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?

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.