I must resist not the temptation to squeeze it so as to "get the stuff out of it," but rather the tempta
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.
Morning report: I made it through my morning skin/makeup regimen without picking the loose, oozing scab away from That Spot on my chin. But I wanted to. And as I sat there contemplating why, I heard that inner voice say: "But what if it's infected! It'll never heal if it doesn't drain." "It will heal," I promised myself. But something about that felt unconvincing. It's red, it's oozy, it was bleeding a little bit, and so far over the morning it hasn't gotten immediately hard and dr
Hi, everyone. Today I am making a commitment, to myself, to all of you, and to the rest of the cosmos, that I am going to stop picking my skin. It's something I've struggled with for years. My skin is essentially clear, except for a few clogged pores, and even these are enough to trigger hours of scrutiny and self-harm. Tonight, I have two open sores on my chin, my most sensitive and triggering area. I was touching my face as late as this afternoon. But I made it through my shower an