I remember the first
time I was made aware
of what I am doing.
I was a senior in high school,
having a sleep over at my
friend's house.
She had just got done
doing my twin sister's hair.
It was really pretty.
Long, blonde, and curled.
Cam said,
I could do the same for you.
And she smiled.
So I sat in front of her,
and she started messing
with my much shorter hair.
Suddenly, she stops,
and breathes out.
Then slowly she said,
What happened to your hair?
Of course I asked her what she meant.
Then she showed me.
It was missing, gone.
I was bald.
I just sat there,
frozen by my own reflection.
What was happening?!
I tried laughing it off,
but as I laughed,
tears started colliding
onto my legs.
Was I crazy?
When did I do that?!
As soon as I got home
I googled,
why am I pulling out my hair?
What I found.
Trichotillomania.
It all makes sense to me now. When I was little I would **** on my hair, which is a huge sign. No one noticed, and eventually I stopped because it made me feel sad. Also, I have never been happy with my hair. I have always hated it, and I've always ****** with it more than any other girl.
I still don't know how to stop, I still have bald spots.