Warning: Out of Order

You may now find me here.

Ask me questions about anything http://www.formspring.me/PickAddicted

I have another Tumblr, a “real” account, where I already have two blogs: one for RPing with my friends, the other to account the trials and tribulations of not being nerdy enough. I’m logged into that 24/7 to follow the RP storyline and blog quick thoughts on whatever anime or video game I’m into that day. 

This is actually the reason I haven’t posted in months; I haven’t been able to bother myself about logging out of that account and into this one and then back again… It’s a bit of trouble.

I’ve been thinking lately, what if I just moved this to my ordinary account? It would be a third blog, under the same name and similar URL, and posts would go about the same, maybe shorter and more frequent as I would be on it more often. 

Would you still follow me? Good idea, yes/no?

Dermatillomania (also known as compulsive skin picking or CSP) is an impulse control disorder and form of self-injury characterized by the repeated urge to pick at one’s own skin, often to the extent that damage is caused. Dermatillomania can be a compulsion of body dysmorphic disorder (BDD).

…………

So, it’s all right kids, I’m good.

I didn’t look over or edit last night’s blog because, well, I was in a state—and I figured, if you’re going to do an emotional purge by heaving up a thousand or so words of mind vomit, might as well let it come the way it comes, right?  Also I knew I wouldn’t post it if I read it. 

And I’ve been reading Maximum Ride again lately, so I’m all—must blog!

Anyway, so that was that.   

What was supposed to be last night’s blog I will now summarize here:

Being nagged at for picking sucks.

See how short that could have been?  Oh well.  When you gotta dump, you gotta dump.  Anyway, someone mentioned me on Twitter today about some news article or something, and I think it had either my Twitter or my blog on it, so I’m gonna go check it out.

Peace!

…………………….

Just another day in the life of an Out of Order girl.

Dermatillomania (also known as compulsive skin picking or CSP) is an impulse control disorder and form of self-injury characterized by the repeated urge to pick at one’s own skin, often to the extent that damage is caused. Dermatillomania can be a compulsion of body dysmorphic disorder (BDD).

……………

My mother. 

My mother. 

Oh my god.

(About this time, any of my friends listening would groan sympathetically and shake their heads, repeating in an identical tone, “Your mother, man.”  Because they know. Because you don’t know…  Well, I’d try to explain it, but I really can’t.  Besides, that would just confirm my mother’s stubborn certainty that all I do is talk about how evil she is and how much I hate her, and that must be why my friends don’t like her.  Actually, she’s not evil, and I’m on the fence about hating her, and I never tell my friends anything like that in so many words.  I just tell them to meet her and see for themselves.  And they do.)

Here’s the thing.  I haven’t been on my blog lately because I’ve been using my other Tumblr account for RPing purposes (that’s RolePlaying, for you non-nerds, and no I’m not just a freak, I use it as a tool for character development) and talking to my friends.  But in all honesty, my picking has been getting worse.  A lot worse.  I don’t know why. 

I usually have my ups and downs; it’s like a cycle.  You know, I’ll have a lot of things I’m picking at, and then I’ll get around to ointmenting them, and they’ll heal up a bit, and all the scabs will end up dying down mostly until I find some new spots to pick at, and it starts up again.  Lately, though, it’s been a constant picking rampage, and it hasn’t stopped or slowed down.  Like I said, I don’t know why.  It’s like it’s this constant obsession.  I’m at it all the time.  My cover-up is becoming very nearly inadequate, and I’ll have to reapply it two or three times a day.  My fingers are nearly constantly bloodstained, and I’ve been picking at my nails all the time, even though that’s usually a pretty rare cycle.  And instead of the usual two-to-four big ugly spots, virtually all of them are.  And instead of just one or two giant scabs on my shoulder, I’ve got at least four.

I can’t figure it out and it dismays me a bit that it’s getting worse after I discovered what it is and got all over awareness and stuff like that, because I feel like I was expecting that to help me (and it did, at first) get better, not worse.  I don’t know. 

Here’s the thing, though.  My picking’s been getting worse, yes.  But what’s been stressing me beyond belief is that now my mother is mentioning it constantly.  And I mean constantly.

And suddenly, horrifyingly, she’s taken the active approach.  I know this is the sort of thing I should be grateful for, if I had a healthier mother-daughter relationship, but as it is, all I can feel is a horrible cold and dread in the pit of my stomach, willing her to DROP IT AND GO AWAY, DROP IT AND GO AWAY, WALK AWAY, WALK AWAY, please, PLEASE just stop—

(This is what’s running through my mind when she brings it up.)

