Trichotillomania
I've been thinking about doing an in-depth post about this for a while. It's gotten really bad as of late... really, really bad... the worst it's ever been. Strangely my attitude is that of contentment, but maybe that's just it... I'll get to that in a bit.
Wikipedia (which I do consider a reliable source, mind you; not with statistics or quotable information, but just as a place to get a general idea of something) states that trichotillomania is defined as "'hair loss from a patient's repetitive self-pulling of hair' and is characterized by the repeated urge to pull out scalp hair, eyelashes, facial hair, nose hair, pubic hair, eyebrows or other body hair, sometimes resulting in noticeable bald patches."
It's monstrous, I know. Don't remind me. But I guess in order to do this correctly I should just start with my personal history and then go on to explain the events that led up to it and how I was feeling at the time.
It started near the end of 5th grade and I didn't really take much notice of it... nobody did, really. In 6th grade, after the lovely gift of glasses and braces were bestowed upon me, it really started to take effect. There were noticeable patches that other kids asked me about. Near the end of 6th grade it moved to my eyelashes as well. I also got a hair cut in 6th grade that was not flattering at all, to put it nicely, so... I looked strange. You don't ever really see a truly ugly person out on the street, but I was the exception. My self-esteem suffered throughout 6th grade for reasons that I'll explain in a minute, but it was the lowest it had ever been all throughout 7th as my eyebrows became patchier and patchier. I went to see a therapist at the end of 7th grade and then somehow picked out the hairs that made up the bottom part of the patches. From a distance, it looked like my eyebrows were perfectly normal, although a little on the thin side. Throughout that summer I semi-resisted the urge to pick and they grew back out semi-normally. 8th grade was a good year for pretty much every aspect that I had been lacking in, both emotionally and mentally (are they the same?), and although I was still shy, things were definitely different. People treated me differently... like I was worth something. And then 9th grade rolled around and the first semester was just like 8th grade, and then some more things changed and I started having all these weird emotional crazy bits starting from about February up until now. But just in the last few weeks I've really done some damage.
It's terribly hard to explain, so try to follow me. You know how when you are eating something delicious, like ice cream, and you tell yourself "just one more bite" and then that turns into 7 or 8 more before you put the carton away? It's like that. Pulling doesn't hurt at all; not because there aren't any nerve endings there, but that the pleasure outweighs the pain. I feel good when I pull out a hair, especially a thick one. It releases endorphins for me.
Trichotillomania has been linked to obsessive-compulsive disorder, which I do have. I set my drinking glasses down several times so that every side of the cup touches the table at the same time... I will brush my teeth a certain number of times on each side until it feels "right." I have packrat tendencies and have thoughts about getting hit by cars... attacking people sometimes. What it would feel like. I've been diagnosed and it's not fun. But I reach up to my eyebrows almost out of habit and brush my fingers against them, feeling for a patch of hairs that don't feel "right," and if they feel wrong, I pull them out. There's a perverse sense of horror and fascination that I get when I glance at the hair that I pull out - I always check to see what came out, if anything. And it's hard to stop after just one, which goes with the ice cream analogy. I have to keep pulling until each hair is gone of that bunch or I feel incomplete... dirty and unfinished and wrong. I've told people it's like there's an itching in my brain that I can't scratch unless I do this, and it makes me antsy if I'm interrupted. I can concentrate on nothing but stopping myself from not doing it, which is hard if I'm writing something down or talking to someone on the phone, when my hands aren't busy doing something else.
So there's my history and what it feels like to pull... and I know that this is strange, really I do. "Individuals with OCD are aware that their thoughts and behavior are not rational, but they feel bound to comply with them to fend off feelings of panic or dread." Exactly exactly exactly.
I've always been obsessive-compulsive, but I was also a tomboy, and around 5th grade I realized that I was a girl (if you want to put it that way). I had a unibrow at the time (damn genetics), and I supposed that the only rational thing to do was to make that go away if I wanted to be liked. I think that once I started messing with that, the OCD took over and kept the trich up. I don't really like to think about it so much now, but I used to think I was depressed... I wasn't, I think. I was just so ridiculously self-conscious, and most of what I felt still lingers today. So many eyes. I used to be smart and raise my hand and be proud to be knowledgeable of things... suddenly that became almost a crime in middle school. But I was still an outcast either way, no matter what I did or didn't do, and I wish I had realized that sooner and stopped caring so much. In 7th grade I lost that desire to fit in because it was just too much to hope for, really. I wanted people to stop looking at me so horribly. They mostly couldn't meet my eye, and when they did...
It's surprising to me how my personal attitude about this disorder has changed over the years. At first I didn't know what was going on and was just so confused all the time, but now I'm just... meh. I don't really invest so much time in others' opinions anymore. I think that's just with growing older and accepting this part of myself, which I never could have done a few years ago. I have people that care about me and that's enough. I can see my trich from a point where it never seems that bad, and to be honest, it's not the end of the world. I used to wear my heart on my face. I don't anymore... I gave it away to people who would take care of it. My wants and needs have changed.
After the therapy sessions ended and I received my accidental temporarily-normal life, I did start to see myself as pretty. My entire outlook on life changed during that time (which made me enjoy 8th grade even more). But I absolutely hate that my life revolved - revolves - around vanity and beauty. If I could change one thing, it would be that. But being happy in my own skin is really the epitome of all of this anyway... I never would have started picking if I hadn't wanted to be noticed in that way. But love is wonderful and kind and I don't know what I'd do without it. If these events brought me to what I have now, then let it be. I know he feels the same way.
There's been talk of me going to a therapist again, and this time I don't mind (as with many decisions I've had to make lately, now that I think about it... I'm quite indifferent these days). I'm not going to be a sheep again and be embarrassed. We're paying this lady to fix me and she'd better fix me the best that she can. I'm going to tell her that I don't really care about my trich anymore because I already have enough of what I wanted so badly in middle school... acceptance.
I'm not trying to make a statement by picking and forcing others to love my ugly face anymore, because that was the excuse I told myself every day before school to try and make myself feel better for something I couldn't help. I'm not proud to be crazy, but I'm proud to be myself and have people listen to me. I'm tired of introspection... I don't want to think anymore. I'm not happy with not thinking, but if that's what it takes to be happy (how ironic) then I'll do whatever it takes.
If I have anything to add, I'll add it later.