Skin Picking

As if pulling my hair out is not screwed up enough, I also pick my skin off. Dermatillomania-compulsive skin picking. I have been struggling with this for as long as I can remember. I have been doing things I am ashamed of for so long that I am a professional at hiding it. I find it easier, but not easy, to control the skin picking more than the hair pulling. The toughest battle for me was about 6 years long. I started picking at dry skin on my heels and that quickly turned into ripping the skin off the bottom of my feet. I began using "tools" mostly tweezers were my favorite but nail clippers certainly helped. Clip a chunk of dry skin off and then I had a starting point to pull from. This did not hurt one bit, well, not while I was doing it. Actually sometimes there was pain, when I pulled skin and it was too deep it would hurt like hell. After the damage was done I always regretted it. Bleeding feet and finding it extremely difficult to walk the next morning. I was a waitress too so walking was mandatory. The pulling started to grow and before long the side of my feet facing outward were purple. I could hide it from most people but not my mom and dad. I tried wearing socks for the most part but I love flip flops too much. I remember always feeling scared because my parents would tell me if I didn't stop picking at my feet that I may end up with an infection that could ultimately lead to amputation. Ugh what a horrible thought. It didn't stop me though. As a female having to visit the OB dr ugh I would always bring socks so they would never catch a glimpse of my feet in the stirrups. Getting a pedicure to fix my dry cracked heels was out of the question. I went for my bday one year and left in tears. I may not speak their language but the mortified look on their face was enough. Summer time is the hardest to hide that sort of thing. Little strappy sandals and purple sides of feet don't exactly go well together. Out of the pool or ocean when my feet were pruny on the bottom made the damage I had done more noticeable than ever. It also showed me how uneven my picking was and I was able to "smooth" it out by picking off the uneven layers of skin. My picking didn't stop with just my feet. I have chicken pox scars all over from when I was a child because I would pick them off and scabs. Pimples or scabs are getting ripped off asap. My face or anywhere else I want nothing on me. The pads of my finger tips, my cuticles, creases of my fingers, lips, toes, any place with a cut is prime picking for me. I have been told by many people time and time again that I need to stop picking at my fingers. 7 months ago at work I had a customer say "wow what happened to your fingers? do you have a deficiency?" What happened, what do you think dude? And the only deficiency I have is in skin. Purple bloody fingers. I carry band aids with me everywhere now. I literally got to the extent where I had a band aid on every single finger, how cute right? Easy to see why I have such low self esteem. Happy to say I have not picked at my feet since January 2012!! I have managed to let my nails grow long so my fingers dont look too bad. The underside is starting to get worse as levels of stress in my life is picking up. I hope one day I can quit my picking altogether.

