I am a Trichster

Fair warning: This is a more serious post. 

Everyone has stress, but not everyone deals with it the same way. Some people overeat, some turn to drugs and alcohol, some become violent, and others simply cry the day away. While I have thought of using these coping mechanisms on different occasions, the aforementioned are not how I deal with stress. Instead, I am a Trichster. 

Trichotillomania is best defined as an impulse-control disorder where an individual pulls out his or her own hair in an attempt to provide relief from tension or anxiety. I have this disorder, and am therefore called a Trichster.

I believe this started one day in middle school: I couldn't handle being the weird-girl without friends; I hated that I was the social outcast and that classmates considered me ugly and fat; I resented the fact that I was kind to everyone around me, and yet had no one to even call an ally. Once I was home, in an attempt to make myself prettier, I grabbed a pair of tweezers and attacked my eyebrows trying to thin them out; however, instead of focusing on how I looked, I was mesmerized by the feeling I had when I was pulling: the physical aspect was painful, but once I pulled a hair I felt a sense of "release." The moment when I had successfully pulled a hair was a stress-free moment, and that was nice.But the stress-free moment would quickly end and I would have the urge to pull another hair, and this cycle continued.

Without realizing it, I sort of developed this addiction to pulling my hair out. I pulled from my eyebrows, my eyelashes, and my scalp. All for the temporary relief that it gave me. Of course, when life became overwhelming, the attempt to gain temporary relief left me with bald patches in all of the previously mentioned locations. I had to draw on my eyebrows, apply extra eyeliner and mascara to hide the gaps in my eyelashes, and I could only wear my hair a certain way so that no one would notice the dime-sized bald spots on my head. There were times when I didn't feel as stressed out and anxious, but high school was definitely my toughest time. Senior year (what I consider my lowest point) is when I had to pull out all the stops: I didn't have any eyebrows, I didn't have any eyelashes, and the hair on my  head was minimal at best. I couldn't go swimming for fear that the makeup would wash off and people would see what I really looked like. I lost countless hours of sleep trying to hide my condition from family: I would stay up later than everyone so they didn't see me when I washed my makeup off at night, and I would get up earlier than everyone the next day to put makeup back on before they knew any better. I was ashamed of myself and had started to believe that my classmates were right in calling me worthless. This complete abhorrence I had for myself only perpetuated the tension I experienced, and therefore the pulling cycle.

Once I got out of high school and away from that toxic environment and its inhabitants, I didn't have nearly as much trouble with my Trichotillomania. I realized that I wasn't this hideous monster like people had claimed, but that I had a lot to offer the world. This is not to say that I am cured of Trichotillomania by any means; I still have stress and pull my hair out every once in a while, but it is nowhere near the extent that it was in high school. I have done tons of research about the disorder and found comfort in knowing that I am not the only person suffering from it. I've tried implementing tricks to keep my hands busy so that I am not able to pull, but have found that those fixes are only temporary.

Most of the success I achieved when battling my Trichotillomania came after I accepted who I was. I had to learn to love myself, and not believe all the negative things that other people said about me before a big chunk of my anxiety would ease up. I had to accept that I was not perfect, and that not everyone was going to like me, but that I was still a good person and deserved at least basic courtesies. I am still working on fine-tuning these ideas in my mind, and often struggle to feel comfortable telling everyone about my disorder; however, I am trying to come to terms with, and love the person that I truly am, and all that encompasses, which includes me having Trichotillomania.

So....my name is Katelyn and I am a Trichster.