Other Outlets

[Content Warning added 20Jan2014 for compulsive eating and trichotillomania aka hair pulling.]

I haven’t seen my reflection since Saturday.

It’s easier that way I guess. Knowing it’s pickable is one thing, actually seeing it is too much. Even if I manage to walk away from the mirror, it will nag me until I go back.

I feel frustrated. Strangely, I don’t feel a strong urge to pick. I just feel generally frustrated, and wanting to do something to relieve the frustration. Cue binge-eating, and wielding tweezers at my bikini-bits again. I’ve been keeping it shaved down there ever since the disaster with the waxing strips; the itchiness of the stubble only bothers me for a week or so after shaving the first time, and then it goes away. So I’m not trich-ing on it because it itches or anything. Just because it’s something I can do which absorbs me enough to make me forget about my face. It’s a diversion. But even there I have to be careful – it’s easy to get zealous enough about it that I start digging into myself to root out the stubble lying beneath the surface. I don’t want to replace one flesh-destroying habit with another. Even if the replacement seems like a better option because it’s not on a public part of my body, it’s still not much of a trade-off.

I picked a little today. Both times were at my desk at work, and I found myself doing it before I’d realised what I was doing. If I catch myself in time, I can stop myself, and that’s fine. But to leave a scab half-picked, to imagine it partly hanging off my face, is just not an option. It probably should be. I should probably be stricter with myself. But Christ, how can I leave it looking like that? Feeling like that?

So I caught myself half-way through, when it was too late, and then finished the job feeling guilty. The first one, on my chin, felt really dry and flaky, as though it was ready to come off anyway, so I didn’t really beat myself up over that. The second was pretty fresh – didn’t bleed, but wept some clear fluid. I should not have picked that one.

But god, it’s good to be back on the SPOM board. It’s so fantastic to feel like I’m not alone. Yeah. Not much else to say on that point I guess, just wanted to say it.

Well, I’m done here. I’m gonna go write some stuff up in my diary proper. Or maybe I’ll get as far as the bed, gather my diary and pen about me, and then pick up the tweezers. Just for five minutes. And then do it until bedtime.

*shrug*