I worry that he'll find
someone prettier,
who's got long blonde hair,
perfect nails
and a lot less issues.
Someone young and fun,
who doesn't stress about
life,
because things just happen
for her because she's beautiful
and smart.
And then here's me with
my short patchy hair,
and the definition of everything
a guy doesn't want.

When did my self esteem disappear?
I used to be so confident
in the body that I live in.
I used to know I was beautiful,
**** and mysteriously different
in all the best ways.
I used to joke about being a
man eater.
Well folks,
I'm not joking anymore.

I don't know what got
into me.
Maybe it's because I was
thinking life is too short.
So I clicked on your name
in my contacts and hit call,
just to see what would happen.
I was directed to an operators voice
I'd never heard before.
You blocked me.
I guess I understand why..
That's what I deserve for
waiting until now to try and
be brave.

The fan is luring
me to sleep.
My sister and her
boyfriend are in
the bathroom getting
ready for bed.
I'm already in bed,
in my new room,
that's still looks
like no one lives in it.
I still haven't finished
unpacking.
I'm distracted,
thinking about my mom,
a cigarette, Sleep.

Sometimes I feel
ten thousand different
feelings all at once..

Have you ever had to come
to the realization that
the ex that you broke up with,
ended up "winning" pre split.
I never for a second,
thought at the time that I
would be anything but
extraordinary,
and that life would be
exciting.
I was supposed to be
extra ordinary.
The next thing I'm going to
hear, is that he's engaged to
be married to a beautiful
red head with long hair,
and eyes that are excentuated
perfectly with little eye liner
and mascara.
And is everything I am
still trying to be.
It's not even that I regret
leaving him,
it's that I turned out to be
the loser,
who's still living at home with
her parents,
works a terrible fast food job,
and has no money,
no adventures,
a dull love life.
It's just a terrible feeling
when one day you realize,
you lost.

I have always been the earth.

There's soil in my veins.

It's been a strange week.
It's strange to feel every emotion
that human beings feel,
all at once.
I've decided to slow down,
smile,
and enjoy all of the great
things coming my way,
and all of the great things
that are coming to an end.

I'm anxious to see what life
has in store for me.

I understand that you
may not care or simply just
don't know about
this thing that plagues
me every day.

This uncontrollable addiction
to pull out my hair.

I heard something the other day
that describes it all perfectly.
The anxiety isn't in my head,
it's in my hands.

They are magnets.

I am afraid of what might happen.
What I could do.

I've been pulling all
night long.
Watching as each strand
of hair falls from my fingers
into my lap.
I'll notice the difference
tomorrow and feel angry and
embarrassed about what I've done.
I know that I'm
doing this,
but it's also not my fault.
I can't stop and nothing could be
any worse.

For as long as we are together,
I will be happy to say you're mine.
I still fall in love with
your smile,
and the way you kiss me.
I have my doubts.
But you never do.
The other day, as I drove away
down your road,
I couldn't stop crying.
This wasn't what I wanted.
So I turned around.
You were playing basketball,
and you said you loved me.
Later while playing mini golf,
I couldn't even remember what
we were fighting about.

Thank you for being relentless.

The past 24 hours
have brought about so
much anxiety,
the fact that I even have
hair left is a miracle.
I'm running on almost no sleep,
hardly any food,
and my stomach has been
****** up all week.

I've been pulling out my hair
faster than I can grow it.
Frustrating isn't even the word
I would use to describe this.
I fear that one day I could wake up
and it will be gone.
I wish I could wake up one day
and it will be fine.
But I know that this is my
mountain to climb,
and even as I sit here twirling
the hair that I never imagined
would be at this length;
around my finger,
I know that one day I'll be
on the other side of this
and wonder how it ever happened.

I don't see why
what I'm doing is
wrong.
I just want to be
alone.
I want to keep
to myself,
and do what makes
me happy.
It's not like I'm asking
for too much.
I'm tired of my parents
always being on my back,
especially when I don't
do anything wrong.
What do you want me to say?
I'm a **** up,
I'm going nowhere,
I'm a burnt out *** head,
You're right.
No matter what I do,
it's never good enough.
I guess I should expose
my boyfriend to them.
It has been 5 months.
But I know that they'll
hate him.
They'll judge him,
because he doesn't know
very much,
because he doesn't have
very much.
Yet, I love him.
But how do you tell
your parents they haven't
met your boyfriend
because they're rude
and judge mental.
Oh yeah,
you can't.

Isn't it absurd
that even as I sit here
at the beginning of a poem,
I just pulled out a hair.
I looked at it between my
fingers and then dropped it
onto the bed to be lost forever,
among the rest.

I can do this.
I can make it through today
without becoming unemployed.
I'm not going to let these
old, unhappy women make
me like them.
Im 19 and at the prime of
my life.
I'll just keep my grind on
and know that I'm a badass,
I am strong,
I am independent,
and I can make it through today
without blowing up.
I'm not going to let them make
me cry,
because one of these days
I'll be able to tell these
people to go **** themselves
and this place.
They're just mad because this
is where they are after
63 years of not doing ****
with their lives,
but when I'm their age,
I'll be a ******* queen
and people like these
will still be jealous of
my fabulous ***.

