Another departure from your regularly scheduled programming, which will resume soon, promise promise.
****
About a month ago, I penned-- erm, computered
this post about my ongoing problem with dermatophagia and dermatillomania. If you found this post in a search engine and haven't read that previous entry, please feel free to check it out for a bit of backstory and the like. I mentioned in that post that I was finally feeling as if I wanted to see what could come of therapy, if maybe it would be what I needed to stop my compulsive biting and picking for good.
I didn't know who to ask about treatment at first. I was unwilling to talk to my mother about it until I knew if I was actually going to go through with therapy, and even though I go to a college that's renowned for its psychology department, I wasn't really sure who to ask. I ended up spending a bit of time searching on Google for resources, which led me to the
McClean Institute, a Massachusetts psychological in-patient hospital. Of course, I am not interested in being hospitalized over my problem, so from there I simply contacted Diane Davey with a plea for help. I told her about my 12-year-long problem with biting and picking, and that I would like to find someone on the North Shore (where I am) who could help me. She gladly forwarded e-mail addresses of two behavioral specialists and a link to a list of pretty much all of the OCD doctors in MA. Pretty great, huh? Moral of that story: don't be afraid to contact a stranger if you think they might be able to help you. I don't think I would've found the link list she sent me or been as confident contacting another therapist without the reference. It took out a little of the guess work.
From there, I contacted Dr. Ronald Longpre, a Newburyport behavioral specialist who was seemingly conviently located in the exact building that my boyfriend's gastrointerologist is in. I was really comforted by his quick response to my e-mails and the inclusion of an emergency number (his personal cell phone, I believe) for current patients in his voicemail. Making the appointment went off without a hitch, and The Boy agreed to be my chauffeur to therapy (and to take me out for ice cream afterwards-- SCORE).
About an hour before the appointment, Luke (the boy) dragged me kicking and screaming to the car so that we could head off on our adventure. The idea of having to talk to a complete stranger about a problem I've tried to keep very hush-hush over the years didn't really set in until we were in the car. My stomach was doing backflips, and it was the closest to tears and/or vomiting I would be all day. Luke assured me that my first visit would probably be pretty easy, pretty light on the emotional stuff and more about my problem in and of itself. I would not hear of it, and continued to panic and wonder if I was capable of living through a jump from a moving car.
A soon as we got to the office building we thought Dr. Longpre was located in, we hit a snag. His name wasn't on any of the lists of offices within the building, so we explored. We even explored the only suite that contained a counseling service. There was no one in the suite. It was really sketchy. We then stopped into Luke's doctor's office to ask them about Dr. Longpre, but the secretaries gave us dumbfounded looks and went back to their phone calls. Great. At this point, I didn't mind, as this whole caper was taking my focus off what I had been so sure was impending doom. We located a phone book and found that the address I had for the doctor was actually an old address.
"Did you ask Dr. Longpre for his address?" Luke asked.
"Ummm... well, I looked it up online."
"But you didn't ask him to confirm it?"
"Um..."
"
Honey.""I'M SORRY!"
"Never believe the internet."
"I won't do it again I promise I'msorryIloveyoudon'tkillme!"
Moral of that story: never believe the internet. Don't be dumb like me.
Fortunately, even though we were nearly running late at this point, the actual, real, for-serious office was right down the street. We sat down in a nice little waiting room with tons of magazines and filled out some forms. Luke picked up a car magazine (he forgot to bring his DS). The doctor took me right away.
This is the part of the entry that you're probably interested in. What is the first visit to the therapist like? Well, it was surprisingly low-stress. I picked at my hands the whole time I was in the comfiest chair ever, but the questions were pretty unemotional. Dr. Longpre asked about simple things, like where I grew up, who I live with, any history of psychological treatment, etc. I talked to him about my recent paranoia about death (I kind've tend to think that if I think about horrible things that could happen, they won't happen, because they can't if I'm expecting it), though I don't know if he'll find that significant. We discussed how I feel while I bite or pick, how I feel before, how I feel after. Mostly, he seemed interested in taking stock of what the behavior actually is for me and how I feel that it operates. He asked details for any time I'd attempted to stop and how often I do the behavior (daily, almost constantly). The man seemed nice. He looked at me when I was speaking. He was wearing Converse high-tops even though he was somewhere around 50. I had to show him my fingers. We discussed why I wanted to come to him for treatment.
Then, he gave homework.
For the next two weeks (when my next appointment is), I am being asked to fill out notecards throughout the day. Every time I bite, I jot down a "B," and every time I pick, a "P" gets written down. The times I think about doing it but don't or go to do it and resist do not get written down. The good doctor says this will be helpful in quantifying how much I actually do the behaviors and will help show if any of the treatment is helping. Also, since I am sometimes unaware that I'm biting or picking, it will help me become more aware of it.
At the very end of the appointment, we discussed what we'll do in two weeks: relaxation techniques and perhaps the beginning of actual "habit removal therapy." I'll report on that, too, when the time comes so that anyone who wishes to follow this process can see what
that's like. I think that part will be a little more interesting, but I figured a lot of people would want to know what they could possibly expect on a first visit anyway.
I'm unsure of how many big ones therapy is going to run me. I'm getting billed at a later date. Oh boy.
So, IN CONCLUSION (
yes, AP English teachers, I just said that) this visit wasn't too stressful. I got ice cream afterwards. That was the best part. Luke, are you reading this? I am now expecting ice cream every time we go to the therapist, kthanks. Seriously, the coffee oreo was great. The little ice cream place near his house gives HUGE portions, but most importantly, they put sprinkles on top of the ice cream
and at the bottom of the cup. Brilliant.
****
When I first started looking for resources about my condition(s), I felt lost. I couldn't really find much of the information I was looking for. I'm hoping that writing about this process will be a positive addition to what little is out there about dermatophagia and/or dermatotillomania. Additionally, if anyone reading this would like to contact me about dermatophagia/dermatotillomania/therapy/whatever it may be, don't be shy. You can get me at vformato@clarku.edu.
