It's a complicated order.

This is how it begins

A dark curl falls into my lap. In my head, I curse myself. That's the thing about trich. You pull out the hair, then comes an ocean's wave of regret to wash over you.

  When I was thirteen, I was diagnosed with Trichotillomania. A disorder where you rip out your hair. I've been bald. I'd rather be full on bald than patched with bald spots. It always left me thinking "Don't pull. Don't pull.". Beggars can't be choosers I guess.  

  I had more hair than a Disney princess. I shudder at the thought.

I looked like your average french, fifteen year old Oliver. Tall, curly black hair, annoyingly bright green eyes... The list continues of average, not-unique, awkward man looks.

  I sit up on my bed, a wall of pillows being a barrier from the headboard and my back.

  I was home alone in a wooded house. My parents are divorced so I don't think of either parent's house as a "home".

My mother's house was small. She worked at a dispatcher for the sheriff's department in a nearby city. It paid the bills. My father flipped houses. He bought a house and then him and my adopted brother Travis would make it a dream house, then my father would sell the house for gazillions of dollars. He was filthy rich.

  I am lucky enough to see both parents. Some kids are unfortunate and have to pick a parent. My schedule contained seven days with dad, then seven days with mom. Back to back to back.

   I didn't favor a parent but I certainly didn't like them as a kid would.

    Looking at the clock it was 5 AM. Mom was at work and I couldn't sleep. Again. I got up and walked in the living room where the preciously beautiful PlayStation 3 sits.

   I lived for video games.  I was spawned on this Earth for video games. My future is going to be an indie game designer.

   I grab a controller and play a random gory game.

   When I play games and watch television (rarely), I don't focus on whatever I'm doing. I daydream and it's like my hands know what to do so I don't need to think on it. I'm in my own world when I play a game or watch television. It's hard to describe.

   When I get about an hour into the game, I get bored so I do the daily routine. Take a shower, throw on clothes that don't match, skip breakfast, and somewhere in there, I'll most likely pull out my hair.

   Trichotillomania treats me differently than most people who have it. I feel a needle like from a syringe in my scalp and it doesn't go away. I could beat my head against a wall till I was bleeding and I would still feel that small needle point against somewhere on my head. The only way to make that small needle point go away is to pull my hair. But once I pull I can't really stop. It's not a self  harm thing. Or a habit. It's a killer thing.

   I had twelve hours till my mother gets home. I had absolutely nothing to do. I went on our old school Wii, that I didn't use and clicked on a downloaded netflix app. I watched documentaries until I heard a car pull into our driveway.

   I glanced at the time and saw that twelve hours flew by. Wow. I paused a reality show called 16 And Pregnant (I like to make fun of idiotic teens) and unlocked the front door for mom to get in.

   I tensed, ready for the hair pulling trigger to walk through the front door.