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Lily19 , 21 Feb 2013

Picked Tonight...Again

I can pinpoint it to a moment in a middle school bathroom, when I looked at myself and saw the marks covered up from the evening before. At the time I thought hey, this isn't so bad, it covered up well. I touched at the spots until someone walked in and immedaitely felt embarassed. It's this false comfort, that I can cover anything up, that has led me to today. My face is ruined. And what will I do? Wake up tomorrow and cover it with makeup that I find no comfort in anymore. It's more shameful than ever. The streaks of "Ivory" Sephora makeup seem to disgust me more than the flaky scabs underneath. Since age 13, I have lived each day caring about my face a little too much. But a perfectionist isn't an average person, which is who I am, through and through. I strive for nothing but sheer perfection. And yet I make my own imperfections. This is the irony I live with everyday. I'm a college freshmen now. I pray to God, Buddha, whoever is up there to just give me the strength to love myself, but it's the one thing that I can't manage to do. My family is beyond supportive. My boyfriend loves me. I have been called beautiful my whole life. I did amazing in high school, and have somehow managed perfect grades my first semester. And I completely and utterly hate myself. Are there any other perfectionists and over-achievers out there dealing with the same thing? Or maybe it's just me. What is wrong with me? Sorry if this is whiny, or rant-ish. I apologize, but instead of taking a 30 day no pick challenge, I'm going to try writing for 30 days. Hopefully it will help me solve something about myself.
1 Answer
February 21, 2013
You are not alone. I live with the same irony daily. I have always been a leader and perfectionist among my family and friends, but only a few of them know what I hide beneath my capris. I am a Junior in college and I pick at little bumps on my thighs, usually caused from dry skin and shaving. What I find most disappointing is when I am finally able to stop for a few weeks but then I pick at one. It is like in that moment all the hard work in resisting goes out the window and the flood gates open for an hour, maybe two. I have no words to help you because I am searching to find my own, but maybe it is enough to tell you that you are not alone.

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