Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson

much of one for cosmetic enhancements or additions. I don’t understand the need to stuff yourself with Botox, or implants, or collagen injections; however, I can completely understand the urge to strip stuff away in the name of beauty. I am a sucker for PedEggs, getting the fat pummeled out of you with high-frequency radio waves, wraps that make you sweat out your toxins, and cleanses that make you shit out your colon. Somehow that all seems healthier to me. Or at least more likely to make me less of who I am. Which is probably pretty unhealthy, now that I think about it.
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    I think I may need to call my shrink to tell her I just had a breakthrough. Hang on.
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    Okay, I’m back. Turns out that my shrink sends all her calls to her answering service after ten p.m. and they were disappointingly unimpressed with my epiphany about why I have dermatillomania. Probably because they don’t even know what dermatillomania is. In fact, even spell-check doesn’t know what it is and when I asked it for suggestions it just said “ LEARN SPELLING. ” Which is both rude and unhelpful, spell-check. Dermatillomania is an impulse control disorder that makes you want to scratch your skin off. It flares up when I’m stressed out and I find myself scratching at any imperfections. I usually pick at my scalp until it won’t stop bleeding, or at my thumb, which is now permanently deformed from years of self-damage. It’s sort of shitty and I don’t recommend it.
    I’ve found healthier ways of dealing with this need to pick my skin off, like wrapping my fingers with tape, or coating my hair with coconut oil so it reminds me not to unconsciously scratch. I’ve also found not-so-healthy ways, like when I heard about “microdermabrasion,” which I suspect is Latin for “I want to pull off your skin and turn it into a jacket.” My dermatologist sent me an e-mail about it, saying something about how my new skin was suffocating underneath layers of my old, dead skin, and I suddenly felt like I was wearing a mask of dust mites and dirt. I needed to have this done immediately and I couldn’t go alone.
    â€œSO THERE’S THIS NEW THING I HEARD ABOUT WHERE THEY RIP YOUR SKIN OFF,” I may have screamed over the phone to my friend Laura.
    She was silent for a bit and so I explained, “ BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU PRETTIER. ”
    She still seemed slightly unconvinced so I continued. “I got a coupon for this microdermabrasion thingie. As I understand it, they rip off your face skin to make you look nice. I don’t know what they have against face skin but apparently it’s very out of style. Much like pubic hair. And Gwyneth Paltrow.”
    â€œ What does everyone have against Gwyneth? ” Laura asked, slightly annoyed.
    We’d gotten off track. Clearly I wasn’t describing this right. I continued: “Laura, they rub your face off using DIAMONDS . It’s like a giant FUCK-YOU to the homeless. Like, I’M USING DIAMONDS TO RIP MY OWN FACE OFF. That’s how little I care for diamonds or my face . Except that personally I plan to keep my bloody diamond waste and strain it out like the miners do when they pan for gold. That way I get a pan full of diamonds and some face skin. IT’S ALMOST LIKE THE FACE RIPPERS ARE PAYING ME TO DO THIS. Plus, you get a skin consultation and analysis so basically you get your face ripped off and then they tell you how shitty you look. But that’s the price of beauty. That and forty-five dollars with Groupon. Apparently.”
    â€œWait a second,” Laura replied. “So I’m paying to have someone rip off my face and then shame me ? It’s like this was made for women. COUNT ME IN.”
    â€œ Right? ” I said. “They’ll probably bring people in off the street to laugh at us. It’s gonna be like high school all over again. WHO SAYS NO TO