I sit here in discomfort,
and read poetry out loud to
no one,
just because it feels like talking,
to someone.
And I am eating my dinner
of chicken nuggets made in
the convection oven.
Everything is a mess,
he got no help from the hospital,
which was to be expected.
Those doctors in their white coats,
and pink scrubs,
who wear even whiter shoes,
don't care about your pain,
even if you have the money
to waste eight hours of your life
in their useless rooms.
And I am sitting between a rock
and a hard place,
because making life decisions are
going to be the death of me.
Maybe it's because change has
always been the root of everything
that's made me unhappy:
although I know it's unavoidable.
Life changes every day,
even if it's just the weather,
or the length of your hair.
If only someone could teach me
to not be afraid of the one thing
I can't run from in life.

Sometimes you
learn the most when
you stop paying attention
and start listening.
My professor said
something in the middle
of her lecture that caught
my attention so much,
I wrote it down.
the cause of all suffering
is desire.
If only I could
stop my heart from
beating, every time
he says my name.

I can't sleep.
I've been laying in bed
in the dark
tugging ferociously
at my hair.
I would be terrified
if I looked in a mirror
right now.
Once everything else
is turned off
and all I can hear is the sound
of my fan,
my mind turns on.
Endless thoughts,
and even the cherry on the
end of my cigarette can't
burn them out.

Maybe I should smoke
another bowl,
and tie my fingers together.

I decided to put sticky notes
with positive words written on them,
up beside my bed.
In hopes that encouragement can
help me.
I've been stuck inside a negative
purgatory for days,
maybe even weeks,
and I'm done with that.
Or I want to be.
I've done cried,
pulled out almost all of my hair,
let myself be angry,
and then I ran out of complaints.
If I want a positive life,
I have to think positive thoughts.

Please, wish me good luck.

I wrote a poem
about you,
but decided it
was garbage.
Instead of
just throwing
it away,
and letting you
sit with the trash,
I used it to
roll a joint and
watched as the words
I wrote about you
turned to ash.

I'm thinking about quitting
my job.
Well then what would you do?
I don't know.
Take a week off,
and get a job at Staffmark
or somewhere else.
I know it's not easy to just find
a job quickly,
but I also know it's not that hard.
I'm just tired of being miserable
every time I have to wake up
and go to this place.
And I'm sick of the miserable people
that I work with.
I know that every time I turn
a corner someone is probably
talking ****.
I'm too old and too tired for that.
But I guess that's what happens
when you work with all women.
I really want to quit my job.

Sometimes I
really think I
have anger issues.
I freak out too often,
and don't know
where to put
my rage even
when the problem is
solved.
Maybe that's why
I pull my hair out
and chain smoke
like I'm in some
mafia movie.
I'm crazy and
I'm sure of that.
I just wish I could
control it.

Today I was made aware
of someone who battles
with the same thing I do.
Instantly, I felt so much
sadness for her,
knowing that she struggles
the way I do and feels
the same pain and hopelessness.
I just hope she has an outlet,
like writing has been for me.
It's funny,
that I have known her
for awhile and never knew.
Just like me,
she has become the master
of faking it.
It pains me,
because she is still in High school
and is still so young.
I just want to tell her to
not let it hold her back,
or destroy any chance at
confidence and happiness.
She can still find love,
someone will want to help,
and support her and make her
feel beautiful every day.

She told me something that
has warmed my heart more than
anything else has in a really long time.

She said, *it's good to know I'm not alone.

I hate just sitting in
this body.
Wasting all that I could be.
I don't want to try anymore.
I haven't dyed my hair in
months,
I haven't felt joy in weeks.
The harder I try,
the more I fail.
I feel so unwanted
and unappreciated.
Each day gets worse,
before I can even try to
make it better.

I'm just kind of done.

You're the one that
I always thought I knew.
It took me almost 6
careful months,
of late nights,
empty beer cans,
and used up pipes.
But it wasn't just me getting
to know you,
you got to know me
in the darkest corners
of the morning.
And before my own eyes,
you almost had me figured out,
although I was no where close.
I'm sure that you know
I still care and miss you.
But there's not even
a breeze in the wind
that tells me you feel the same.

I have realized that in a way
writing so much on here
about all of my sadness and
anger and longing has not
been good for me.
It's unhealthy.
Letting myself wallow
in pity and keeping quiet
about my feelings.
It triggers me to pull my hair
because of my anxieties,
just being there to read and re-read.
I want to be happy and healthy
and be okay with the life
I have.
I was afraid to write positively
because I fear that you readers
don't like that as much as
when I write about the crap in life.
But I'd appreciate the support.
We're all on the
pursuit of happiness,
just, sometimes it takes
awhile to get there.

