Trichotillomania & Me.

Monday, July 23rd 2012. Why me?

It is Monday, July 23rd of the year 2012.

I can't tell you the exact time, because I don't know it. It was between 3:45pm - 4:00pm. That is all I know.

School was let out as usual. I had been bouncing around school all day, excited that finally I was going to pick up my medical certificate to say I do, indeed, have Trichotillomania - a medical condition that has ruined my life for almost 5 years straight.

Yea, well what a joke that was. I got into the car with my bestfriend. We quickly arrived at the Doctors, and after being treat rudely by an administration staff member, were taken into a little room where I'd get to pick up my letter and be on my merry way to the Hairdresser. My bestfriend sat out in the waiting room whilst Mum and myself went into the room. I sat nervously while the lady searched through my medical file for the form the Doctor had left.

'Amy...' she begun.

I didn't need to hear the rest to know what she was trying to say. I hung my head and searched the floor for something out of place to fix my eyes on. Nothing. My eyesight was blurring and I realised I was holding back tears. Concentrating so hard on something to look at, I managed to dodge the rest of what the lady said. All I knew was, I was never getting a wig. The last two months of my life were set on false hope.

False hope, that maybe one day, I'd be pretty. False hope that maybe the bullying would stop. It was then that I realised it'd never stop, and that Ugly-Amy was a part of who I had become. Ugly-Amy was never going to leave me.

I walked out of the doctors and out to the street, not caring if I walked infront of a car, and secretly hoping one would screech around the corner and hit me at 120k/ph. That didn't happen though. I managed to get to the car before breaking out into a fit of tears. Ignoring my bestfriend, and my mum, I looked out into the world. The world in which so many people live without a single worry. A world where I'd still be known s Ugly-Amy. A world where there is no sympathy for middle-problemed teens, such as myself.

To gain sympathy, you had to be dying. To gain empathy, you had to be dying. There was no time for people like me. Were were better off being dirt. Mum drove to her last store for the day, and allowed for my friend and I to get McDonalds, so we walked there. With my bestfriend by my side, I felt a little better. She tried to cheer me up and make me laugh. It worked, atleast on the outside. I knew that soon enough she would have to go home, and I'd be alone for 16 or so hours, with no one to cheer me up.

I needed the wig. I was relying on it to help my gain confidence - an Ugly person can't have confidence where I live, especially not a teen. Teens here are expected to be perfect-boobed, perfect-smiled, size 2 (at the most), disrespectful crack heads. I was none of those things. I was Ugly, balding, size 6, crooked teeth, short, with low grades. No body really truely wanted me.  A wig would change that.

With a wig, i'd be able to walk tall, and pround of who I am. I'd be able to smile without people caring how my teeth looked, because they'd see my hair and think 'WOW!' A wig, would change everything about my confidence. Ofcourse, on the inside I would still be the same person. All of my friends would have benefit from it aswell, they'd no longer be known as 'the-people-with-an-Ugly-friend'. People would stop whispering and sniggering at my in the halls. People would talk to me in class, and the 'nerds' would no longer avoid me.

It took me 20 minutes to get home, and by time I got there, I had filled the truck floor with tissues, and chocolate wrappers. At home, I stormed off to my room and turned my music up. Resorting to facebook to help me find someone to cheer me up. I quickly told my other bestfriend about my horrible day, seeing as though he lives in a different country, and quickly the tears come flooding my keyboard.

Logging off facebook, I shut my laptop and found myself curled on my bed with two of my kittens. They'd help me through - they always do.

Atleast they aren't bald. They don't know what it's like. Maybe I could shave them? See how they feel. Have a bit of sympathy from them, atleast.

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I was woken by my mother telling me it was time for dinner, so I dressed and joined my family in the living room for tea. The Colorda massacre was on the television for the fourth time today.

'See, Amy, life isn't so bad' My mother was already lecturing me. Great.

'I don't care. I'm not going to school tomorrow if i'm like this, mother.'

'Yes you are.'

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I have since then decided to go to school tomorrow, and humiliate myself some more.

By time it was time for dinner, everyone at my school found out about my plan on getting a wig, and it failing. Whoever spread it, I dunno. But my 'fan-mail' *rolls eyes* wasn't great.

If only life was easy.

It's all the Doctors fault. He knew how much I needed that wig. Yet he lies. I hate him.