Years wasted with this...

I've had excoriation/dermatillomania ever since elementary school. The drive to be perfect - worth being proud of - is what makes me do this to myself. At night when I'm forced to reflect over the day's events I remember all of the painful memories I'd tried to suppress. |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Perhaps one day I'll be able to forgive my father for his neglect and abuse. Perhaps one day I'll forgive my mother for choosing her mentally incapacitating disease over her own very real daughter. Perhaps one day I'll forgive the world and society for its constantly condemning views of appearance and personality. Perhaps one day I will forgive myself for not being who everyone else wants me to be. One day, perhaps. But not today. |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| This is why I pick.