It’s horrible, awful, and I just can’t conjure up any response until she demands it, and when she demands it all I can think of is “It’s none of your business.”

And then the same answer every time:  “It is my business!”

(It’s not.)

By the way, when I say ‘active’ approach, I mean it.  Suddenly she’s all, “What can we do to help with your picking?” and “I think you should consider getting some cotton gloves to wear at night,” and “I think this is something you should seek outside help for,” and “Do you know why you pick?  Is it something you talk with Dr Jealousy* about?” and goes on and on and on, and literally every time she sees me picking, instead of just sometimes, she’ll immediately say, “Stop picking.”

It honestly, I don’t even know what it does to me.  I’ve got this horrible awful roiling feeling just thinking about it and it won’t go away.   I don’t want to talk to her.  I can’t stand it.  Imagine if you spend years in a lab, and while you were in there, all the while they were conditioning you, so that every time you talked with some specific person, you immediately and automatically became overwhelmed with a cold, sick, heavy, fearful, headache-y, distressed, uncomfortable, ill, repulsive feeling that lasted for ages after the conversation ended.  It’s like that, only I wasn’t conditioned in a lab.  That’s just  my relationship with my mother.

And when she’s talking about this—something very close to my psyche, something that is a personal journey for me—it’s just severely distressing in all sorts of ways I can’t even explain.  She used the word ‘we.’  I hate the word ‘we.’  It gives me this awful ill dread.  

It’s just, I don’t know how to explain it, and even getting it off my chest to you guys isn’t helping the feeling go away, and it’s sort of paralyzing in the manner that I feel like it sort of cripples my mental ability to do anything else, which sucks when I have an assload of homework due immediately, and…

I’ve gotten off track. 

What’s this post about, anyway?

God, I need a soda.

Anyway, here’s the thing.

One thing I always appreciated about my family’s reactions was their lack thereof.

It’s sad if you think about it I guess, but I mean, that’s just the way my relationship with them panned out, that I don’t really want them making deals out of things.  So when they didn’t mention or talk about my picking, or would only refer to it very sparsely in the matter-of-fact and only when necessary (same with my SED), I could be grateful for that.  Because in a way that feels like an acceptance.  They weren’t actively trying to get me to stop because they accepted that was something I did, and that was something I needed.

And now, suddenly, they don’t, and it’s not okay, it’s so not okay, because I really think that’s something I need.  And if they don’t accept it, who will?! 

I feel really awful sometimes because I’m afraid I don’t want to stop picking, because it’s not so bad.  But at times like these when it does get so bad and it’s noticeable and it’s horrible, yeah, I hate being a dermatillomaniac.  The heart of it is, though, it’s not the picking I hate.  I don’t think that makes me disgusting.  The bleeding, yes, it sucks, and the scabs, and the needing makeup, and the looking awful.  But I feel like it is a part of me, the urge to pick, and even if I want to stop, I don’t want to deny that part of me, that struggle, disease, aspect, whatever you want to call it, I am okay with myself and I need to be accepted.  I need someone to hear that I am a dermatillomaniac and say I have no problem with that beyond any stress that it may cause you.  I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, I just want you to be happy. 

So.  Much.

And when suddenly the only vague resemblance of acceptance I have received is harshly withdrawn in favor of a very fervent active war against my picking, all I can do is lash out and withdraw.

I feel like I’m having a panic attack right now.  I’m sort of mentally drowning.  But I guess that’s not an actual panic attack; they’re supposed to be like physical symptoms like shortness of breath and stuff, right?  Right?

This post is not coming out concisely or eloquently.

God, this isn’t even about picking or dermatillomania, is it.  It’s about my relationship with my mother and how suffocated I have felt lately.

I’m sorry.  I have to end this post.  I haven’t figured out what I’m really trying to say.

…………………….

Just another day in the life of an Out of Order girl.

The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:

“Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.”^[2]

……………..

I would like for legislation to be introduced requiring restaurants to cater to customers with mental conditions as well as physical ones that withhold them from being able to order off of the regular menu.  I feel like this would help me a lot at restaurants that say I cannot order off the kids’ menu because I am too old, even though the only thing I like at their restaurant may be the kids’ macaroni and cheese, which is different from the adult version, and would be willing to pay full price for it. 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

……………………..

Just another day in the life of an Out-of-Order girl.

The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:

“Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.”^[2]

……………………

I started writing this post ages ago and it got left behind.

