First of all, I think you hear it a lot: sorry for my English.
It’s been quite a while that I suffer from skin picking. And as you must know, it’s not easy at all. Some people that know about my disorder, thinks the same way: That I can simply stop, with a blink of an eye. But for me, a 23 year old Brazilian woman, the simply idea of hanging out with someone, even for a walk in a park or going to the mall in a sunny day seems to be horrifying. They can only imagine what it feels like to be all covered up when the forecast shows the weather is hot like hell. When I wake up, the first thing that comes into my mind is that I’m alone and I don’t picture myself having a relationship with anyone, because the scars have made me feel less like a woman and more like an aberration, and then the questions would show up: What have I done to myself? What it would feel to show my legs to the world? Is there any cure? Is there anyone that is able to love me the way I look now? It started around 10 years ago, and I can imagine why it did. I’ve always been sentimental, in each and every department of my life. Every time that a discussion between my parents had happened, or a broken heart, I would fell free when I started scratching my nails on my face or picking my legs until it bleeds. I thought it was just some kind of a mania that would disappear soon. But the years started to go further and the mania became a habit. I started to lose precious time, like going to the beach and wearing a bikini or a skirt. I used to have so many dreams such as travelling abroad, visiting places where I could cover myself and nobody would ask why the hell I feel cold and I wouldn’t just smirk and suffer in silence. It is awful to not to be aware of the real life, having no friends and no lover, just because I don’t like what I’ve become and what I see when I look at the mirror. I really like the way I learned, in my lonely years, to watch things and realize that every single good feeling, even if it comes from something or someone that is considered ugly is too much more beautiful and precious than the ones that paint their faces, just like wearing a mask and fooling themselves. Today, as I wake up I thought of how dying would relief me, but now I know that curing myself means to walk a lonely path, and it has to come from the inside first. Thank you very much, and I hope you achieve the cure, as well, because you are beautiful and you deserve it!