Today I took my boyfriend
to apply for jobs,
and while he huddled over
his phone,
tediously filling out his full name
and other important info
about 18 times,
I read.
We were sitting in my car
at the park,
the wind was blowing too cold,
so I didn't get out.
I was glad to see that there
wasn't another person anywhere.
I was happy to be with
Bukowski.

I can't say I remember the first
time we met.
Because we were both just passing
through.
But I do remember the first
time I remembered you.
It was a week before my 18th
birthday and we all jammed into
my sisters tiny 4 door
Corsica.
It was you, me, my sister,
Josh and Cameryn.
We made these plans the day before.
I was sitting in the middle,
in the back seat and you were
on my left.
You were so opposite of what
everyone said you were.
You were funny, but reserved,
we kept sharing cigarettes,
and you'd throw the butts
out of the window.
You were smoking L&M;
Turkish blend.
I, of course, Camels.
You and josh opened the back doors,
as the car was moving and
pretended you were going
to fall out.
You were crazy.
And exciting.
We went to the head shop in
Oxford and you made little jokes
at me because I wasn't old enough
yet to look at the bowls.
You bought some cigars and
a wooden pipe
and started smoking from both.
We all had ice cream at the UDF,
before we headed back,
passing packed bowls back and forth
around the car.
That was the first time I felt
that feeling around you.
That day.
When we took you home that night,
all I wanted to do was gush to
my sister about how great you were.
But I didn't.
I just couldn't stop telling
myself instead.

Hello Sunshine.
I saw you again today.
I was driving by the
Speedway and you
were wearing a
blue bandana.
I hope it was the one
you got from Bonaroo.
I remember how happy
it made you.
:)

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.

He asked me to buy some
**** edibles from him.
I meant to do it last night,
but I didn't.
But I was going to tonight.
I imagined how it would all
happen.
If he was there I would go to
the ATM,
walk up the steps to the door
and then ask if he was there.
I would probably go inside,
and say hello to everyone
and then tell him I wanted to buy some.
He would sell to me and we would
make small talk,
and everything would be cool.
But I would have done it.
I would have talked to him
face to face for the first time in
a year.
I just wonder how it would feel.
But he wasn't there and that
didn't happen.

Everybody asks,
Why don't you grow
out your hair?
And I just say,
I like it.

It reminds me of
who I used to be.
In a way,
it keeps me grounded
in a world full of
superficial women,
and money.

Grungy,
odd,
unique.

Whether you like the cut
or not,
it stands out in a room
full of girls with
hair down to their *****.

I'm not saying I'm special,
but it makes me feel that way.

Sometimes,
I desperately wish
I was single again.
Although it will
never be the way it
was last time.
Until I remember what
it's really like to
be single.
Every night is
either spent alone
or as the third wheel.
I never went without
****,
I stayed up all night,
listening to music,
either
getting ******,
or developing
a habit for drinking,
writing poems
about love.
I was single for almost
a year.
I was so adapt
to being alone,
that I forgot how
to talk to people.

I destroy myself
when I'm alone,
I thrive with
some one standing
beside me.

Hickeys get you
into trouble.
Maybe, you're not
supposed to have one.
It's a dead give away
you're sexually active.
Work won't think it's funny,
your parents don't wanna see it.
Your friends say it's ******.
And it's permanent for
a few days,
like a tattoo you didn't
choose to get,
they don't wash away.

Hickeys get you into
trouble.
But that's what makes them
so fun.

When we're little,
we are told
over and over again
that the world isn't
fair and that people
will let you down.
Well, someone
left out the part
where your parents
end up disappointing
you as well.
They say that drugs
and alcohol ****
up your life,
but those things
can't miss your
band recital,
or tell you it's time
to get out of their house.
You can always overcome
an addiction,
but you can't always
overcome the heartbreak
left by the people you
looked up to most
as a child.

I just smoked a bowl
and inhaled a pink piece
of cake past one a.m.
I don't even like cake.
I am sick sick sick.
Can't breathe.
It hurts to smoke but
I still do.
I have my favorite caramel
scented candle burning
on my desk,
and I'm about to lay down.
Try to fall asleep while
I still have a buzz.

There are some things that
I would like to change.
About myself.
To become a happier, healthier me.

Eat healthier. Cut fast food from
my diet.
Stop biting my nails,
stop feeling guilty, and
stop trying to make things okay with people from my past who don't deserve my effort.
I want to start dressing the way I want to without worrying about being judged by someone.
Do something good for someone at least once a day.
Work harder,
study harder,
sleep more.
Spend more time with my family, and my mom.
Find a way to start saving money.
Get Health insurance.
Write something every day on here.

And finally,
get my trichotillomania under control. I want to start keeping a diary, and keeping track of when and what causes me to pull. Learn ways to stop, or substitute the pulling with something else.. like reading, drawing, writing, painting, SOMETHING!

Oh, and to smile, every

  day.

:)