Dermatillomania. It is a plague. It causes me to bleed and my skin to puncture. Puss seeps through the bloody craters in my face and I feel as unattractive as a girl can feel. I want someone to love me. I want to be free. I thought I would be free by now. I thought I would be okay. I thought I would learn. But I have this plague that murders me from the outside in and inside out. Slowly it devours every last strand of confidence that I bear.
I want to be free but is that realistic? Is it realistic for anything to just end? Just end without a reason or a will? No, I need to do this. But that doesn’t mean I can do it all by myself. I need help. I need freedom. This must end.
Procrastination is a disease. It eats through me slowly, weaning me away from my tasks. It drains me of my energy and keeps me from doing the things I really enjoy. I am broken. I need fixed. I need life. I cry out but I feel as if I cannot fix myself. I am broken, but I am not alone.