My skin picking is a compulsion that I cannot stop. It flairs up when my anxiety is bad, but even when I am not nervous I usually fixate on a bump or scar or existing boo boo and can't leave it alone. I don't want to do it but I can't make myself stop until it's bad. It is very embarrassing because sometimes I feel the compulsion to pick my face or bite my nails in public but it is viewed as a very unhygienic bad habit. Most people don't understand that it isn't a habit.

Will work on the title nonetheless! Thanks!
Kelsey

I have a definite fear of suffocating/choking and the worst feeling is having dry bread stuck in my mouth/throat. I feel like I can't drink enough to wash it down. I have to have PB sammichs with milk because a cup of water/juice/soda will not wash it down well enough. My problem is that I love PB so much. American PB is very sweet compared to in over places and it is addicting, but I can't ever bring a PB sammich in my lunch because nowhere sells milk at school.

I don't know how people can have like choking sex fantasies. They gonna die!

Will work on some imagery and word choice ideas over the weekend if I can and I will get back to y'all.

PS: Google is not giving me any pertinent results for either of your symptom terms. Do I need to look in a psych manual or something like that?

Kelsey

Thanks so much for the suggestions. The dermatillomania is just one facet of my anxiety problems. This poem could absolutely apply to a lot of different mental conditions related to anxiety or stress, so please don't worry about misinterpretation!

I noted in the last word section that I feel dissatisfied with the poem. One thing is that I feel like it is an angst-y, whiny poem. I feel like it's not really doing anything useful for other people who experience mental illness. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it may help people who don't deal with mental illness understand a little more, which could inadvertently help people with mental illness because the "normal" people around them could have more compassion and less stigma. Maybe not.

I don't like to write poems that have one right or wrong interpretation. If there is a message here that resonates with you in some meaningful way, then I've succeeded, in my opinion. That's the only reason I didn't define dermatillomania. It's not about me divulging to y'all that I use way too many bandaids and way too much antibiotic ointment because I can't stop scratching and picking my own skin, hair, and nails. It's because I want anyone whose ever felt like they weren't in control of their own emotions or thoughts to know that I feel that way too and they aren't alone.

I hope this answer helps.

Thank you for taking the time for this honest comment. I know this isn't any easy topic to discuss.

Take care,
Kelsey

Thanks so much for being here!

Thanks for taking the time to read. No need to apologize, though! I was born severely premature and have always been sickly. I'm used to it all. Meanwhile, my twin brother's as big and strong as an ox and never had any health problems. That jerk.

Thank you so much for the kind affirmations,
Kelsey

Thanks for stopping by. My parents, brother, and many other family members smoke. I never did, but even to this day my clothes smell like it and I find nicotine stains on clothes that have hung in the closet for too long. It doesn't bother me too much until I go somewhere where there aren't a lot of smokers around or no smoking inside (all public places in NC now, by law). That's when I can smell it on all of us. It doesn't seem to bother them, but always embarrassed me.

My mom has actually finally quit and it seems like for good. She quit while she was pregnant with my brother and I, so over 24 years ago. Then quit again for a few months following a major surgery. About two years ago she switched to an e-cig and slowly worked herself down to no nicotine in it, just basically flavoring. Eventually she got to the point she just mostly wanted something to hold. Then she just kept it in her purse. Even if she didn't use it all day, as long as it was there and she knew it was there she was okay. As soon as she misplaced it, she got the intense cravings and stressed about having it. Now it stays in her bedside table and she doesn't use it or carry it at all.

She is 56 and smoked since she was about 10 (very common for rural North Carolina because tobacco has long been one of our biggest agricultural products). So over forty years of smoking and she quit. Dad is in the same boat (started as a literal child) but won't make the switch because he can't find a flavor that suits him, which just seems like a lousy excuse to me. Brother didn't start until after he was already grown. Don't know why he picked it up after a lifetime of our parent's begging us to never start.

I am going to give myself a few days without looking at the poem to try to come back to it with fresh eyes.

Kelsey