I apologize in advance if this is only tangentially related to self-harm; it's about scars and it might be triggering, so I didn't know what other forum it should go in. So, I scratch and pick at myself. Like I've said before, it's not directly related to self-harm, but it still leaves me with scars. I mostly use tweezers, so my scars are roundish -- they're not really distinctive of SH; it probably looks more like a skin disease than most. I also work in my mother's salon, so I'm surrounded all day by people who know a lot about skin care. I guess my mother is concerned about keeping up the salon's image, because for some reason, she feels constantly entitled to make these weird comments about my appearance. To our employees and clients, no less. It's bad enough when she says stuff like, "Andrea's wearing tacky eyeshadow today," or "Oh, Andrea always does a terrible job of curling her hair." But she just absolutely, totally crosses the line when she grabs my arm, shows it to the person, and says, "Look at Andrea's arms; aren't they icky? She picks herself like a little kid, even though I tell her not to! I give her mircoderm treatments, but nothing works because she just keeps doing it!" At this point, the person she's talking to usually looks away, totally grossed out and embarrassed, and I mumble some lie about having allergies that give me breakouts. Why does she do that? Even if it wasn't absolutely humiliating to me, it's inappropriate (not to mention disgusting) to discuss the receptionist's skin condition in a salon -- if I had, idk, psoriasis or something, nobody would mention it (or else I could sue if they did). Does she want to punish me for embarrassing her? Use negative reinforcement to get me to stop? Is it supposed to be some kind of weird self-deprecation for the business, where I'm supposed to moan about how ugly I am and how I need more services, so customers will want more services? I absolutely don't get it. It's just another thing that makes me feel like my body is public property. God FUCKING damn it. I paint and wax and dye and starve myself, trying to make the outside look acceptable, hoping that if I can fix the outside, then maybe some of it will leak through and help the inside a little -- and it's still all for nothing. I still look disgusting. I offend people with my presence. I wish I wasn't there at all.