One Shots

Dermatillomania

A/N: So...this one may or may not just be me projecting. Also, semi-unrelated, but fun fact? Snap Back and Oldies Station by TOP was practically on loop in my head when writing this. Take with that what you will.

It started as fascination.

It was satisfying to see the black and white heads come out. There'd be a pimple here or there that you couldn't help but pop.

But then it got worse.

Instead of just popping them when you happened to see them, you started actively looking for them. You sought out any small bumps along your skin.

It began on your arms.

You noticed a lot of little white heads that could be squeezed. You even started to pick at the small bumps that weren't pimples, hoping to see something pop out satisfyingly.

Before you knew it, you were constantly picking at your arms, legs, chest, face.

You noticed there were other places that could also be squeezed, picked, scratched. It was just satisfying to see, no matter the scabs that began littering your body.

Eventually, it became less about the satisfaction and more about the action of picking.

You realized you started doing the same on your back. It was reaching into areas you couldn't always see. There is still a fascination to it all, though. Whether it was watching the white heads or pus get pushed out or now just feeling that little piece between your fingernails as it came out.

But it wasn't just about the satisfaction of popping pimples anymore.

You were picking at scabs. You can't stand feeling bumps on your skin, so you picked at them all so it could be smooth once again. But then they bleed, and it's a vicious cycle.

Eventually, you become aware of how marked up your skin has become.

You don't like looking at it. But it doesn't bother you enough to do something about your bad habit. You tell yourself you should stop but make no real effort to do so.

Then, family members start bringing it up.

Your mom tells you how ugly it is. She says you're pretty, but all the marks ruin that. She says that you need to stop.

Oh, yes, my bad. I'm sorry. Why didn't I think of that, mother?

You know it's not that simple. You think that she must know it's not that simple. But based on what she says to you, you can't be too sure about that.

She lets you know that your grandmother was asking if it was a rash.

Your grandmother thinks maybe your skin is having a reaction to the laundry detergent or something. Your mom is sure to inform her that no, it's not a reaction. You do it to yourself. It's something that can be helped.

You do it to yourself.

Third time's a charm.

Your aunt asks what the marks are. You do what you can to brush it off and get through the conversation as quickly as possible.

No, it's not a rash. Yes, I do it myself. I pick. I can't help it. It just happens.

You tell your mom every time she mentions it.

You tell her that she's basically trying to give you an insecurity. It seems to bother everyone around you more than it bothers you. This isn't to say it doesn't ever bother you. Oh, it has led to bad thoughts and bouts of body dysmorphia. But it definitely bothers your family more than you.

Now, there's an event coming up.

You go shopping for an outfit. You find something nice that will show your shoulders, chest, and back. You think that maybe you'll try to stop, so your skin will look better for the event. Despite wanting to spite your mother, you decide to try. Maybe you'll be able to stop cold turkey.

Your mom tells you to do something else with your hands when you feel like picking.

As much as you don't want to listen to her because she doesn't understand, you figure it can't hurt to try. You dig up your old fidget spinners and fidget cube. You use it once or twice while you're hanging out at home.

It doesn't help at all.

There's not quite anything that replaces the feeling of picking. It's not exactly about keeping your hands occupied. It's about the specific feeling of digging into your skin.

You always get annoyed when it makes you bleed.

It's not because you have a problem with blood; it's because it's a hassle to not get blood on anything, and it takes longer than you want for it to stop bleeding.

But you try to stop.

You realize just how hard it is. Your hands automatically go to the bumps. Your fingers subconsciously pick at scabs and bumps, new and old.

As soon as you realize, you try to take your hand away or just rub the skin a little. But a lot of times, you just pick. You tell yourself to stop, but you keep going. You say just this one. But one turns into two, and two turns into five, and suddenly, you've lost any and all progress.

At some point, you come across a word.

Dermatillomania—when a person compulsively picks or scratches their skin, leading to injuries and/or scarring. You realize that what you do has a name. It's an actual thing. It's not just you.

It's an addiction.

It's more than just a bad habit. It's a compulsion. It's not easy to just stop, as much as you may want to. You complain to yourself just how hard it is to break the habit. You simply can't. You are trying your best to pick less.

It's working.

Your mom says your face looks clearer. You look so much better. You've been actively trying for a few weeks. You still pick there, but you've been trying.

It's not better.

You're still picking. You still do it. But now, you're more aware when you do it and silently yell at yourself whenever you do. You say you shouldn't be doing this. You should stop now, as soon as you realize you're doing it. It's not always that easy.

You're not out of the woods.

You like to think you're doing better. You think that maybe you're picking a little less than you were. Or maybe, you're just being more cautious about how you do it.

Maybe one day, this whole obsessive compulsion will be an old memory.

But for now, you're doing your best. Remember that it's not easy to just stop. Take it one day at a time. Small steps are still progress.

Push on through.