Picking my stress away

I'm not sure when it began. I remember doing it last time I felt so depressed I wanted to just end everything. I was, once again, very overweight and alone in my life.


This time was different. I had two babies. The boy was 2 and a half and the girl had just turned one. I was going through a nasty divorce with their father. Well, as nasty as a divorce can get without loads of money in New York City. I had discovered a small pimple on my right side of my butt. I picked it off. It bled a little. A few days later, when it had scabbed over, I picked it again. The sense of releif and release was great. I forgot how good this could feel. Somehow I found another one and repeated the process. I eventually had four really good scabs on my butt now and kept opening them up, with such exhiliaration. My underwear had little round blood stains. In New York City, we send out laundry out. But I didn't care.

Then one weekend my husband had the kids and a friend convinced me to get a spray on tan, because she was going to be in a wedding. I was mortified to show my scars/scabs in person, so I opted for the half body. The technician still wanted me to put on the paper thong. I stood there, pretty much naked, getting sprayed this freezing cold spray. She told me to turn around. I didn't want to. Thought of a million excuses to just have the front done, but because she wasn't American, I was less embarrassed. (Oh god! If I had to face a girl in her 20's I really would have been mortified. We tipped her well and left.

A few days later, I felt some pimples growing on my back. Probably from the spray tan, I wasn't good at exfoliating. I picked and picked them. Now they are one inch slashes on my back, I have 5 or 6. I pick them regularly. It hurts, sometimes a lot when the scab isn't completely dry. I thought using Mario Badescu special healing powder would help heal and disinfect the wounds, but it just made them dry up faster to get back to the picking.

I am stuck in this compulsive, self loathing place. Every few days, sometimes every day, I must pick these scabs. I'm sure my skin in ruined, the scars will be there forever. My son saw me do this and said "Mama, owie, mama boo boo." I don't want to teach him that this is okay. I cry and cry about it but I cannot stop. I am trapped in this hell and can't get out. I keep telling myself I have to for the sake of my kids. Oprah's show said, children will treat themselves not how you treat them, but how you treat yourself. Oh god my kids are in trouble. I overeat, pick until the pain is so great I actually cry out. Bloody tissues all over. I hate myself. I loathe who I have become. And yet I see no way out.