Sunday, May 27, 2018

Bled into a slipper

I could see a bright shein of blood on the white back heel part of one of the good blue slippers, from a foot skin picking session that had gone too deep. I'm reminded it's a dumb habit, picking at the body, that can cause clothing or footwear damage ... from blood that should be inside the body.

The urge to painfully haul up a leg into pole position to idly pick at my foot skin is screaming at me. It's like any addicition; I want to and need to feed it. If it was cigs then I'd be on a half pack a day.

I've had this habit since a child, a symptom of stress relief my wounded sad boy brain found solace in; I can hurt myself better than the world can and I control it.

Except you don't; you've baked in a warped habit where you dance on the line of pleasure and pain because your brain has made them next door neighbours.

Maybe the cheery cherry stain will serve as a hint to curb. The research I didn't do but someone who loves me does says it's a common habit that waxes and wanes with intensity but there are things you can do that help not to do it. My dad has it, he picks his feet in bed. And he has depression as well.

So it's like I got all the crap bits from both parents with gestational skeletal malformation as a bonus track.

It's the hand I was dealt; how lucky am I to have help to keep playing.

WFTW.

UPDATE: It happened again; added blood to the same spot on the slipper. It's now a blend of scarlet and rust. Good one.

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