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.


My Love Story

Okay, a big supporter in my life is my boyfriend.  His name is Brian and he takes very good care of me. Well, as well as a teenage boy could.  I feel terrible a lot of the time just for having him put up with me.  I get angry and I lash out on him when he makes simple mistakes that do not deserve my reaction.

I’ve talked to my doctors about this a lot and they all say that it’s me trying to push him away.  I’m actually writing about this while I am being pretty rude to my boyfriend. He didn’t even do anything wrong yet I find some way to be petty and upset. Anyway, I think I need to talk about how much he means to me. I don’t deserve him, but he doesn’t even blink. So, I guess, here’s our love story.


The summer before sophomore year, I had been going through a rough time.  I was in a horrible relationship with someone three years older than me that I never saw.  He never went to school and had a lot of issues.  I was pretty level at that point in time, I seemed to be happy.  However, my mother will tell you now that I was not myself at all.  Anyway, I was trying to be cool, basically.  At least, that’s how I see it now.

At the beginning of the summer, my church youth group holds a welcome night for incoming freshmen.  Throughout my freshman year I went on and off.  I thought I was too cool for religion.  Well, all of my friends weren’t religious so I wasn’t.  That night was the first night Brian went to our youth group. I was not there.

However, a few weeks later, my friend Pablo had been asking me to come back and I finally gave in. I had not met any of the new freshmen yet, and me being me I made sure I greeted them.  I was very cheerful when I greeted Brian and his friends.  Brian says his first thoughts were “Ooh, that girls cute, damn she’s a sophomore, never mind.”  Mine were “Man, this freshman is hotter than anyone in my class.”  I didn’t think much of it because I was “involved” with a guy for almost a year and he wouldn’t call it dating.  But I’m not bitter.

Anyway, I didn’t go back to the youth group except for a few times where I’d see Brian.  Except, I could never remember his name.  School came around shortly, I was still involved with that awful guy.  I saw him around, still didn’t know his name.  I even said hi a few times while he waited in the carline.  He also had the same lunch as I did.  I’d see him walking down the hall.  Again, me being me, I would start conversation.  Sometimes he would walk with a girl from his class.  I remember asking him while they were walking together if they were dating.  When he said yes, I won’t lie, I was disappointed.  I invited him to our fall retreat and he gave me some lame excuse about  a baseball tournament. I remember thinking that he must have a nice butt. I would soon find out that I was right.

It was that retreat that I myself found Christ and became much more religious than I was before.  That in itself led me away from the guy I was seeing.  When I had gotten back I asked Brian (still having to ask his friends for his name) if he was still dating that girl.  They hadn’t been walking together.  He said no very bluntly.  He seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it, but I would soon find out he just wasn’t much of a small talker.  I asked the girl he had dated and she gave the explanation that they just didn’t talk anymore. However, she led out that it was him that broke up with her.  Honestly, I was kind of happy. I didn’t really know why, but I really wanted to flirt with him.  That makes me sound terrible.  It wasn’t like that with other guys.  I really still don’t understand why I felt such a strong pull towards him. Okay, that’s a lie.  I personally believe God put him in my path.

I also believe God pulled many other strings to put us together.  For example, on November 14th I was supposed to go to Tennessee to watch my mom march with some other alumni at the UT game in the band.  However, a few weeks before that, my mom broke her foot.  I felt awful for her, but I think God did that so I could go to the bonfire that night.  I would also find out later that Brian wouldn’t have gone had his game been normal length, but somehow it managed to go much quicker.

That night, I remember asking a kid named Parker what that other kids name was.  No not Ben, the one that looks like him.  He reminded me that his name was Brian.  I asked him if he would be coming tonight.  Parker told me that he might come but it would be late.

Sure enough, Brian’s dad dropped him off just after the stars began to show. We had the whole night ahead of us.  I ran up when I saw him get out of the car and I said “Brian!” in a flirty voice that I have luckily never had to use since. Brian told me later that he was very surprised and confused.  He proceeded to ask Parker what my name was after I was out of earshot.  He reminded him that my name was Kara.

The night went on and I flirted so hard.  I don’t remember what happened that I began leaning on him.  I just know that I did.  I know that I did it because it hurt my back; he was not a very good support, but I was determined to flirt with this boy.  I am very good at touchy flirting, but when it came to impressing him, I went straight to my rap skills.  I am very bad at rapping, but I do know every single word of Childish Gambino’s Bonfire, which I recited to him at the bonfire. Luckily for me, he was more amused than weirded out.

Too soon after did the night come to an end. We went our separate ways in our parents’ cars to our own houses.  I was in the passenger seat five minutes out when I was horrified by the fact that I had not gotten his number.

So, I DMed him.  I know, I know, it’s tragic.  However, this time, it worked.  I got his number and we have texted every day since.

are about eighteen months in.  So many stories are in between these times of when I ended things with that awful guy to when he officially asked me out to when we went on vacation together to him helping me through my struggles.  He has been there for me every step of the way.  I have tried to push him away a thousand times, but he won’t let me go that easily.  I am not the best girlfriend, I try to be thoughtful and do things for him, but in the end I’m really screwed up.  He’s my rock.  He has been my best friend and such an amazing partner.  I love him with all of my heart.  I am so glad that our paths have crossed, and I know it couldn’t have been a coincidence.  I love you, Brian.  Thank you for everything.IMG_1967

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.