I have a problem. "Just one?" you ask not a little surprised at my lack of self-insight. Well obviously not - just one which is currently impacting upon my life and leading me to conclude that I have some kind of unsavoury mental condition.
Dermatillomania is what I am referring to.....hard to take seriously when it sounds like a board game you'd get for Christmas (one of those obligatory 'family' presents purchased by relatives trying to spend as little as possible on a non-nuclear 6 man household). But getting back to the issue - Dermatillomania - in laymans terms 'obsessive picking of the skin'. I may have already touched upon the subject in past dialogues and more specifically mentioned the furore created by my facial self massacring when encountering my mother following a heavy session. She is constantly telling me I must stop it but I am finding that after so many years of indulging, it just isn't easy to cease. Lately I feel the problem is deepening though - spurred on by stress and agitation - like I have some magnetic force emanating from my head, sucking my hands towards its' surface and begging for a bit of topographical surveying. On finding a lump, bump or indeed anything which doesn't seem to belong there I have a compulsive urge to seek out the nearest reflective surface and eradicate said crator. And I joke not about the compelling nature of this desire. It has gotten to the point where I feel it is as out of hand as my hourly weigh ins - I will even pick in public if the urge is bad enough.....which is not what the bathroom accessories display in John Lewis was designed for. And so now I lay claim to two utterly obsessive behaviours. Surely it is time for me to be sectioned, or perhaps voluntarily have my eyes gauged out.....If I can't look in the mirror, see the scales or indeed any enticing foods I would be fine. Although blind.
Additionally without the (wonderful) gift of sight it would eradicate a further useless habit; spending gratuitous hours browsing symptom checkers in an attempt to diagnose myself with some obscure condition or other. Usually by the end of which it is clear that unless I dial 999 immediately and pray for the miracle of an ambulance arriving within sixty minutes, I shan't make it to the following day. Amazing then that I have survived thus far. On realisation that my condition is terminal I begin contemplating my departure from this world, decide that if I go the children will end up as metaphorical hippos, happy with their Dad allowing them to wallow in their own filth, but looking like raggedy urchins with unironed clothes, bad personal hygiene and no packed lunches for school - so perhaps I should hang on a while longer. And so I return to the symptom checker and celebrate the news that although it may be late stage pancreatic cancer it could equally just be the effects of a particularly virile vindaloo last night.
Yes there will be no getting rid of this duck easily. I no doubt will keep going until our financial troubles are over, the kids have grown and we are about to embark on the adventures of a lifetime.....then I shall not too discreetly keel over at the airport and take my last breath.
Please Lord may I depart this planet happy and having recently eaten a very large donut or even better a whole bag full.
x x
Dermatillomania is what I am referring to.....hard to take seriously when it sounds like a board game you'd get for Christmas (one of those obligatory 'family' presents purchased by relatives trying to spend as little as possible on a non-nuclear 6 man household). But getting back to the issue - Dermatillomania - in laymans terms 'obsessive picking of the skin'. I may have already touched upon the subject in past dialogues and more specifically mentioned the furore created by my facial self massacring when encountering my mother following a heavy session. She is constantly telling me I must stop it but I am finding that after so many years of indulging, it just isn't easy to cease. Lately I feel the problem is deepening though - spurred on by stress and agitation - like I have some magnetic force emanating from my head, sucking my hands towards its' surface and begging for a bit of topographical surveying. On finding a lump, bump or indeed anything which doesn't seem to belong there I have a compulsive urge to seek out the nearest reflective surface and eradicate said crator. And I joke not about the compelling nature of this desire. It has gotten to the point where I feel it is as out of hand as my hourly weigh ins - I will even pick in public if the urge is bad enough.....which is not what the bathroom accessories display in John Lewis was designed for. And so now I lay claim to two utterly obsessive behaviours. Surely it is time for me to be sectioned, or perhaps voluntarily have my eyes gauged out.....If I can't look in the mirror, see the scales or indeed any enticing foods I would be fine. Although blind.
Additionally without the (wonderful) gift of sight it would eradicate a further useless habit; spending gratuitous hours browsing symptom checkers in an attempt to diagnose myself with some obscure condition or other. Usually by the end of which it is clear that unless I dial 999 immediately and pray for the miracle of an ambulance arriving within sixty minutes, I shan't make it to the following day. Amazing then that I have survived thus far. On realisation that my condition is terminal I begin contemplating my departure from this world, decide that if I go the children will end up as metaphorical hippos, happy with their Dad allowing them to wallow in their own filth, but looking like raggedy urchins with unironed clothes, bad personal hygiene and no packed lunches for school - so perhaps I should hang on a while longer. And so I return to the symptom checker and celebrate the news that although it may be late stage pancreatic cancer it could equally just be the effects of a particularly virile vindaloo last night.
Yes there will be no getting rid of this duck easily. I no doubt will keep going until our financial troubles are over, the kids have grown and we are about to embark on the adventures of a lifetime.....then I shall not too discreetly keel over at the airport and take my last breath.
Please Lord may I depart this planet happy and having recently eaten a very large donut or even better a whole bag full.
x x
Maybe a bit of rationalisation is required. Picking/weighing/tidying/cleaning/buying ( done compulsively and not from a real need ) are all symptoms of a desire to change and to somehow facilitate ( have control over ) that change....which will ( we believe ) be, of course, a change for the BETTER. Stemming from a feeling of NOT having control. Realistically... NONE of us has any control. Life happens......at any point things can change, dramatically, significantly, for bad or for good. That IS life. Best idea is to realise the not-so-good things we do to try to control SOMETHING ; and then to dump them in favour of positive actions we can take to kind of hedge our bets a bit ( eg eating healthily, taking exercise, guiding children ). Often the simple acknowledgement of WHY we are doing something is enough to stop it in its tracks. You ARE beautiful. Your weight WILL reduce. You WILL be as slim as you prefer to be. Your skin WILL improve..........providing you take the paths which LEAD there. Time to walk on the footpath and not in the ditch ! Love you. xx
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