Tag Archives: dermatillomania

Not only depressed…now depressed and scabby, too!

I’m not feeling very good tonight. I’m tired, and I’m depressed. My rent is due on the 1st and, as per usual, I have made nowhere near enough money. I should have worked this weekend, and fully intended to, but I only saw one client, and just couldn’t be bothered seeing anybody today. This would all be fine if I had actually purposefully chosen to take a day off, and had filled it with fun, relaxing activities, but instead Midwestern Man and I just wasted time, lying about in bed, walking with the dogs to get tacos and sangría, and then walking somewhere else later to get fries. This sounds like a nice, relaxing day, doesn’t it?, but this is all our relationship entails…walking pointlessly and randomly to get something to eat somewhere….and, oh, yeah, watching “Deadwood” on the sofa and drinking wine. The only reason I go along with such slacker-like aimlessness is because I never allow myself to have any “official” time off so my poor body and brain just malfunction and grab any rest they can at inappropriate times. It would be much better to take designated days off and schedule interesting, meaningful activities, but somehow I never manage to do that.

I’m also feeling pretty angry at Midwestern Man right now. Why the fuck can’t he ever organize something fun and interesting for us to do? He could say “Well, we always end up wasting time on Sundays, even though we say we’ve got stuff to do, so why don’t we take a nice day trip somewhere?” Anything! Anything! Anything just to break the fucking monotony of our relationship. I know I could try to organize something, too, but it would just be nice for him to surprise me occasionally.

My husband’s idea of fun is having sex on Sundays, talking, lolling about in bed for hours, and then having sex again. In the meantime, I’ll be starving because we won’t have had anything to eat all day and I’ll be dying of fucking boredom because I stay in my house every SINGLE fucking day, and the last thing I want to do on my days off is lie in bed.

I’ve had yet another pointless, aimless Sunday and my house is a fucking mess because I didn’t clean it, as I should have done. It’s the same thing every fucking Sunday. My house is never ready for the new week…dishes in the sink; the made unmade after sex; the washing not done; the pet bowls not cleaned etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc etc. The chaos of my house just mirrors the chaos of my brain.

The worst thing is my bed. MM sweated all over it during sex today, and now there are three animals lying on it asleep. “Bed” is not the word for it. It’s a collection of filth and dirt! But I don’t have the energy to get up and change the sheets. What’s the point in having clean sheets, anyway, if I haven’t hoovered the carpet, cleaned the litterbox, picked all the stuff off the floor and filed away all the papers strewn all over my desk?

If all this wasn’t bad enough, I have also picked so much at a spot on my face that there’s now a scab there. Luckily, the scab is directly across from my left eye, right next to my hair line, so my hair covers it. This is the first time I have ever picked so relentlessly at something which is technically on my face. Usually, I pick at places on my scalp. I know there’s a condition called “dermatillomania”, which is basically just the constant picking of scabs, and it would appear that I have a mild form of this. It has never got out of control, and you’d never be able to tell that I pick at stuff by just looking at me, as I usually just confine myself to my scalp. I’m lucky that I’ve never got a bad infection, as I will sometimes stick pins in the wound to get a particularly difficult piece of the scab off. Yes, I know, I’m gross.

It’s good that I don’t have a severe form of this condition but sometimes I think my main problem in life is that I have a wee bit of everything in a mild form. Right now, I have an irrational, intense hatred and disgust for MM, and I swing all the time between this and loving him. On my old blog, I wrote about how I think I have a mild version of Borderline Personality Disorder, and I’m pretty sure my mother does, too. There are so many aspects of my personality and behaviour, which could be explained by a Borderline Personality Diagnosis, but the symptoms in my case are relatively mild, so there’s not much incentive to seek help.

I don’t think that I’m an alcoholic, but I suspect that my terrible, despairing mood tonight is because I had a lot (for me) to drink this week: a couple of bottles of cider; a bottle of wine; a margarita and a sangría. If I drink for two nights in a row, I’ll feel the way I do now. Tomorrow morning, though, I’ll probably be back to normal mood-wise, so I’ll forget about how depressed alcohol makes me. Once again, there just isn’t the incentive to stop drinking completely or limit myself to a couple of drinks on a Saturday night.

It’s hard for me to change my behaviour because I don’t have one big thing fucking up my life in a huge, disastrous way. I know it’s crazy to say this, but I almost wish I was an out-and-out alcoholic, for example, and could hit rock bottom, so I would finally be able to say “OK, there is really something wrong with me. and I need help, or I can’t continue”.