Your skin is your largest organ, your first defense against the outside world. And mine is constantly under attack. The enemy? My own hands.
Since I was a kid, I’ve always had a tendency to pick at my skin. A lot of kids do this, I realize, but it’s usually something that becomes less of a problem as you grow up. No such luck for me. To this day, any scab, hangnail, pimple, or blemish is a target, and it must be destroyed. It’s somewhere between a nervous tic, a time-filler when I’m bored, and an impulse that I can’t fight.
No matter how many times I’ve been told to stop, or who tells me, I can’t. It’s something that just happens, and once I start, I can’t stop until I’m done. Leaving a scab I’ve started to mess with alone, or abandoning my picking without removing the entire scab, sets off an intense anxiety. I feel a sense of relief and satisfaction when I’ve finally gotten it off, but it doesn’t last long. Blood wells up in the newly opened wound, and shame wells up in the back of my mind. I have to cover this up before I get blood on something, before the wound overflows and whatever next touches my skin gets stained. I go through Band-Aids embarrassingly fast.
It takes a long time for even the smallest wounds I get to heal, because I just can’t stop picking at them. Often I don’t stop with just a single scab – I’ll go after more than one scab, or dig into the skin I just opened, or just touching the wound over and over, unaware of how much damage I’m doing until my fingertips are stained red. One bug bite I scratched at until it bled took half a college semester to heal completely because I wouldn’t leave the damn thing alone. In just the last hour, I’ve opened at least three old wounds, and I can’t stop touching them, despite (or is it because of?) how it hurts. My arms, shoulders, legs, and now my chest are covered in little round scars. It makes me feel repulsive.
About a year ago, I learned that this kind of behavior, experienced as a compulsion, as a response to stressors, has a name. Dermatillomania. It’s also called compulsive skin picking (CSP) and Excoriation disorder. It’s usually classified as a form of body-focused repetitive behavior. I’ve also seen it classified as a form of OCD in some places, but don’t quote me on that.
Didn’t know there was a name for it? Neither did I, for the longest time.
And actually, it’s not just a weird thing that I do. And if you do it, it’s not just a weird thing that you do, either. As BFRBs gain more attention as a medically/insitutionally-recognized problem, and more people realize that this is a condition they have, support for derma sufferers is starting to grow. The bolded “Dermatillomania” link above offers a resource website. I’ve also found a lot of relatable, “you’re not alone” types of posts, as well as some tips for managing my condition, in the #definitelyderma hashtag/community on tumblr.
Dealing with the compulsion to pick at my skin, and the often unconscious act of doing so, is a daily struggle. It’s a fight against the mirror, the little imperfections only my eyes ever notice, and of course, my over-eager hands, so ready to inflict damage and pain unto tiny areas of my skin at a moment’s notice. I’m still working on developing the self-awareness it takes to manage this kind of thing. It’s going to be a rough fight, but thanks to growing awareness, at least I know I’m not alone.
Unruly Bodies 
Wow! I actually do the same thing but with zits in particular. My mom used to do it, and I guess I learned it from her. I had no idea that it was an actual named thing. I’ve heard of trichotillomania, but to know that I’m not the only one who feels a sort of sick satisfaction from popping a big zit makes me feel better.
It’s weird how many people suffer from this affliction, but don’t talk about it because it’s “gross.” You’re not alone, I do this too. Hey but here’s a hint! And it’s winter time so it’s ok, wear gloves!! When you’re alone, put on some mittens. Or keeps some plastic gloves ready in the bathroom if thats where you do it the most. Also keep track of where and when you do it. All these things really do help because most often compulsive skin picking is linked to some sort of anxiety. To conclude though, don’t be ashamed of something that I KNOW many people do as well.
I do this too. In middle school I had bad acne and I couldn’t help it. My uncle kept telling me to stop but I couldn’t. I only stopped when the acne did. My cuticles, however, are another story. They will forever be jagged and sometimes bleeding. At least now I know I’m not alone. 🙂
The first time I started reading this post I had to stop because of how close this is to me. I came back tonight, though, and got through it. I’m just glad this isn’t something that I have to go through alone. I have a huge scar in the middle of my chest from picking, and if I didn’t have a naturally oily face, I would have more scars there as well. Sometimes it’s stress, sometimes it’s boredom. But it just feels like there’s always more to pick, there’s always a phantom pimple or something that must be eradicated. So yeah, thank you for bringing this up as a real embodied experience worth mentioning.