Fight It: A Trichotillomania Story

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Author's Note:

Just letting you know before I get started with my very first story, everything is 100% true. This is a story about my battle and concur of Trichotillomania. I'm making this mainly to show others that they can do it as well, and I'm here to show they're not alone. You're never alone through this fight.

I hope you enjoy this.

- Miranda

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Chapter 1: The Beginning

I believe it all started when I was about 7-years-old. I was sitting in my 2nd grade class, taking a small test. Nothing stressing about it. Younger self was just writing down how to spell a simple word, when I felt my hand go towards my eyelashes. Without even realizing or even thinking, I started to lightly pluck the hairs. This only happened once that I can remember. It never really reared its ugly head until 7 years later.

14, in the 9th grade, and VERY stressed. Why? Spanish class. The final exam at that. Worst thing ever with you have a teacher that can't really teach if her life depended on it, and giving you things to "study" when the material isn't even on the test. Thanks Miss Guthmiller...

Anyways, there I was, having a panic attack right at my desk. My hand swung up, and I quickly asked my teacher to use the restroom. No reply, then yelled it to her in Spanish. Without her giving an actual reply, I grabbed the flimsy, and bright neon yellow Hall Pass vest (Yes, we had these and they were RIDICULOUS), and dashed down the hall.

"What if I fail?! What if I have to take the class AGAIN?! What if I never graduate just because of this class?!" All this questions filled my head as I rammed into the bathroom door, swinging it open. Before doing anything, I opened all the stalls. I was alone. Pacing, I started to mutter to myself. "I can do this....I know I can! Yeah...Just gotta remember everything I was taught...By a teacher that's obviously not knowing what she's doing...Great...", I sigh, throwing the vest on the ground. My hands ran though my hair. I needed to relax. Thing was, kids my age used drugs, sex, or even self-infliction to relieve stress. I was a virgin who was afraid of pain and hated even thinking about drugs. So, those wouldn't help me at all. Both hands still on my head.

"WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?!", I yelled. My arms swung downward, still holding onto my hair with clentched fists.

RIP!!!

What....What the hell have I done? I looked down, seeing a good 10 strains of hair, twisted and tangled between my fingers. At first sight, I panicked. My hands shook, and I began to cry. Not because of pain. No...Because I just didn't know how to react to that. But after a few seconds, I realized there was no pain. None at all. This was strange...I would usually hate the thought of getting a paper cut and feeling the pain but this...was strangely relaxing. Couldn't explain why, but it was.

I stood there for a good 5 minutes, plucking one hair at a time in different spots. No pain and I was calming down. Once finished, there was a huge hair carpet on the floor. I gathered up all the strains, put them in the trash, and walked out before anyone would even know I was there. I didn't know what exactly was happening to me, but I liked it. And I knew that this was only the beginning...

Oh, and FYI: I didn't pass my Spanish exam...Again, thank you Miss Guthmiller...