I'm a mono-masochist (or is it a solo-sadist?)

I enjoy the way it feels when I pull my toenails out.

I like pulling off scabs.

I like making my muscles cramp for no reason.

I enjoy the way it feels to pull slivers out of my fingers.

That's right, for some strange reason I enjoy self inflicted pain for no other reason than the way it feels. I will sit in bed, or on my sofa and feel a toenail that is too long. Any sane person would stop, get the clippers and in one motion clip that evergrowing piece of keratin. But not me. Oh no, not me. I will instead use my fingernails to pull and tug and rip at it until I get a sizable piece that is starting to come off. I will then pull at this piece. Some times it comes off so easily. Clean across and with little to no pain or blood.

But sometimes it doesn't happen like this. Some times I get the thrill of pain along with it. Maybe the nail pulls off too deep, or in somecases all the way down to the base. I feel it happening and I know what will happen if i keep pickng and pulling at it. But does that stop me? Oh no! of course not. I will hunker down and get a better grip and keep tugging until I feel it. That sickly sweet feeling of something coming out from under the quick of my toes. It's like a piercing in reverse. That slow, gradual movement out of my flesh and at the last moment the slight stinging tug of seperation.

I will look at the piece of nail in my hand and marvel at its size and how deep it goes under my skin (or went under my skin). Then the bleeding starts. I grab a kleenex, wrap it around my toe and think that that will be the last time I ever do that. Or at least it will be the last time I do it until I feel my other foot.

I also like pulling scabs out that are still strongly affixed to my healing flesh wounds. When I am in the shower I will look at a scab on the top of my hand and see that the burn is healing nicely. I will know in my mind that if I were to pick at that scab every day I would give myself yet another scar on my hands. (my left hand has 14 on it) But that doesn't stop me. I will feel along the edges of the scab and find that one part that sticks up that little bit too much. That small amount that lets me get a nail under it and will pick-pick-pick-pick at it. It comes up easily at first. No resistance. The skin underneath is pink and healed. But the more I pick, the more tender the flesh becomes. Blood will start to show on the rim where hurt and healed flesh meet and I will work at seperating the two. Then it will come that moment when I have to decide. To pull or not to pull. I know the answer is pull, but the real question is how fast? Slow, so I can savour it? Or, fast, so that the shock gets me? Each time I do it differently, but each time after the sting of the water is the same.

And no matter how much doing this stings and hurts afterwards, I keep doing it to myslef and enjoy it.

Tue Much Information

As I have confessed I have a strong desire to be a published writer, and at the same time have a fear of being judged. So instead I sit and don't write and never deal with the judgement.

I attended a conference a couple weeks ago and one of the speakers talked about writing autobiographies and the stymying fear that goes along with it. I spoke with her afterwards and she said that one of the tricks to overcoming your inner critic and fear is to just write through it.

So, I have decided that I am going to do just that. I figured the best way to avoid being judged is to just let it all out. Ergo, every Tuesday I will write something about me that many people may not know, or may find shocking. It may be something I did in the past, or just something I keep hidden. I figure if I let it all out here then there is nothing in my writing that hasn't been exposed in some form before.