Thursday, August 02, 2007

Doing My Best to Accelerate the Aging Process

I didn’t start getting zits—for lack of a more flattering word—in my earlobes, until about eight months ago. Don’t get me wrong, puberty more than assaulted my face and back with acne. Inside, I’m still that same little girl who was asked by her mom “how [she] could live with all those zits? Then told to, “…try and shave them off with a razor blade.” I’ve had zits on my face, neck, back, chest, arms, legs, even in the mouth on occasion. But the earlobes? Never. Those sacred little ¼” awkward flaps of skin that hang off the side of my face have always been off limits, or so I thought.

My first earlobe zit, or “poisonous boil” as I referred to at the time, was a major ordeal. For a week, I was convinced that if I even looked in the direction of the swell, it would spew a poisonous stream of venom into my veins that would kill me, or cripple me for life if I was lucky.

But, it’s been a long eight months since that poisonous boil, and somewhere along the line, I came to love these little inner-earlobe zits. Disgusting I know, but as soon as I feel that little round mass starting to grow, my mouth begins to water, literally.

I long for the snap that emits from my lobe when I squeeze that pussing mass. I love to pop those little fuckers so much that I habitually tug and squeeze at my earlobes throughout the day. All day. Every day. At the rate I’m going, and assuming I make it to forty-five, my earlobes will be hanging to my knees.

And as a side note, if after reading about this disgusting compulsion you decide to never visit my blog again, I completely understand.


AnxiousAnnie said...

you arent gross.. everyone loves to pop zits.. they are just afraid to admit it


MYL said...

No, you aren't gross at all. I enjoy it too. It's so popular they made a name for it - dermatillomania! What else will they name for the sake of diagnosis, hey?


briandavidv said...

I'm a dermatillomaniac. It kind of sucks. I'm also a hypo, which sucks. I compulsively pick my skin and, should they appear, am sometimes rendered helpless in the face of squeezing a boil. The problem is, I've sometimes squeezed boils near my nose, which, apparently, if it really is a boil (and thus is a lump of hard infected skin) there is a chance that the infection will spread through the skin and bloodstream into my brain... occasionally resulting in death. Wow. Isn't that neat? So after a weak OCD moment of squeezing, I spend the rest of the day waiting to die. And if not death, then what? I rely on my brain, you know, as we all do... What functions have I blithely debauched in my sans-cerebral moment of compulsion?