My OCD symptoms first presented themselves when I was about 5 years old. Since then it has manifested itself in numerous ways... too many ways to count. One phase included me collecting trash in bags that I refused to allow my mother to throw away. In an attempt to stop the trash madness, my father gave me a speech about germs. This led me believe that everything was contaminated. I refused to eat anything I touched, or that anyone else touched. After every meal there would be tons of little pieces of food left on my plate that were not edible because they were infested with germs. From there I didn't want to eat at all. I didn't even want to swallow my saliva because I felt it would make me sick. I would let my saliva collect in my mouth until I couldn't hold it any more and I had to spit it out. I also believed that food had feelings and that eating it was killing it. When forced to eat, I felt it necessary to tell every single bite of food that it would be safe in my tummy, and to not be afraid. I HAD to tell EVERY bite. It was an obsession.
Throughout my elementary, middle school, and high school years, I had various other phases. I went through a phase of neurotic excoriation (scratching myself until I bled). Tapping my toothbrush exactly four times on the counter. Flipping the light switch until it felt right. Putting my socks on... taking them off... putting them on again... putting my shoes on... taking it all off and starting over..... until it felt right. Retracing my steps. Moving things around... lining things up... tapping things... until it felt right. Even anorexia. I would be very focused on one thing for a while, and then, as if out of the blue, my ritual would change, and I couldn't explain why. Many of these things I still do from time to time, including excessive hand washing, and washing dishes multiple times until they feel clean enough to eat off of. Sometimes they are NEVER clean enough. And there are many more things that I do that I just don't have the time or energy to share right now. But let's move on because there is a point...
My OCD had presented itself in all of these different ways that were embarrassing and time-consuming, but they weren't causing me enough grief or effecting my life negatively enough for anyone to take notice or suggest that I get help. I could live with these habits.
It wasn't until I began having severe panic attacks and hyperventilation syndrome that I realized my OCD was becoming detrimental to my daily life. My breathing became such an obsession that I couldn't leave the house. And even when I was in the house I was hyperventilating. I couldn't escape. I wanted to literally die. Over the past two years I have been fighting with this obsession, and slowly it has become less detrimental, and has decreased from an all day struggle to less frequent episodes.
Because of my previous experiences with my OCD cycles, I had a feeling that my breathing obsession would eventually subside and another new obsession will make it's way into my life. Unfortunately, I still struggle with the breathing, and a new obsession has already begun. And this one may be the most awful, harmful, disgusting, humiliating, and shameful manifestation of all.
I am suffering from dermatillomania.... I am a compulsive skin picker.
Most of you probably wouldn't know. Or maybe you do and would never say anything because you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings. Or maybe you think I just have acne. Or maybe you look at my face and you wonder what that is hiding under all of that makeup. Well, the truth is, you don't want to know. It's ugly, bloody, peeling, torn, ripped, gnarled skin. It's the result of me sitting in front of my magnifying mirror for hours, and hours, and HOURS, with my tools, losing my mind as I pick.
For those of you who know me, I'm a fairly private person. I do not love sharing embarrassing things about myself, and I definitely don't like looking/feeling ugly in front of other people. This is one of the most difficult things I have ever had to deal with, and writing about it has brought me to tears. But I am writing this in an attempt to get better. I feel that maybe if I tell you, you'll hold me accountable. Even if you never say a word about it, knowing that you know is enough to make me want to stop. I am already severely scarred, and I know that most of it wont ever go away, but that doesn't mean I have to scar my entire face. I can stop before it gets worse. I can stop without waiting for another obsession to take over. I can stop now. Most importantly, I can stop in order to improve my own understanding of this disorder, which will allow me to help other people who are suffering from CSP and other OCD manifestations.
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