Skin Picking Disorder

When the stress is overwhelming I pick at my skin.

My fingernails cause tiny breaks in my arms and legs that bleed.

The scabs start off small but later grow into larger marks over time.

I have to keep my nails short to make picking harder.

I wear dark clothing so the bloodstains don’t show.

I have been told I look like I have leprosy.

This insult from my mother does not phase me.

It gets inside my head and makes me angry.

She would rather throw insults at me than try to understand my behavior.

Her words make me dig into my skin even deeper.

We are all ugly inside.

Why not let it be seen on the surface?

I don’t wear a mask.

I have nothing to hide.

I am an open book.

My flaws show on the surface.

Cover your flaws with art.

This is how we camouflage our feeling.

The eyes of others are drawn to tattoos and not to the scars that are underneath them.

Cutters and pickers alike have used this distraction to cover up their skin scars and to stop the questions of others.

It allows us to expose our skin.

To expose our truths and feel more accepted by society.

Mental illness takes its toll on many.

It just varies on how each individual expresses it.

Some keep it bottled up inside and explode at random with passive-aggressive rage.

Others like me, find an outward way to express these emotions such as skin picking or compulsive shopping.

Talk therapy is a more positive way to filter through these emotions and confusions.

It is less harmful to everyone and lets a professional give us advice on how to correct our behaviors.

Yet we are labeled crazy if we reach out for professional help.

There is a stigma attached to doing the right thing.

It’s easier to destroy our skin than it is to speak to a medical doctor and get on medication.

We will be persecuted by unjust eyes for trying to better ourselves and using the resources available to the community.

We will be lumped into a category of the mentally unbalanced and insulted by our peers.

We will leave out the facts of where we will be located on Thursday afternoons between 2 PM and 3 PM.

I cannot be simply told to stop picking my skin.

My pain tolerance is high.

I get a rush off of the pain.

When my skin bleeds it feels comforting.

I bleed and I know that I am alive.

Skin picking disorder.

I feel like I am alone.

Only cutters seem to understand me.

Only they understand this self-harm.

Others give me judgment and look at me with disgust in their eyes.

The scars I bear are my own for all to see.

I can come up with a million excuses as to what happened.

But it's easier to say I don’t deal with stress very well.

I go back to what I know.

A behavior I developed during childhood that has continued into adulthood.

A behavior that comes and goes in waves.

Each scar tells a story.

A story I was not able to express in any other way.

Skin picking disorder.

Your judgment stops here.

I came clean with the truth.

My bracelet collection and long pants can only cover up so much.

We all suffer in our own way.

This is mine.

*This poem is featured in my upcoming book "Peeling Sanity"

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