Trichotillomania & Me.

Strand by strand, my hair is falling to the ground. Once upon a time, I had the most gorgeous, long, golden hair that fell in perfect waves.

But that was a long time ago. Back in a time I actually can't remember. My mother still tells me how my hair used to be so gorgeous. I was only three when I started twirling, chewing, and swallowing my hair. "That's bad for you Amy" My mother would tell me. It never stopped me though. Asking me to stop playing with my hair is like asking a book worm to never read again. It just doesn't happen overnight - and they'll sneak behind your back to find a book, just like i'd sneak a twirl in whenever I was out of my parents sight.

The very first time I remember noticing that I had started to pull out my hair when I was just a tween, my 12th birthday. We were making space in the living room to place the traditional party game, pass the parcel, when mum noticed about 50-60 strands of my hair sitting in a messy pile when the couch had once been. She inspected my hair and, as expected, I had an unnoticable bald patch just under the crown of my head.  I remember her telling me that if I continued to play with my hair, it'd all fall out. I didn't care though because I liked to play with my hair.

Playing with my hair was something that cured my boredom. I'd picked it up as a habit now and I couldn't stop. I liked it, because it made me unique to all the other kids at my school. It made me, me.

My birthday passed, and I was halfway through my first year at high school when Mum noticed it getting considerably worse. She told me that I was getting a noticeable patch at the crown, and it was obvious I had been pulling it out. The still didn't stop me, and soon my bedroom floor, the lounge, and the office was covered with my hair. Unfortunately my hair didn't grow back as fast as I pulled it out, ad soon enough, I found myself changing my hair style to suit my, and to hide the bald spot I now had. 

I knew my mother was embarrassed by me because she kept telling me to stop. Maybe she was just annoyed at how much my hair cuts were beginning to cost, now that i'd decided I had to re-colour my hair every three months in order to still be pretty. My hairdresser said she'd heard about a hair pulling disorder called trichotillomania, and she believed that's what I have, she was so excited to have a client with trichotillomania. She made me feel beautiful - even when I wasn't. She was willing to give me whatever hair colour I wanted, and whatever hair cut as well. She also helped me to realise short hair blended it better. That's how I landed an incredibly embarrassing bowl cut. We soon changed that with a couple of layers.

I was now in year 2 of high school. My peers had started to judge me, they'd call me 'baldy' and 'spot'. Along with the typical 'ugly' which i know i was.  Teachers noticed too. I was so short, it was hard not to notice.I began over thinking things, such as 'what if my peers notice, and they hate me' well ofcourse they'd already noticed.I guess I didn't know that then, because I excluded myself from everything. Still not managing to make myself stop pulling.

My bedroom was covered in my hair, it seemed the more I vacuum, the more i'd pull. So I stopped vacuuming for a while. t was amazing to see all my hair. Yet so heartbreaking. I begun crying myself to sleep, and having stress-related breakdowns in the middle of the day. My health deteriorated and I found myself on a plane to Australia. 'You'll do good here' I promised myself. Wanting to break my old habits, ad find new friends who wouldn't even notice.

By time school started back in Australia, a week after I got there, I'd already given myself 3 big, noticeable, bald spot. I had picked out ALL of my fringe as well. I guess I wasn't exactly a promise keeper back then, and maybe I ain't now? My time in Aussie past quickly, and soon after arriving I found myself pulling my hair less. A month before I left everyone was telling me how they wish they had my hair, I don't know if they were lying or not though. I had a job, and I was eating healthier. I hate put on enough weight to look good as well, a healthy 58kg. My Grandparents believed I was 'cured'. So they sent me back to my home country, New Zealand, and back to life with my parents where I had been before my visit to Australia.

My third year at high school had begun only a week ago, and I had a bald spot. Again. After being complimented by all my old friends, I found myself feeling ugly. I had stopped eating breakfast, again, and I was eating minimal tea. I refused to eat lunch at school because I felt fat eating. So my weight decreased drastically, I was 5 foot 5, and only 46.3 kgs. I still had all my friends from when I left - actually not as many as a few people would think, there is only 5 others.

Three weeks into the first term back, some other people joined into my group of friends, but because I struggle at making friends, I found myself excluded from almost every conversation. Later in the term, I was more included, but still didn't talk often. I had average grades, and big bald spots - which i learned to cover easily. My hair went from purple/brown to blonde. Blonde helped to blend in with my skin colour so I didn't look as bald.

Term two came, and I was considering wigs. I went to my doctor for a medical reference, and then to the specialty hairdresser. I found myself spending all my spare time learning  about wigs and choosing what I wanted to look like. My mother talked my out of it by time the end of term came. I also came to the revelation that because I had spent all my free time looking at wigs, I had failed 80% of all my schoolwork. So of course, mum was angry,

The holidays finally were here, but I was grounded, so I spent the first four days doing my rt assignment, over the four days I had picked away at hair from all parts of my head, so my hair began thin. I had lost my hat, so I struggled to hide it. I spent the other 10 days trying to occupy my hands by typing, playing console-games and texting.

Now I am in the third term, and so far I have pulled less than usual, but I still have bald patches. I almost have a full fringe now, but its still thin. I am waiting to get my hair a bit thicker so I can get extentions and finally have my old hair back. Every day is a struggle for me, but I have trained my mind, atleast for now, to keep my hands in my pockets. I have managed not to fail anything so far, and I've also gotten myself out of my old, shy habits. Now to stop pulling out my hair.

----------------------------------------------------- A/N

Thanks so much for taking the time to read(: Look out for the points of views of my friends, and also - if you have any questions - feel free to ask. This is actually written about my friend - not me! She has trichotillomania :( But I love her to bits.