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I'm 23 years old, my name is Michael. I have destroyed my skin and my social life by using my hands to pick all over my face, back, arms, butt... I've known it's a problem since I came across dermatillomania a few years ago, but it's only gotten worse. I can't wear short sleeve shirts without exposing the wounds on my arms. Each harm has 100-200 scars ranging in size from a small pen mark to a dime. It's really ugly. I'll post some pictures if you guys want to see, lol :) I try to stay positive, but the truth is that in the last 2 years I've destroyed my body and completely ruined my social life. I can't go out anymore. I was a handsome guy and now I'm just riddled with wounds and scars. It's started to make me depressed. Also, it induces stress and I'm afraid of what that will do to my heart and brain in the long run. Parts of me look like someone has taken a cheesegrader to my skin. I know a lot of people have CSP, but it seems very rare to have it to my extent. Especially considering that I've only been picking for a few years, I have done a rediculous amount of damage. I'm afraid I'll never again be able to do the things I used to love... like swimming, or even just hanging out on a nice summer day with my sleeves rolled up, or even just sitting around with friends without having to constantly be checking to make sure my scars / wounds aren't on full display. It's at the point that I don't hang out with my friends, and I don't bother trying to make new friends. I just keep trying to wait it out, but it only gets worse and worse. I'm afraid, and I don't know what to do. I have very little control over it. Sure there are times when I can bring myself to control it, but it's such a rollercoaster that it's impossible to avoid. The other day I was with my parents and gave my dad a hug, I was wearing a short sleeve shirt (which I now hate doing, even though I used to love rocking tank tops) and when I extended my arms my Mom saw my upper arms for the first time in god knows how long. She responded with some fear, saying "Oh my god Michael what happened to your arms?" I managed to play it off by just saying "oh it's nothing, they're fine" and she kind of gave me a look like "uhhh are you sure" but then I left the room, thankfully I was occupied with something else to get me away. I'm not sure if she "knows" or not. At this point it doesn't really matter, the damage has been done. Now that I keep typing, I'm not sure why I'm even posting this. I guess, desperation. I know I'm not alone, but I don't think most people have it as bad as me. Each of my arms looks like hell. You could draw hundreds of different constellation patterns between the scar pock marks. It's bad, really bad. To make things worse I've become inactive and don't like to go outside unless it's night time because of how bad it looks in the sun. I dream of escaping to a place where I can just take my shirt off and there will be nobody around to look at me, where I can just let the sun beat down on me and heal my wounds. A place where I can go swimming in a lake or a pool without having to worry about what people will think. I really wish I could find a place to heal, all on my own. I know this is impossible though, and everyday I wake up with one or two more scars and one or two more scabs, just adding to the total. It is painful, shameful, embarassing, chlidish, stupid, all of the above. And yet I am a prisoner to it. I fear so badly that I will never be the person I want to be, because of this. Please, help me.