So I Suck

I haven’t blogged in a very long time. Nearly a year. Let’s just say some new aspects of having an obsessive compulsive brain have arrived in my life, and it’s taken every ounce of my everything to beat them back down.

Well mostly down.

Sort of.

One day a feeeeew lots of months ago, it suddenly clicked in my brain that I was going to die.

I know. So shocking right? A living organism bound by natural law will eventually parish.

And even though I’ve always technically known this, and even though I think I believe in some form of afterlife, holy shit did this just fuck my brain from one end to the other. Which, my brain only being a few inches from left to right, doesn’t seem so bad, but I assure you it was.

All the sudden everything seemed fucking pointless, but also absolutely unavoidably important at the same time. I started having panic attacks again that made my chest feel like it was going to explode. I started waking up in the middle of the night sobbing. I started questioning EVERYTHING.

And fuck did it take a long time to get some semblance of control over this.

I woke up every day, and multiple times a day, literally, sat and told myself (inside my head because yeah, I don’t need to make myself seem crazier than I already seem)
“Yeah you’re going to die. Get over it. No! No, stop obsessing. Stop. Stop. Stop. Fucking stop! Think about something else. Like kittens. Stop it. Stop it. Seriously fucking stop it. Stooooop!”

And I did this every day until eventually…

“Yeah you’re going to die. Get over it. No! No, stop obsessing. Stop. Stop. Stop. Fucking stop! Think about something else. Like kittens. Stop! Kittens… Kittens are nice but… STOP!!!”

And then…

“Yeah you’re going to die. Get over it. No! No, stop obsessing. Stop. Stop. Stop. Fucking stop! Think about something else. Like kittens. Yeah kittens are pretty fucking awesome. Let’s YouTube cute kitten videos”

So on and so forth until I don’t have to do it every day or at least not more than once or twice. But you want to know what’s extra fucking awesome?

When I’m stressed, bored, or worried I pick. At scabs. At scars. At my head. At my fingers. At my general skinny skin bits. And you know what’s really bad for a compulsive picker? Constantly worrying about inevitably dying.

At first I didn’t notice I was picking more. It starts off with just a couple spots. Mostly they look like this…

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That is, thankfully, one of the few I have left. And thankfully it’s on my leg and not a more noticeable part of my body…. Like where the rest were.

I play with my necklace all the time…. As it turns out, I also alternate between that, and scratching at my chest, like under my collar bone and above my breasts. For the last two months, I’ve looked like this…

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And then they all got infected. Yeah.
And no matter how much I told myself to stop scratching, id look down and realize that not only was a scratching, I was actively bleeding from it.

So, now that I’m not slowly scraping my own flesh away while pondering my impending doom. I’ll try to do better readers.

Sorry.