Picky, Picky

Posted: January 4, 2011 in anxiety, childhood, dermatillomania, healing, OCD, skin picking
Tags: , , , ,

It’s probably time to start talking about the biggest OCD component in all of this. One of my biggest struggles in getting healthy has been learning to cope with my OCD, and learning how to manage my compulsions. Over the years, there were many compulsions that impacted my ability to function on a daily basis. The earliest that I can remember is checking numbers – mostly on the clock beside my bed. I had trouble sleeping because I’d keep opening my eyes to look at what time it was. At one point, I decided that the number 7 was awesome, and repeatedly checked the clock to watch the numbers change. Somewhere along the way I started writing the numbers down on pieces of paper because I was afraid I’d forget them. The end result was one very tired kid and lots of pieces of paper filled with a progression of noted times that meant very little.

Somewhere along the way that compulsion wore off, and others replaced it. By the time I was a teenager, I no longer placed all my faith in the number 7. I’d moved on and branched out by then, to certain even numbers…multiples of 2 and 4 were preferable, though numbers that repeated (22, 44, etc.), were not desirable.  I was most partial to 4, 12, 14 and 24. By the time I got to college, I’d started setting alarm clocks to those numbers – getting up at 7:00 was unthinkable when it was just as easy to set the alarm to 7:04, or 7:34. I couldn’t turn the car off if the clock numbers ended in 3. I’m not really sure if I thought something bad was going to happen, it just didn’t feel right to do things differently. That’s the scary part of OCD – learning to behave differently.

By far the most debilitating of my OCD compulsions has been picking at my skin. I don’t remember exactly when it started. I know that by the time I was in middle school I was chewing on the skin around my fingers until they bled, and when I reached my pre-teenage years and started to develop acne, I began picking at my face instantly. My parents were never good at following through to make sure I’d brushed my teeth, washed my face, or anything of that sort. Even if I had wanted to wash my face, our water was so full of silt, I’m not sure how much good it did. To illustrate, it got so bad by the time I was in eighth grade that I had to start rinsing my hair with bottled water when I got out of the shower to get the muddy sludge out of it. I felt dirty, and out of control. To compensate, I picked my skin.

The bathroom sink...

...and the bathtub.

I remember the exact moment that I transitioned from picking my face to picking other parts of my body – most notably my upper arms and chest. I was sitting at the dining room table working on something, and absently running the fingers of one hand over my left shoulder when I felt a little bump. I raced to the bathroom mirror to check out the situation and discovered a white-head, which I immediately annihilated by popping it. A new compulsion was born. Within a few days, my arms were a bloody, bruised, scabbed over mess.

I knew something wasn’t right, and most of my major milestones in life were marked by my desire to stop picking at my skin. I’d do it when I turned 15. No fifteen year old picked at their skin. Maybe at 16…certainly no sixteen year old did it. 18. No young adult going off to college would pick their skin this way. 21 – old enough to drink, old enough not to pick.

Now here I am, 26, and still learning how to manage my OCD…including not picking at my skin.

My OCD therapist started with the numbers. The first time I had to set my alarm clock to 7:13 I wanted to have a panic attack, but it got better. The numbers have gotten better. Learning to manage the skin picking has been a much bigger struggle, and I’m still working through it.  There’s a strange sense of calm in picking at my skin – the compulsion is like an old friend, and it’s been with me for a long time. Cutting it out of my life has been difficult.

I’m 26 years old, and I still have a hard time wearing tank tops, short-sleeved shirts, and anything that reveals too much of my chest. I’ve picked my skin so much that it’s probably done permanent damage. As my picking has lessened, with therapy and lots of hard work, my skin has healed enough to appear healthy on the outside. Learning to understand my compulsive need to pick and retrain my brain to react differently to the desire to pick, however, is a process that I’m still learning. Knowing that I’m not alone, and not the only one in the world who picks at my skin, is a powerful thing, however, and that’s a big part of my motivation to share my story. I didn’t learn the word “dermatillomania” until a few months ago, but knowing there is a medical term for what I do is an enormously powerful thing. I think if I had known at a younger age that there were other people out there like me, it would have made a huge difference. OCD is a very secretive disorder – I don’t want anyone to be able to see that I pick my skin, so I’ve grown adept at hiding it. Revealing it to the world is scary, but a very healing step. Pictures coming……


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