So, a few weeks ago, I made a major breakthrough of sorts with my Selective Eating Disorder.  See, ages previously, I had requested some privacy at a check-up with my doctor to talk with her about my concerns—my concerns being, of course, that I wasn’t getting a lot of the nutrients and vitamins and such that I needed, being SED.  I asked if she would bring something up to my mother in the context that it was her idea, not mine, that I ought to perhaps see a dietician of sorts to determine what sort of supplements might benefit me. 

I was horrified to discover that my beloved, kind, understanding doctor totally ignore my request for confidentiality and went ahead and told my mother, “Oh, your daughter mentioned to me that she was concerned about…” blah blah blah.  Which, exactly like I hadn’t wanted to, caused my mom to have an absolute field day. 

“Your doctor told me you were concerned about your diet, I’m so glad you’re finally considering how your eating choices are affecting you, you know your brother and sister started eating healthier around college too, blah blah blah.”  It was extremely painful to hear, especially as I am not intending on changing my diet or expanding the foods I eat.  I have Selective Eating Disorder.  I’m picky for a reason.  I’m not just being stubborn.  But of course, she doesn’t know that, because she thinks I have a thing for self-diagnosis—exactly why I wish my doctor to tell her things in stead of myself.

So anyway, that really annoyed me.

But regardless, she did end up making an appointment with a nutritionist, who I went to see the other week. 

Here’s what I really liked about the nutritionist:

* She was a party girl in college.

* She collects hippos.

* She let me play with the fake food she uses to show kids portion sizes.

* She totally didn’t try to “fix” my diet by making me eat anything that wasn’t already in my repertoire of safe foods.

The other ones are kind of silly, so let me expand upon this last point.

What I loved about this nutritionist was that she took a list of foods that I regularly eat, and worked within that predefined range.  So instead of saying, “You should try adding beef and steak to your diet, they have a lot of protein,” she would say, “You have very little protein in your diet.  It looks like you get your protein mostly from eating chicken out at places like McDonald’s and KFC.  To get enough protein, you should eat out more often—maybe up to twice a day.”  Which was really great and highly appreciated. 

And then, thankfully, she recommended which vitamin-type things I should take and such to make up for the things I don’t eat. 

I’m sorry, I just have to mention—this adorable little lizard is climbing on the window screen outside my window right now, and I’m just wondering what the heck it’s doing, it’s so cute.  It’s just hanging out right now, moving its head, looking around.  I’ll name him Melvin.

Anyway.

I just wanted to express how glad I was that I talked to this lady, who gave me totally reasonable and doable tasks to improve my nutrition without going out of my comfort zone .

Melvin’s crawling down again now.  What’s he looking for?  Oh—whatever it is, he found it.  He’s out of sight now.  Bye, Melvin.

So yeah, that was my little ‘breakthrough.’  Just thought I’d share. 

……………………..

Just another day in the life of an Out-of-Order girl.

