A Pop Pimples: A Short Story

Improved Essays
If you’re squeamish, turn back. This isn’t a good place for you to be. If not, well, it’s possible that I’m going to change that. So listen up and listen quickly. It’ll be over before you know it.
I used to love popping zits.
There were days where all I could do was stand in front of my bathroom mirror and pop what pimples dared to show on my skin. The problem was, as far as my face goes, I have almost none there. But when it came to my body, there were quite a few problem areas I could attack. Hey, when you’re desperate, you’re desperate. Honestly, looking back now, it was a compulsion, not a hobby. Dermatillomania. Skin-picking disorder.
/My friends were into it, too. We used to share videos on the internet, really fucked up pictures and
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But humans are naturally curious and drawn to disgusting things. Why do you think horror exists? And I’m human, at least, I’m fairly certain I am. You can’t sit there and say you’ve never looked up something weird on a whim. It would be a lie, right? But I digress.
One of my favorite places to pop pimples was my back. Sometimes, I would have really pressurized zits pop up and it would feel so fantastic to hear and feel the “pop” of success. I wouldn’t even need a mirror – even though seeing it would have been great – just the sound and sensation was enough for me. My other favorite place was my pubic mound. Being a female and having to endure the harsh criticism of society as far as pubic hair goes, I have shaved there several times. I don’t anymore, but that’s beside the point. Often, within a day of shaving, razor burn would appear and I would pop any pimples that
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Back to the back.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was sixteen years old, and my school day had been absolute shit. As soon as I stepped through the door of my home, I wanted to pop pimples like a smack freak newly in rehab wants another hit. I charged into bathroom, pulled off my shirt, and decided to go straight to my back.
Turning around to see in the mirror, I saw a couple of freakishly large ones between my shoulderblades. Turning back around to face the mirror, I felt with my right hand for the first bump. Finding it, I placed my fingers on either side and pressed down. It took a lot more pressure than usual, but it popped. What I had assumed at the moment to be pus dripped down my hand and I sighed with relief. Except…huh?
There was something on my hand and it wasn’t moving. I brought my hand in front of my body to see what it was, and-
You always hear those urban legends or real life stories about various critters living under our skin.
For example, I once knew a girl who had come back from some country in Africa after a vacation. She had to go to the emergency room because she had felt something moving in her scalp when she showered. At the ER, the doctor had to split open bumps with a knife and remove these strange worms. Botfly larvae, if I’m not mistaken. Three larvae in total. To this day, she always has a minor anxiety attack when she feels something on her scalp that isn’t

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