My mom doesn't take me seriously and I have no one to turn to.

Hi, this is my first time on this subreddit. It just occurred to me that something like this would be on here, and I'm already glad that I found it.

I started picking my skin when I was in kindergarten (I'm a junior in high school now), at least, that's as far back as I can remember. There was a time that stood out to me in kindergarten where I had peeled scabs off of my legs and was applying pressure to the open wounds to prevent blood from running down my legs and my teacher turned around from the whiteboard and snapped, "What's so interesting about your arms and legs?" and from then on I knew that this behavior wasn't normal and it began my feelings of being alone with this problem.

Mosquito bites are my most common culprits. They are itchy at first, but then they become hard scabs and my intrusive thoughts mixed with my finger nails take over.

Fast forward to elementary school, it's still happening. My legs and arms are spotted with scars of battles I've fought with my finger nails and I've turned to wearing jackets and long sleeves and long pants out of insecurity. Whenever I had an open wound, my mom never failed to point it out to me and tell me to stop. I never really had the courage to tell her that it's not that easy.

Occasionally, when I had 10+ open scabs at a time, my mom would notice and make it a point to bring me into her room and be completely covered in little circle band aids and Neosporin. I cannot describe to you the utter shame I felt watching her open each one and how the waste just piled on the bed next to her. This didn't happen often (I'd say maybe six times max), but when it did, it hurt.

I vividly remember being a day in art class in fifth grade where a girl made a comment to my face about always having band aids on my arms and legs. I never forgot about it. Although it was probably intentionally hurtful, I can't seem to forget it.

In sixth grade, there was a boy that I liked. We would hang out sometimes, go to the pool with my family and spend time at the beach and things like that. I still had my scars from elementary school (and even more now), and I was still self-conscious. I have that boy to thank for being filled with even more self-doubt.

One day he comes up to me after being bitten a few times by mosquitoes and saying, "Now I look like you."

Those were his exact words. I have never been a hateful person, but I despise that boy with every fiber of my being and I will never let that go.

Fast forward to present day. I have a dance that I need to attend in a couple of weeks wearing a semi-formal dress with my legs fully exposed, and just as luck has it, there's a giant gash in my right calf (it was unbelievably itchy in the shower, so all of the skin in that area came off). It became a scab and my mom saw it. Two days after it scabbed, I ripped it all off after caving in to my intrusive thoughts. It was a mess.

I want it to heal before my dance, I really do. I bit the bullet and asked her for a large bandage. When she asked why, I told her it was for my leg and now she's upset at me for peeling it. She reluctantly gave me the bandage with the comment, "I thought I told you specifically not to peel it!"

Yes, you did. I just can't seem to stop myself. No matter how much self-resentment I place on myself, not matter how many hours are spent applying pressure to my bleeding wounds, not matter how many band aids I've gone through, comments I've endured, scabs ripped from my skin, bloodied finger nails, it still happens.

You'd think after eleven years she'd realize that this is a serious problem.

She doesn't take me seriously and I don't think she ever will. I showed her a poem that I wrote about myself sometime last year, but I'm sure she's forgotten about it.

Although my skin picking is not completely gone, it's gotten better. There have been periods of months where I don't engage in it at all. Those times I figured that maybe it was something that I grew out of, but that's not the case. I currently have two open wounds (the huge one on my leg and a much smaller one between my right thumb and forefinger).

It's such a terrible condition, and I've never tried to seek help because I'm scared of not being taken seriously. I feel like I've ruined my once-clear skin for the remainder of my life and I feel alone.

I need advice to stop myself from further ruining my leg before this winter semi-formal.

Thanks for reading.

Submitted November 26, 2018 at 03:41AM by viprayla https://ift.tt/2RdM4SD