My name is Sarah Spafford and I am eighteen years old. I sat here for a while debating on whether I should write this or not, but finally decided to go ahead with it because I thought that of all the disorders and compulsions out there, the one I struggle with isn’t as widely known.
I will begin by giving you a little bit of background on myself. I am a college student, and the oldest of four children. I have a pretty fulfilled life, a loving boyfriend, loving parents and family, and a few close friends. One thing that has been a black mark for years has been my hair pulling.
You read correctly, I did say hair pulling. It is something I have struggled with for years, and have only recently really been fighting. I’ve done it for half of my life. It began when I was about nine years old, with eyelashes, and eyebrows, and a couple of years later escalated to the hair on my head. I went about five years with bald patches, some easy to cover up, others not so easy. I wore a bandanna to hide the ones I couldn’t cover up with anything else. In a world where long hair is feminine and pretty on a girl, something like this really takes its toll on the self confidence level of a teenage girl. I had done it so long that it became habit, I got to the point that I wouldn’t really know I was doing it until it was too late. It was like muscle memory by then.
It’s really the only thing I can honestly say that I have hated myself for doing. I would catch myself, and immediately get that self-loathing feeling in the pit of my stomach. This compulsion has both been a cause of stress for me, and a relief of it simultaneously.
You may be thinking Why would someone do that to themselves? and honestly, I can’t entirely answer that question. I’ve asked myself that millions of times before, and have come up with a few possible answers in my case, but never anything really satisfying. It’s a compulsion, and I really do feel panicked if I refuse to let myself do it again. In fact, within the past few weeks, I’ve only gone three consecutive days without doing it, those days ended with me catching myself pull a single hair out and having to start the countdown all over again. Collectively, I’ve refrained from doing it at all for about a week. Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but when it’s something you’ve done for so long, you count the minutes, the hours, and the days. I was proud of myself for those few days I controlled it.
While I’ve never been formally diagnosed, the disorder is called trichotillomania. It’s been a cause of embarrassment and introverted behavior from early on because it started when I was about nine years old. Recently, my boyfriend has tried to talk to me about it, tried to help me stop. However, when it’s brought up to me, I tend to either shut down, or lash out. The embarrassment of it is overwhelming sometimes. While I haven’t needed to wear a bandanna for a few years now, I’ve never been able to have a full head of hair the same length. The first time I was able to get a haircut even close to what I had asked the stylist for was very recent, and I was so happy about it, I cried.
Now, I’m writing this because for years I thought I was alone. I didn’t think anyone else did this thing that I did to myself, and so no one would understand. I wish all the time that I knew way back that I wasn’t the only one who had this urge to pull out my own hair. Also, if I can raise a little awareness of this disorder, to help at least one other person struggling with this disorder, I’ll feel good about having written this. I want others with this disorder to realize that they are not alone, and that they can stop. I’m stopping. Some cases are more severe than others, and I realize that. I assume my case was moderate at one point, but is now mild. You have to take it in steps.