Because I’m Bored…

TEN ARE YOUS

1. Are you single - no

2. Are you happy - reasonably

3. Are you bored - frequently

4. Are you naked - nope

5. Are you a blonde - nope

6. Are you moody - recently

7. Are you a lover/hater - lover

8. Are you hot/cold - depends

9. Are you Irish - minisculely

10. Are you Asian - no

TEN FACTS

1. Name - I has one

2. Middle name - the name of a town

3. Any birth marks - yes

4. Hair color - brown

5. Natural hair color - brown

6. Eye color - green

7. Height - 5’7”

8. Mood - tired

9. Favorite color - red

10. One Place You Want to Visit - Scotland

NINE ON LOVE

1. Do you believe in love at first sight - sometimes

2. Do you believe in soul mates - hmmm

3. Have you ever been hurt emotionally - of course

4. Have you ever broke someone’s heart? - unintentionally

5. Ever had your heart broken? - yes

6. Have you ever liked someone but never told them? - of course

7. Are you afraid of commitment? - sometimes I wonder

8. Who was the last person you hugged? - my brother

9. Who was the last person you said I love you to? - my brother

NINE THIS OR THAT

1. Love or lust - normally I’d say love, but right now I wish I could just go with lust

2. Cats or dogs - cats

3. A few best friends or many regular friends - a few best friends

4. Television or internet - internet

5. Chinese Or Indian - no thanks

6. Wild night out or romantic night in - wild night out

7. Money or Happiness - money; I can take care of my own happiness

8. Night or day - night

9. MSN or phone - phone

TEN HAVE YOU EVER

1. Been caught sneaking out - nope

2. Been skinny dipping - yep

3. Bungee jumped - nope

4. Finished an entire jaw breaker - yep

5. Lied to someone you liked - yep

6. Wanted an ex boyfriend/girlfriend back - yep

8. Cried yourself to sleep? - yep

9. Cried because you lost a pet - nope

10. Wanted to disappear - yep

TEN PREFERENCES IN A PARTNER

1. Smile or eyes - both

2. Light or dark hair - dark

3. Hugs or kisses - both

4. Shorter or taller - taller

5. Intelligence or attraction - both

6. Romantic or spontaneous - both

7. Funny or serious - both

8. Older or younger - older

9. Outgoing or quiet - both

10. Sweet or Bad Ass - both

NINE HAVE YOUS

1. Ever performed in front of a large crowd - yes

2. Ever had sex - depends on what you consider sex

3. Ever consumed alcohol - not really

4. Ever been on a cheerleading team - no

5. Ever been on a dance team - no

6. Ever been on a sports team - yes

7. Ever been in a drama play/production - yes

8. Ever kissed the same sex - yes

9. Ever been in a rap video? - no

EIGHT LASTS

1. Last phone call you made - to an art store

2. Last person you hung out with - Maximum, Killjoy &co.

3. Last time you worked - couple weeks ago

4. Last person you tackled - Maximum

5. Last person you IM - Tarantella

6. Last person(s) you went to the movies with - Maximum & Killjoy

7. Last thing you missed - being single

8. Last thing you ate - popcorn

LAST PERSON TO

1. Sleep beside you? - Maximum

2. See you cry? - no clue

3. You went out to dinner with? - Killjoy

4. You talked on the phone to? - art store lady

5. Made you laugh? - idremember

WOULD YOU RATHER

1. Pierce your nose or tongue? - nose

2. Be serious or be funny? - both

3. Drink whole or skim milk? - no thanks

4. Spend time with your parents or enemies? - dad

ARE YOU

1. Simple or complicated? - complicated

2. Retarded? - nope

DO YOU PREFER

1. Flowers or candy? - depends on the candy

2. Gray or black? - black

3. Color or Black and white photos? - both

4. Sunrise or sunset? - sunset

5. Staying up late or waking up early? - staying up late

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY

1. Do you like anyone? - kind of

2. Do they know it? - probably not

UNIQUE

1. Nervous Habits? - picking, shivering

2. Are you double jointed? - yep

3. Can you twist your tongue around and roll it? - yep

4. Can you raise one eyebrow? - yep

5. Can you cross your eyes? - yep

6. Do you make your bed daily? - aaahhhhahahahaha no

QUESTIONS

1. Which shoe goes on first? - whichever one’s closest

2. Ever thrown something at someone? - frequently

3. On average, how much money do you carry with you? - not enough

4. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? - don’t eat spaghetti

5. Have you ever eaten Spam? - no

6. Favorite ice cream? - rainbow sherbet

7. How many kinds of cereal are in your cabinet? - idk

8. What’s your favorite beverage? - Pepsi

9. Do you cook? - occasionally

LASTS

1. Last Alcoholic Drink - none

2. Last Car Ride - movies to home

3. Last Movie Seen - Hangover II

4. Last Song Played - “Little Lion Man” by Mumford & Sons

Dermatillomania (also known as compulsive skin picking or CSP) is an impulse control disorder and form of self-injury characterized by the repeated urge to pick at one’s own skin, often to the extent that damage is caused. Dermatillomania can be a compulsion of body dysmorphic disorder (BDD).

……………………….

So obviously, I’m young yet, off to college in the fall, need to be looking for a job.  I’m looking at places such as teaching art classes or I already know I’m going to be teaching at a camp, and then I applied to Aaron Brothers, so on and so forth.  I wasn’t looking at restaurants, really, even though there what’s hiring lately—because no one wants to work in the food industry, really.  But then, my friend got a job at McDonald’s, and I know KFC is hiring, and it’s just like… Hmm.  Maybe not such a bad idea after all.

And then I realized.  I can never, ever work in the food industry.

Why, you ask?  Because I’m a picker.

I can just see it. I’ll get bored or I’ll be waiting for a next order, or something, or nothing even, and I’ll end up scratching, scratch-scratching away.  (I’m even scratching right now, having to type with one hand because the other is distracted on its search for dead skin.)  I’ll pick and tug and pull idly because, let’s face it, everyone else is too busy to look at me very closely, and I am just sure that at some point, eventually, the inevitable would happen.  And I would get scabs in the food.

