The Bitter Truth

I have known I have Dermatillomania now for a little over a month--however I have had it for about half of my life. Recently, I thought I was doing much better. However, today, I got hot glue on my hand and it blistered. Caving to impulses, I scratched and peeled off the large blister, causing the liquid inside to spill out. I felt HAPPY. I felt ACCOMPLISHED. After a few moments, though, I felt PAIN and I felt ASHAMED. The intense burning from peeling the blister off caused me to take a step back and broke me from the fog that was clouding my mind. I looked down at my arms and realized I was not getting better, I had gotten a lot worse. I have more scabs on my arms than I have ever had. More scabs on my face than I have ever had, the inside of my cheeks and my lips are raw, and my fingers bleeding. I would like to say this has created a resolve within me to stop picking, scratching, biting, and digging, but I know it would be a lie. After all, I am fighting the impulse to run into the bathroom right now and fix a few blemishes on my face. This is what all of us put up with every second, of every minute, of every day, of every week, of every moment of our lives. I can't help but wonder... how does no one notice how uncontrollable these urges are? How... helpless we all feel (or at least I feel) to the illness. Why is it that there seems to be no way to stop. Medicine--who can afford it? Therapists--who has the time? Vitamins--who believes they actually work? Mental strength--how many of us actually have enough? Dermatillomania is a vicious cycle, a downward spiral, and all the while while seemingly trapped in a cage with no door. I know this is a long message, but I cannot seem to find the strength to fight anymore. It seems so hopeless, especially for a teenager like me. May I ask something of you who are reading this? I need more than some comforting words. I need honest words. I need the truth. And if it isn't too much to ask, I guess I need what all of us need. A cure.