Today is the day
National mental health day
One of the many days I regret

I should speak out
I want to
But my mental illness has me chained
So instead I pull
Pull my way closer
But the chains keep me back

Closer to the truth
Closer to the hesitation

For me, pulling is my release
I read online that the rough ones-
With black bulbs were bad ones
The “wicked witch” ones
So I started

Pulling out my fears,
Doubts,
Insecurities
From my head- one by one

Until I laid there helpless
In a cloud of my mistakes
Somehow seeing all my worries in front of me didn’t make them go away

Instead, I became more aware
More aware of my failures
For the unknown future that lies in store
One by one

October 23, 2016
I kept the receipts
A friend- not a close one, more of those friends of friends
She chose me to tell her story to
She was raped
By a guy we all knew and trusted
A “good guy”
I lent her an ear, or rather a willing text
I thanked her for her bravery
For allowing me to be a small fraction of her story of overcoming
I might be one of twenty she told, or maybe just two

I don’t know. I may never know.
But what she may not know is that night
She became my one
Someone I knew almost nothing about
I told her my story and asked how she told her first

I hoped of getting some of her strength through some sort of Twitter DM telepathy
Alas you can’t gift strength like that
Oh God, I wish you could
I go back and read those messages all the time trying

I read my TimeHop every day
Sometimes for the memories
But more often than not they bring back the nightmares
I do it for the relief
The streak number tick ticking higher
Counting the days that have gone by
Or the hairs I’ve pulled

Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day
Is there a day like this for those who came out to their loved ones about their mental illness?
I will also not be participating.
My mental illness is keeping me from doing so
I am buried deep in my closet, hiding under clothes and forgotten tags
My fingers raking through the carpet
Finding that momentary release
The glorious relief lasting a moment
I run my fingers through the rough fibers searching for more

My family doesn’t know
Or if they do, they don’t want to break our perfect mold
I pull discretely
Around my head, just a receding hairline, no bald patches
Yet

I never get my haircut
At least, by a professional
The last time I went, my stylist said it was new growth
Not my past coming to haunt me.
She pulls at them showing me, calling them baby hairs
How do I tell her that each one represents shame, frustration, guilt
Each one represents one party, one good time with friends I’ve missed
Hiding behind those fears, covered in guilt
Back in my closeted mind

Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I cut myself open
Would blood run out or the words I meant to say?
When it’s a bad day, I pull at large sections of my hair
Wondering what it would be like to rip it all out in two sections
It makes me cry in pain, but the voices tell me about the sweet relief it may bring
I almost give in

What hurts me the most is noticing the people around me who have it
Does the girl sitting in front of me know
One day she may have to get surgery
To remove the hairball in her stomach from eating at her hair?
I see her run it through her lips, feeling the same texture.

Does the boy, scratching away at his knuckles
Understand what’s underneath his skin?
I wonder what his blood would say
Would it tell my story?
Would it tell ours?

*trigger warning*
Benjamin A S Apr 13

Lost control...
Urges like
pins and needles
pierce and numb
First finger and thumb
move with misplaced
        enthusiasm

Written on 07/04/2017
Raquel Butler Dec 2016
#1

He tells me:
" prick yourself with a needle,
   it will have the same effect"


As if I am trying to harm myself.
He does not understand
this does not hurt me,
at least not physically.

It has become a joke now
  - but I'm not laughing.
It isnt funny,
it isnt a joke.
His ignorance sears into me,
he thinks I have forgotten
I have not.

this is a poem about a comment someone made about my trichotillomania.
Raquel Butler Jul 2016

I know I've said it,
a million times before,
I'll stop this time,
next time,
just once more.

I know it's hard
to believe me
when every time I'm good,
my mentality starts to plummet,
once more becomes
next year.

I know you want to see me succeed,
but it's hard when
every time I do,
you see no success,
you see no change,
my failures become the truth.

I know,
I really do.
But the last time
becomes the next time
all because of you.

relapsing it fun! <<sarcasm
Mikayla Nov 2015

i can hide my lack of eyelashes with eyeliner.
i can hide the bald spots in my eyebrows
with an eyebrow pencil.
i can hide the scars on my thighs with pants.
i can hide my tears by quickly rubbing my face with shaky hands.
i can hide my nervousness by staring at my phone pretending to text.
i can hide my empty razors by flushing them down the toilet.
i can hide my true feelings within the pages of a journal.
i can hide the dark circles under my eyes with concealer.
but no matter how hard i try, i can’t just hide my depression with a smile.
my depression is screaming inside of me, like a inmate who just wants to get out of the sick prison he’s inside of.
i try to bury the prisoner, i just want him to be quiet and to stop screaming.
no matter how much dirt i try to pile on top of him, the prisoner keeps screaming and screaming and i hear him in my sleep.
the prisoner can’t escape the pain that fills the air around him.
no matter how much effort he puts forth, he cannot crawl out of his prison.
he will be incarcerated forever.
i am the inmate and depression is the prison

Mikayla Oct 2015

frenzied, idle hands clutching at my self confidence
i rip my self confidence from my fragile being and throw it to the floor
it shatters into a million tiny pieces of hair
the hair clings to everything,
my hands,
my clothes,
my soul.
i can never escape the tiny strands of hair i've pulled from my weeping body,
my hair follows me everwhere.

Paige Aug 2015

Lately I find myself
wanting to talk about my
trichotillomania.
I think I want to find someone else
that knows what I'm going through.
I have never talked about it
on social media except one time.
And someone thought I had an
STD simply because they were
uninformed.
Embarrassed and ashamed
I quickly deleted it.
I shouldn't be ashamed.
Or embarrassed.
It's relevant. And real.

So, pretty much if you have trich
or just want someone to talk to
about it,
please comment or message me.
I know that isn't what this website is for,
But I feel most comfortable here.
And you can too.

Raquel Butler Aug 2015

When did I get this way?
Was it my first lapse in judgement?
Was it the first time I was so terrified of going to school
I had a panic attack?
Was it the first time I pulled?
Was it on any of the numerous nights I broke down
alone and afraid of who I was?
When did I get this way?
It scares me to know I've been this way forever.

Raquel Butler Mar 2015

You wonder why I won't stop,
But do you wonder why I ever started?
Do you ever wonder how I feel?
Do you ever wonder if I have tried?
Do you ever wonder that I have cried?
Do you ever wonder that I almost have died?
Do you ever wonder why I have survived?
Do you ever for a second wonder that I can't?
Do you ever wonder?
You wonder not.

Feeling really down today. This has been a nice release.
xoK Mar 2014

When you leave
I fear I will pluck each strand of hair
From my entire head
And produce so many tears
That I dry up like desert sand
And blow away in the arid breeze.
I am nothing.
Until you come back,
And take the time
To braid the hairs together,
And collect each grain of sand.
Nutella-sticky fingers glue me all into one piece
With squeezey hugs and blanket fort cuddles.
And I'll forget you ever even left.

LDR life.
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