How nasty is that?

Lots of nasty things probably end up in food already, and people don’t much notice.  Spit, sneezes, sweat, oil.  Everything has germs.  People live.  But if people notice when there’s a stray hair in their food, imagine what they’d think if there were a scab in there.

Someone would complain, there’d be an investigation, suddenly the sores on my face would become much more noticeable, “I didn’t mean to…” but I’d be fired.

Queasy.

Doesn’t sound nice, does it.

Nope, I can never ever work in the food industry.  Not while I have dermatillomania.

I feel like I’ve grossed you out.  Sorry.  I’ve grossed myself out too. 

…………………….

Just another day in the life of an Out of Order girl.

The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:

“Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.”^[2]

…………..

Sometimes I feel so judged by my family about my eating habits.

They always stare at me really intently while I’m eating with these expressions on their faces like they’re trying so hard not to laugh.  When I got up to get my soup (the main staple of my diet, though I only eat one kind, of one brand, cooked one way), I looked back and caught my mom and my sister exchanging glances at the table, expressions reading “Oh, there she goes again, with the only thing she eats, freak.”

Three minutes earlier, when I had been pouring the soup out of the can, my dad passed by and commented how I had better lay off of the soup a bit, because it was very high sodium.  ”I know, dad.”  I know that it’s high sodium, at least.  I read labels.  But I’ll never ‘lay off’ on it because it’s, like I said, the main staple of my diet.  

My mother tried to feed me an apple that even she admitted was ‘not that great.’  (It was sour.)  She told me it “doesn’t have much taste, but you can eat a few slices.”  Well, actually, I couldn’t.  Not only did it taste terrible, but there were literally so many bruises that I couldn’t bite anywhere without hitting one.  She denied this, but I could see them with my own eyes.  And I can’t eat bruises.  Or won’t.  Ended up that I didn’t eat more than a fraction of a bite of the apple.  Then I feel her eyes just staring at me, boring into my back as I walk to put it on the counter, like she’s trying to guilt trip me with nothing but her mind.  And sure, I feel guilty.  I always do.  How can I help it?  Everyone else is eating something different from me.  I’m the only person for whom the presented dinner isn’t good enough.  I don’t know how any picky eater could not feel guilty.  It looks like being spoiled and prissy and fussy, doesn’t it?  Feels like it does.

My sister came home for the summer on Thursday, and so yesterday we went out to Chinese food for dinner.  (Fortunately, the only Chinese place around is also the only Chinese place I’ll eat at.)  There are only three things I eat at this particular restaurant, not including the fortune cookie:  the beef from the broccoli beef, the chicken, and the fat noodles.  Of course, in a Chinese restaurant, all the food mixes together.  (The beef with the broccoli, the chicken with the shrimp, the fat noodles with the skinny noodles, and so on and so forth.)  This isn’t cool with me, so I spend a good amount of time getting every trace of anything off of whatever piece of meat or noodle I’m going to eat before I eat it.  I don’t want any wee bits of broccoli on my beef, I don’t want any funny shrimpy bits on my chicken, and I don’t want any skinny noodles snuck in the folds of my fat noodles.  I just don’t like it, big deal.

Of course, to my family, this is just the most entertaining thing in the world.  Every single fucking time we eat there, I am stared at all dinner.  All of them just watch me inspect my food before I eat it, sneering or snickering, and every single fucking time, at least one of them will comment on my picking at it.  ”Gotta make sure you get everything off there, eh?  Wouldn’t want a speck of broccoli to be left.”  Or, “Didja make sure it was clean?  Did it meet your standards?  Pass your inspection?”  Or like jibes.  

I am a spectacle.  

I was eating my soup tonight as I usually do, and what do I get?  A stifled laugh and a “Do you blow on every single spoonful before you eat it, or is there a point at which it becomes a satisfactory temperature?”

Thank you.  Thanks so much.  How about you shut the fuck up?

I’ve eaten this way for all of my seventeen years of life that I can remember.  Yet it never ceases to be a source of amusement and derision and condescension to them.  I am not a circus freak, okay?  I did not choose to be this way, I did not earn your derogatory commentary.  I am a human being who feels victimized and ridiculed when you poke fun at her.  You make me feel ashamed of something which I cannot control, and that is not okay.

I don’t think I’m in the wrong here, am I?  Tell me, is it so much to ask for, a little respect, a little decency?  Is that so unreasonable a request?

……………………..

Just another day in the life of an Out-of-Order girl.