pulling out hair

Hi. I am 15 years old, and I have been pulling out my eyelashes since I turned 6.

It started out with aiming to one particular spot on my eyelid, then the same spot on the other. It hit me when I was at a restaurant with my family, my mom had looked over at me, just to see a hole along my eyelash line on both eyes. She freaked out, sort of angry, and asked why it was like that. I had hesitated until I managed to say I had pulled them out. My mom had gotten mad, along with my grandma, and everybody else was just staring at me. My grandma told me with a strict voice that my eyelashes don’t grow back. That I would never have them again. Yes, I still remember that day, and yet I have continued to pull them out.

I was in Kindergarten at the time, and hadn’t really realized the effect it would have on me until around 4th grade. I was so extremely self cautious, and at the time, my pullings were the worst. I managed to pull out every last eyelash on both eyelids. My parents were so mad at me. I know it’s just because they love me, and want me to be normal and have eyelashes. It was extremely noticeable because of how often I would do it. Whenever they would start to grow back, I pulled at them, leaving my eyelids puffy and red and swollen. I have a picture of me back then holding up one of my favorite books in the school library as a part of a project, later to be hung up in the hallways. I remember people giving me weird looks, asking me why my eyelids were so red and puffy, and why I had no eyelashes. I was so ashamed of myself. My dad constantly got mad at me if I pulled them out. He would ask me why I did it? He’d tell me to just say ‘no’. It made me feel like a freak, having him constantly look at my eyes with anger, yelling at me to stop doing it. He would get so angry that he would tell me to sit in the office with him, look him in the eyes, and tell him that ‘I would brake this stupid habit’, over and over and over again, until he was convinced that I must truely believe I would stop myself. That’s all it was to him. A ’stupid habit’ that was led by lack of self control. Constantly being yelled at for having absolutly no self-control, I felt sad, ugly, and hopeless.

After I would be told to stop doing it, and to just say ‘NO’, I would be crying, trying to explain that it just wasn’t that easy for me. I would be trying so hard to let my parents know that I couldn’t just stop. But they hadn’t believed me. I would be asked ‘WHY NOT?’, but I really didn’t know, and resulted in always saying what I felt: “I don’t know”. I couldn’t understand why, whenever I pulled out a single stub of an eyelash, it gave me relief, even comfort. All I could say was ‘I don’t know”. But that wasn’t good enough. I was repeatedly reminded that it was my own fault, that I had no self-control, and I did it to myself, so I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself.

I was so miserable in fourth grade, I was becoming less social than I had before. I was so afraid to look at people in the eye, and so self-contious whenever people looked at me. I was a freak, and from then on have always hated to word ‘eyelash’. After hearing it used in anger towards me so often, I tried to avoid hearing it and saying it. Whenever I watched T.V. and there was a mascara commercial, I switched the channel. In fifth grade, girls were starting to wear make-up. Whenever they would mention their eyelashes or mascara, if I could, I would leave the room, staring at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact. I was so afraid to talk to people other than my friends. I couldn’t fathom the word or thought, and everytime I encounterd it, I would flinch to myself. I didn’t want to tell my teacher because it was too much to do while standing in front of her, looking at her eyes, so I begged my mom to call school and tell my teacher herself. She said he had the previous day, but I was so convinced it wouldn’t be any better. I was even too afraid to talk to my parents or make eye contact with them, for fear of them getting mad and yelling at me.

It wasn’t until about half way through fifth grade that I had a weird change in urges. For some un-explainable, amazing reason, I hadn’t pulled out my eyelashes for long enough to let them FULLY grow back! I felt so amazing, it was the greatest I had ever felt for years. I could talk to people like a normal kid, I could talk to my parents without being afraid or ashamed, I even began being more social with friends at school. That was just the turnaround that I needed to get me to the social status I am at today.

Of course, the urges came back, and I once again began plucking eyelash after eyelash. But if I hadn’t had that wonderful feeling of being free of fear and shame, I don’t know if I would have been able to continue to fight. I set a goal for myself that summer prior to sixth grade–grow them again before junior high. I didn’t think I could stand the peer pressure and embarrassment of being the only student with no eyelashes. It was almost the week before school, and my goal was not reached. I only managed to save about the back half of my eyelashes on both eyelids, leaving them looking identicle. It is so strange reflecting on my habits. How I would be such a ‘neat freak’ that I needed them to both look the same so it would be even. However, when school began once again, I had to stick to my old, anit-social plan to avoid eye contact. I wouldn’t make friends like I used to before 4th grade. Of course, I had my friends since before then, who were the only ones that I could trust would not making me feel bad and keeping to themselves to not ask me why I had no eyelashes. I absolutly refused to tell anybody what I had done, no matter how many times they would ask and make me feel bad about myself. It kept me enclosed, my thoughts to myself, my feelings left bundled up inside me. I couldn’t talk to people the same way normal people could. I realized how often you make eye contact with people in one day. It’s a lot. Too much for me to bear. When I would get home and lay in bed at night, I would stare out into the stars, wishing so hard and long that when I woke up the next morning, i would have my eyelashes back. I would prey so deeply, sobbing under my covers to please, just please, let me a normal kid. Let me have my eyelashes, let there be a miracle.