My Struggle With Hair Pulling

December 1999 was when I began my battle with trichotillomania. I was 13 years old and that was the same time I saw a split end. It was disgusting and resembled more of a tree that branched out a hundred ways. I quickly pulled it out just wanting to get rid of it. Then the search was on, did I have more of these hairs? Damn right I did. I did my best to remove the ones I found, but with long hair that hadn't been cut in years, I was overwhelmed with the amount I had accumulated. My hair was not only long, it was blonde, straight, and beautiful. During my search for the ugly split ends I noticed another upsetting surprise...in my soft dirty blonde hair I had found coarse black hair. I was shocked. I was popular amongst my friends and this was the year the boys started to notice me. I was even asked to the senior prom that year, eight grade, yes I know gross. This curly coarse crap was not meant to be and I was going to take care of it. And so my unhealthy relationship with trich kicked into high gear. I went from zero to sixty in no time at all. The black coarse hairs were the easiest to find. I could be watching tv, studying, or sitting in a car going to the store and my hand would magically find the hidden treasures. Took no effort at all. That is when it became the scariest. After homework r relaxing I would be shocked to discover a mound of hairs next to me. I blow them really hard to scatter them or vaccuum the carpet right away. The moment you have to hide your evidence, it is safe to assume you are in too deep. Back then and to this day split ends are my favorite. Those hairs take time to find. If I am around other people I can't pull, peeling split ends gives almost the same satisfatcion, almost. Does pulling hairs hurt? No way, feels good. It didn't take too much time before I began "studying" my hairs. The length, the durability...I would/will snap the hair in half to break it in hopes of making a split end. There is an odd satisfaction in seeing how long you can peel each split end. While studying I found that from the base of the hair was a "sticky" bulb. The root of my hair. And by sticky I mean you can place that hair on a wall and the root will stick there. I can put the hair in between my nails of my index finger and thumb and pull so I have this little root ball on my finger and discard the hair...oh the possibilities. Naturally I began consuming the root. In my dangerous pulling without consciously realizing routines I had to confide in my mom, I was starting to get a bald patch. My mom frantically began searching the internet for any advice and help she could get. I will never forget the day we sat down a the computer and she read other womens stories with trich. I cried ashamed, and feeling helpless. One woman talked about eating the roots from her hair, my mother asked me if I did, it sounded so gross when I read it from someone else...how could I admit I do that too when just reading it made me nausious? I told her I did not, what a lie. I immediately began seeing a psychiatrist. We tried numerous medications increasing the dose on a weekly basis. They all had little to no reaction on my hair pulling. How can I stop doing something that I have begun doing now without knowing I am doing it? I hid my secret from everyone except my mother. I never let her know how bad my pulling actally was, I didn't want her to stress. My Dr would switch my antidepressants whenever we had reached the maximum dose with no luck. By the middle of high school I felt like a walking zombie. I was quite popular but I felt like I was ugly and I had this huge secret weighing me down. I had a bald patch on the top of my head, one behind each ear, and thinning spots on the front left and right. I played sports and wore my hair up to cover the big center spot. As the other spots worsened and clips no longer hid the missing hair on the under side I had to switch up my game plan. I wore my hair down but Constantly ran my fingers from the front of my hair to the back, to keep it slicked back over the top spot. The battle to keep this ugliness hidden was never ending. Unless you have experienced trichotillomania you can never understand how exhausting it is mentally. I picked to get rid of the ugliness initially...but it only got more ugly. I cut out pictures of women with beautiful hair and kept them on my mirror, in my car, in books. I also began "collecting" my hairs I had pulled. Whenever a trance episode happened and I snapped out of it, instad of blowing or vaccuumin away the hairs, I picked them up and put them in a see through container and put a lid on it. I have 2 brothers so I kept my jar hidden. Sound crazy?! I was obviously ashamed and embarrassed or I wouldn't have spent all the energy trying to hide it. I figured facing the ugly truth would help me cope more than just hiding it. Everytime I had to see my collection it disgusted me. After high school I did stop pulling for a little while. Here I am 26 and still pulling. I am a married woman with a 6 year old child and I pull my hair out. I still take countless measures to keep it hidden from the world, and sadly enough I do a damn good job. It never gets easier, especially in times when life is more stressul. I am seeing a pyshcologist and trying Luvox, I will be seeing a pyschiatrist too, and I talk about my struggle just a little to my husband. It is very difficult talking to anyone about it. They don't understand and you sound crazy. The inner struggle is not visible to anyone else. The pain and torture in my mind could kill the average person. I am strong and I have developed the skill of faking. I can smile and pretend to feel happy. Usually only until it is time to go to bed, that is when the "monsters" get me. I can't turn my brain off a night. I feel ugly, I feel ashamed, and I feel self conscious. Make up can not cover bald spots. I don't want to cover them, I want them to be gone. I have cut my hair short to help start over and in an attempt to stop pulling, only it doesn't just work that way. It is a daily battle and for me, it is not an uphill battle. I am not crazy. I don't know anyone else with my problem but I know I am not alone and that is something I can take comfort in. I will overcome this one day, only I control that.