but your article on a writing space put me in the mood to shift my own writing space around. I moved my calender above my desk, my pencil flowerpot–can is now by the computer and I washed the desk. More needs to be done but it’s progress.
my mind raced tonight about certain people and situations. I hate trying to chase my own thoughts, so I lifted weights at 2:30 this morning. As I lifted, my mind was focused on changes I CAN make.
I can hope that things get better for Steph, that her fear lessens, and it has nothing to do with religion. I can hope things get easier for people cleaning up the debris from the floods and tornadoes. Other than that, it’s out of my hands.
it’s time to rest now, my cat says.
am I obsessed with germs? I read everything there is to know about different diseases and how to prevent germ related things, like cleaning surfaces with the best cleaners. but I am NOT the cleanest person. WHAT is going on in my head??
Right now, I am recuperating from surgery, so I understand why I am not cleaning the floors and doing dishes. (I can’t get the sutures wet. DUH.) I pick up after myself.
A friend came over and saw –and SMELLED–the sink. I had 2 weeks of dishes. I was embarrassed. Then her son made a comment about the tile floor being dirty.
Even when I’m not recovering, I do not always do my housework. I blame it on being tired or my depression. I have to start writing my chores on a calender again. I have no other choice; I also forget sometimes; I have brain damage. It’s a condition, not an excuse.)
i started a new book called “Liar” about the skin-pick issue in my life. The clinical term is dermillomania, or chronic skin-picking. I am not a social worker. I do not hold any degree in mental health sciences. I am just someone who wants to stop picking my sores and happened upon a site which explained “a lot” about the disorder. It’s not even in the DSM yet; some people may think it’s bullshit, like Multiple Personality
I’m multiple personality too. I forgot the spelling of the other term for mpd. Some of my thoughts and rages come from the other personalities. I remember in IOL (Institute of Living) of spacing out and losing days of my life. I wrote a journal in a month, like 100 typed pages and it was like someone else took over my hands. (Typing very fast like I am now, with no mistake and not looking at the keys) WE NEVER SLEPT. I felt like my head was detached from my body or another mind took command over the fingers.
Does the picking come from another personality? Rage, where are you? Can you explain the picking? Bitch, I’m trying to protect the little ones from every damn dick who ever hurt us. It always fucking backfires. I’m not trying to avoid dealing with the picking; I think I have to dig deep for that one.
I’m sharing this online for the people who deal with tough mental hurt every single day.
I went out and smashed ice off the underhang of my apartment to see if it would stop the water from coming in to my bedroom. Nice try. And it was fun trying to move in the snow. My feet really hurt.
I’m still trying to recover from being sick Thurs and Fri. My job is to work on me, to find enjoyment in the thick of things. I slept good last last night; what a relief. That’s a start!
Stop. Stop stratching. Don’t pick. For someone who self-injures, this is SO HARD. I’m not proud of being a skinpicker. It’s a chronic issue that must be dealt with daily, like brushing your teeth. When a sore itches, in spite of the anti-itch cream, I want to stratch.
Distract. Typing is keeping my hands nice and busy, telling you about my condition. Raising awareness of it.
What hurts more than unhealed, open sores is the scarring. My skin is COVERED with sores. Awareness of what this condition has done to me hurts. What hurts is that I’m colonized with mrsa now. It’s in my blood, even when I don’t have an active infection.
I told my niece not to scratch bug bites and scratches. I was her age when I started picking. And I’m 32 now. Stopping skinpicking is a bitch. Learning new ways of coping is hard.
I did it out of anger. I did it because talking to my family was unsafe. Every time I opened my mouth, I was called a liar. I disowned my mother’s side of the family. But I still hear that voice in my head.
I’m not supposed to be alive. Infections can sometimes kill you. If you need help with self-injury, call 911. Start journaling, even if it means locking your diary up and hiding the key. Don’t tell people where the key is.