I’ve never been diagnosed with dermatillomania. Also known as the skin picking disorder. Yet it has been there, largely unnoticed, largely unaddressed since I was about nine. I mean most kids pick at their acne, I get that. But for me it definitely became a nervous habit to scratch and pick at my face and scalp (sometimes arms, shoulders, boobs too) when I was anxious. I suffered quite a lot when I had my first breakdown in my twenties. I used to have a huge perm in those days (didn’t everyone in the 90s?) and I remember my hairdresser sending me away one day because she wouldn’t apply the perm lotion on account of the open sore I’d created on my scalp.

The disorder was fairly dormant after I came out of that prolonged period of depression. It wasn’t until I was unwell again in my mid forties that it reappeared, this time with a more intentional twist. Not just that absent minded picking without really being aware, but deliberately scratching and digging at my arms until they bled as a form of self harm. It gave me a new option when I didn’t have a sharp instrument to hand.

But again it improved as my mental health stabilised. Until recently that is. On top of attempting to get my head around Tier 4 and Lockdown mk III, I have had other challenges that have tipped my anxiety to a level where I’ve come to the unpleasant realisation that I’m picking again. Primary on my face, a little on my scalp. I look like I’ve been glue sniffing thanks to the sores around my mouth and chin. Kind of relieved we can’t go out right now because I look a state. And because I was doing it subconsciously it took a little time for me to fully notice.

So what happened since Christmas Eve when I last wrote? Two significant things. Firstly the gentleman I had been messaging disappeared for four days, reappeared for one text before disappearing again until today. I really do not understand what part of ‘I need really robust communication and loads of reassurance’ guys don’t grasp. I have EUBPD. Never leave me wondering. It’s dangerous. My imagination is only capable of the catastrophic in the absence of verifiable information. However he did apologise today and I explained again why he can’t just disappear if he actually wants to be with me, more than just online. Hopefully it sank in.

And then there was also a particular friendship, that had rather innocuously become more difficult. Words like toxic, manipulative and draining come to mind. I found myself dreading picking up my phone of a morning, because if they hadn’t already messaged before I woke, you could 100% guarantee the minute I opened Facebook or Messenger this friend would appear with their daily dose of drama and woe. I feel mean being this way, but I realise now how much they have been getting me down lately. And actually I’m understating the extent of what I have been through with them. Too often after worrying me sick, they’d post a perfectly filtered, smiling selfie on Facebook, spouting some positivity crap like nothing had happened. They may be able to fool themselves, their friends, and move on but as an empath I’d still be dealing with the after effects of their spin. I’ve had to create space between us. I don’t know yet if it will be permanently, but I have a huge amount of healing to do currently. Not just down to them, by any stretch of the imagination, but the friendship was exhausting and it was one sided. I can’t keep giving from an empty well.

I guess things just crept up on me. I knew my anxiety was pretty bad but it was only when I realised my dermatillomania had resurfaced and I looked in the mirror at my horrible scabby face that I fully realised I’m probably struggling a bit more than I thought. I couldn’t bring myself to turn my camera on at our choir Zoom meeting yesterday. I’m ashamed of how I look. And it’s been years since it’s been problematic, it feels like such a backward step.

I can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of 2020, and I’m very aware I’m not alone in that. Aside from the two spells in my life when I’ve been acutely unwell, and the period immediately after being widowed, it’s right up there on the leaderboard of difficult times. Previously when I have been this mentally unwell I have had the support of the community mental health team. This year I have gone it alone, apart from the support of my son, a handful of close friends and the locum GP from our surgery, who did her absolute best to both support me and get me additional help (sadly with minimal success). So I’m kind of half heartedly giving myself a pat on the back for surviving. Even if that’s all I’ve done.

I would never assume the start of a new year is going to somehow cosmically improve our fates overnight. But I do pray the coming year will be more bearable and positive for all of us. I wish you peace, happiness and health. Thank you for reading 👼🏻