The Start

It’s amazing that we can go so long and travel so far with the same cumbersome, opressive baggage and keep it a total secret.  I’m coming to realize, with increasing panic, that if I keep living this way and ignoring what I’m a total slave to, I won’t be able to hide this baggage for much longer. I’m literally right on the cusp of not being able to hide the horrible, shameful truth about what I really look like. I suppose it’s also amazing that we can hide in full view of others– at least, I know I have.

But here’s the thing: I didn’t pull any hair today. I only pulled a few yesterday, unconciously, and I only pulled a few more than that the day before. Why? I watched a video on YouTube about a very beautiful, interesting and talented (enviably really) woman who, in an interview on national television, took off her hat and showed the world what lay beneath. Not out of schadenfreude or anything, but I will say it was way worse than my head. Way worse. And yet, she was still totally beautiful. Nothing really changed about her, even though, with something as seemingly simple as taking off a hat, everything had just changed…

I am not that brave and I doubt I ever will be. But, once I saw this, it made me realize that even though I have a crippling, hidden disorder that fills me with shame, I’m not alone. This inspired me to watch more videos, and this lead me to an interview with a man who is the author of a book entitled “Urges” and a theraputic audio CD that is meant to help provide emotional comfort to those of us who  before could only seek comfort in our self-injurious behaviors. I immediately ordered both, embarassed that the good people of Amazon.com now know I’m a hair puller. I haven’t started reading the book yet and I’ve only listened to the first chapter of the audio, but in just doing a cursory glance, I noticed two things right off the bat that actually freaked me out even more…

I had always suspected (but was too scared to confirm with research) that repeated pulling of the same hairs would lead to irreversable damage whereby the hair could never grow again, and lo and behold, this man said that’s exactly what happened to him. I almost lost it. Heading for a serious tail-spin of sheer terror, I immediately stopped the stuff I was doing for work and got online, obsessively looking for anyone who has claimed that they pulled for years, stopped and had their hair grow back. What I found was a mixture of yes, no, kind of, and maybe. Then I immediately began looking at how expensive hair transplants are…seriously. I’m a well-educated and rational woman, and I spent half an hour on the Hair Club website, basking in the glow of their promises to make me normal.Guess what though? It’s really goddamned expensive and yields mixed results. I looked up hair regrowth treatments, miracle cures, I mean I spent hours on this shit. It’s embarrasing to admit, but I did.

I also noticed that there is a chapter of the audio recording entitled “Accept that you are Powerless”, or something close to that effect, with a description for that section that explains it’s meditations to help provide comfort over a reality that I can never change or really do anything permanent about, that I am powerless and I must make peace with this harsh truth or I’ll never be happy. Once again, I got on the internet to locate success stories of people who haven’t necessarily beaten it for good or without intense struggle in the best possible cases, but who have taken back their lives and refused to be ruled by this maddening impulse. I found a bunch at www.trich.org, which also has a blog written by a woman who has battled trich for over 30 years and has managed to keep her pulling under wraps for several years. She founded The Trichotillomania Learning Center to help scared and powerless feeling individuals like myself take back their lives through information and support. Reading her blog and spending so many hours pouring over an issue of my life that I have avoided thinking about in a serious way (beyond severe shame and feelings of helplessness and disgust with myself) has made me really want to talk about it and think about and deal with it. This feels surprisingly good. Liberating really. Even soothing. Perhaps that’s why I’ve resisted the urge to pull my hair for an entire day. It doesn’t seem like much in the wake of 14 years of bizarre, self-injurious, intoxicating slavery to a problem no one quite understands and few have heard of, but I feel really proud saying it. I haven’t pulled my hair out in over 24 solid hours.

So, back to the book and CD. Am I condemning this man for telling me things I don’t want to hear or robbing me of my sense of responsibility for myself based on a quick glance at the table of contents? No. Am I still going to read the book and listen to the CD. Yeah, absolutely. But, what I will not do, no matter how he puts it to me, is accept that I am powerless. I simply refuse. Feeling powerless and not in control over the events of my life is what’s led me to this place and I’m done with it.

So here I am, at the start of the turn around, gearing up to take back my life and deal with this thing head on. Am I going to screw up occasionally? I have no doubt. Am I going to have to face some really ugly aspects of what goes on inside an exterior that to many looks like it has life all figured out? Oh, definitely. Am I going to feel sorry for myself and curse the universe for saddling me with a horrible, to many unthinkable, impulse control disorder? Probably every time I post to this thing. Am I ever going to reveal who I really am or enough information to put the pieces together? No, and for good reason; though you may disagree and call it cowardice. Do you have to read any of it? No, you don’t. This is for me. I need it. Otherwise, the committment that I’ve made so many times before to get this thing off of my back (or head in this case) will once again disappear into the ether and make no more difference than it ever has before except to make me feel even more powerless and weak.

If anyone finds this and does read it, I hope that if you’re living secretly (or openly, because you’re a brave bad ass) with this problem that you pitch in and leave a comment or two. Keep in mind, my own warped need to feel perfect leaves me a vulnerable gal, so please be kind and don’t make me feel like a sick wierdo asshole or anything. That’s really the last thing I need right now and if you feel the need to do that kind of thing, you’ve probably got your own issues to deal with pal.

Honestly though, I can personally attest, after finding a great number of contradictions and fervent insistence that nothing can be done about our mysterious, “bizarre” issue that millions of people have admitted to having lived with (or against) for much of their lives while trolling the internet for answers and hope, that no one has found the magic bullet yet. The most doctors can offer us is a description of our behaviors, which doesn’t come close to capturing the feelings that acompany and incite them, and therapy and meds as possible treatments. I am going to try and work on locating a local behavioral-cognitive therapist who can help deal with my impulses and cope with the overwhelming stress that  is eating me alive from the inside out as part of my comittment to getting this crazy shit under control, but I’m not going on meds again. The cure, I’ve learned, is just a replacement for the disease. I don’t need to dull and sedate my thoughts, I need to turn my intensity and intelligence, both of which carry double edges, onto this problem I have and tear it apart before it tears me apart. Since I don’t know how any of this will pan out, I’m hoping that at the very least, for those of you who do read this stuff and identify, that we can help each other feel a little less powerless and alone, and thereby do something great for ourselves and others who may not know where to turn or what to think. Right about where I was 3 short days ago, actually, and I already feel like I’ve made some pretty significant strides.

On that cheery note, I’m proud to officially start dealing with reality starting tonight. Wish me luck. I’ll wish you luck too.

–Delilah Jones