anxiety, depression, health, personal, trich

Another Episode

I pulled out a lot of hair today.  I haven’t washed it in a while because I hate getting it wet.  It makes me feel terrible about myself.  I still have piles of hair on the bathroom counter, but if I go in there I know I’ll start pulling again.  I think this blog may be helping me.  It’s keeping my hands busy typing rather than pulling.  I like how fast I am at typing, it gives me some sort of satisfaction.  Maybe it’s similar to hair pulling, it’s not as relaxing though.

Anyway, I feel kind of useless with this blog.  Nobody really seems to be benefitting but me, and it seems like a waste of time. But maybe it could help my trich.

I don’t know.  I gave myself another bald spot.  When I went to see my mom she started to cry because of how thin my hair has gotten.  She has never done that before.  It must be really bad this time.

I still try to keep my therapist in the loop, but it’s hard when my hands are always busy.  Everything is hard to do with my hands always busy.

anxiety, depression, diet, fitness, health, trich, weight

Why am I this way?

 

Why am I like this? Why can’t I stop yanking and pulling my hair out of my scalp?

Sometimes I do better. There was a week long period that I didn’t pull a single hair. Every time I document if I pull my hair I don’t do it! Then, if that works, why can’t I keep doing that? Why do I have to torture myself?

I feel like a complete idiot when I do it, because I think I can force myself to stop, but I don’t.  Is that the way it is for anyone else? Or am I just doing this to myself.  I doubt that I have trichotillomania sometimes.  I think that I must enjoy doing it.  However, it makes me hate myself.

It’s the same thing with food. I gained 30 lbs during this school year, and I know how to stop it.  I know the science of it. I just don’t do it.  Is it because I’m just a lazy son of a gun?  Is it because I want to be bigger? I just eat junk. I have a gym membership, but I never go. I have a thousand ways that I could help myself, and yet, I don’t.

My fat goes to my stomach, and I don’t fit into my old clothes anymore.

The way I look makes me hate myself.

I have about one hundred stretch marks on my thighs that are bright pink.  My stomach goes out farther than my breasts which are already large.  My face makes a double chin unless I jut out my chin. Tank tops show folds around my arms and underarms. My hair is a fourth of it’s original thickness.  I have bald spots no matter how I style my hair.  I don’t know why I don’t just fix it.

I don’t take care of myself half the time.  I rarely wash my hair because I hate the way it looks when it’s wet, and I avoid it at all costs.  I eat crap because I stop caring, but when I get on the scale I cry.

Why can’t I stop this?

Why am I this way?

adhd, trich

5/28/17 Studying

Basically I’ll say how my day went because it had a lot to do with my trich.

So, I have finals next week and I’ve been doing plenty of studying for this long memorial day weekend.  This would usually be a time in which I would torture my scalp. But, I didn’t have any urges today, really.  I scratched and played but I stopped myself from pulling every time.  I felt good about it.

I got a bit done of course my ADHD kicked in and I couldn’t finish any one thing; I skipped around a lot.

Later, I got a bunch of packages of some toys to use to replace my pulling. There was a thing on buzzfeed (yes I know) about some products that you could get to help with trich, and I’m down to try anything at this point.  This one was a koosh bracelet that Buzzfeed said I could pull out the strands. Well, they came in today, and they’re just for sensory purposes.  They’re still fun, and I’ll probably use them sometimes, but they won’t always work when I need that satisfaction of a pull.

I don’t know exactly what people like about their pulling, for me, its the feeling of the follicle coming out.  It’s like a release of tension.  I don’t know, I don’t think I’m the only one.  There is a lot of art out there for trich with follicles. I also always have to pick them off if the follicle comes out with it.

Anyway, I did my spray again tonight.  I should probably do it more than once a day.  I think I’m going to do it once in the morning and once at night.  Again, I’ll keep you guys posted.

OH! If anyone would like to send in some of their trich experiences, please feel free to send them via my contact page! I’d love to hear what works for you and maybe, if you allow me to,  I can share them.  It’s very likely that someone else deals with similar things that you do.  Of course, I can always keep it confidential.  Alright, that’s it for tonight.

Also, I promise my blog is not going to be a diary.

 

depression, trich

My Story

I am going to do this early so that it is in the deepest parts of my bog.  This is something very personal to me, and I have not shared it with many people.  Actually, I’ve only shared it with three: my mom, my boyfriend, and my therapist.  All of them are very supportive, but it gets hard to talk to them about it all the time.  I just make them upset.

I was three years old the first time it started.  I was told that if I lost an eyelash that I could make a wish.  So, I started tearing them out.  It became a habit, and I got so scared when I got into elementary school that all of my eyelashes would be gone, but I never could stop.  Luckily, it faded as I got older.

However, something new started when I was in fifth grade.  I had just moved from Texas to South Carolina, and I was already the new kid so I just had to mess it up even more.  One day, I took a shower early in the morning but I hadn’t gotten out all of the conditioner.  My hair felt so uncomfortable on the top of my head that I started playing with it.

At first, I just started messing around with the ends and feeling some of my split ends.  I would also just pull down from my roots to the ends to feel if anything was there.  In my defense, one time I found a random bug and I still haven’t seen another like it.  Anyway, it was just simple.  It was distracting but it didn’t hurt me.

Then, I started pulling.  I have naturally very straight hair and when I noticed that on the top of my head there were pieces that felt thick and crumpled, I pulled them.  I’d even do it in class.  However, I would get pimples on the top of  my head from putting my hands through it so much.  Grossly, I would pick them constantly.  I only did this on my head.

I eventually got a therapist in the sixth grade and was diagnosed with anxiety.  My therapist worked with my pediatrician and they started me on Zoloft.  I was doing much better.  I didn’t do it much throughout my seventh, eighth, ninth, or tenth grade.  But, of course, it came back.

Junior year was a wreck.  I had just stopped my physical activity of competitive dancing.  I had very difficult classes.  I was worrying about the SAT, ACT, and college.  I didn’t have any good friends other than my boyfriend.  My mom and I weren’t close.  I started eating a lot.  I gained 30 pounds. And then, I started pulling my hair.  I hated the environment I was being put in with mean kids, just awful people.  I hated myself, I hated everything.

That was when they upped my Zoloft and diagnosed me with depression.  I also didn’t know what trichotillomania was until then.

I have definitely gotten better in regards to my depressive tendencies, but the hair just gets worse.

I see my bald spots and I hate myself even more.  I see the way I look in the mirror, and I hate myself.  I hate what I have become, and I hate what I do to keep me in these positions.  But I just can’t stop.

It’s hard, you know.

I feel like I’m in a catch 22.  I feel like I’m lost, powerless, alone.

I know that I have people that love me.  But I know there are people that are awful to me and others.  And I know that I’m awful to myself.

I have tried so many times and in different ways to stop doing these things to myself.  I try to love myself.  I try to think that I am beautiful.  I am trying. I’m just stuck.

Everyone keeps saying this is temporary.  I hope this is true.  I want to love myself again. I want to be confident walking around again.  I want to feel beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I must be, so many people keep telling me this, even when others tell me I’m ugly.  They tell everyone they’re ugly.  They’re just bad people.  I want to believe I’m beautiful.

I have to.