My only dream never came true. I would wake up in the morning, the same freak as the previous day, and the day before that. My mom started to take into consideration that maybe instead of yelling at me and getting mad at me for uncontrollable pulling out my eyelashes, she should see what is really going on. I love her for that. She did a lot of research explaining situations of other girls like me, and we came to a conclusion that I must have Trichotillomania. My mom was totally supportive of me. I felt so joyous that I could then look at her eyes and have a conversation with her, guilt free. She even signed me up for a psyciatrist, who I went to see for a long time, and my eyelashes grew back! It wasn’t until the summer before 8th grade that my dad took into recognition that maybe I knew what I was talking about when I said I didn’t know why I pulled out my eyelashes. He finally took the time to listen to me, to hear me out. He actually researched for reasons why I did the things I did with my eyelashes. It wasn’t until one amazing day when he came home from work with pamphlets explaining girls, like me, with Trichotillomania. He finally sort of understood my side of the situation. It wasn’t untill 8th grade that I ever had a full eyelid of eyelashes. I had another strange, sensational, urge free few months that my eyelashes all grew back. I made sure I waited, so confident and sure of myself that I would never EVER pull them out again. I couldn’t go back to the way I was a few months before. I finally became more comfortable in the cosmetics department at target, or bath and body works, or PINK. I was like everybody else. Until I started to wear mascara. I never realized it made my eyelashes feel lighter than normal, like they weren’t even there. And the worst part is-if I touched my eyelashes, they felt clumpy. I couldn’t stand it. My eyelashes weren’t neatly layed out along my eyelid. Something was in the way of them being perfectly smooth, and that was my mascara. I still remember; 6th period, computer class. I felt the ends of my eyelids and yanked. I didn’t realize the mascara stuck to eyelashes so well. So, along with black mascara remnants in my fingertips were fully eyelashes. It was a sudden wave of anger, hatered, shame, sadness, and fear all in one wake. When it subsided, I realized in shock how I missed that sickening feeling of pulling out eyelashes. It was such a relief to be doing it again, yet I was in the middle of class! I couldn’t believe myself for letting go that easy, yet I couldn’t believe myself for holding back. Yes, the sensation was that relieving, unexplainable to anybody who hasn’t done it. I was sick with fear at the same time, realizing, as I continued to pull at the mascara, that I would soon not have eyelashes. I tried to stop and do the work for my class, but I was ahead anyway, and could afford to let go of the keyboard sometimes and feel my eyelids.

I pretty much wanted to cry. But I couldn’t, I was in the middle of class at school. I wanted to be home, to handcuff my hands behind my back. I mean, when you think about it, that Would work, because without my hands there is nothing to pull at my eyelashes with. Yet, on the logical side, I need hands to carry on in life, you know? When I finally did get home though, I went straight to the mirror to see the damage I had done. It was horrifying. Yet, I couldn’t resist the sudden urge to pull more. In about 3 days time, I was almost all out of eyelashes on my eyes. That was they worst I felt in so long because all of my friends at school had seen me with mascara, had seen that I did, in fact, have eyelashes. That maybe they imagined I didn’t have them for a long time, because I still did not let anybody know that I had personally pulled them out. But then, it was like there was no way I could look at anybody in the eyes, for certainty that they just must realize that, hey, that girl just had eyelashes last week. Where did they go?? I was so ashamed when my parents got home. I didn’t want to look at my mom, I’d just have to wait for her to find out on her own. But at that time, my parents were more accepting of it because they knew somewhat about it. I didn’t get yelled at by my dad, but instead it was a settle, stern look into my eyes. I was so relieved, because all I could think about after school was what he was going to think. I was so happy that he didn’t yell at me, that even though he gave me a frustrated look, it felt like the best thing in the world.

To this day, with my parents finally not getting mad at me for sometimes having eyelashes, and sometimes not, for not being yelled at or punished, for being accepted, I am doing better with my eyelashes. There is less stress to have to be worried about what they would think, although I sometimes still am, and with less stress, I have been able to go pluck-free sometimes for a weeks. I do not have full eyelashes, but finding this websight, and really getting involved with this, I think will really help.

I am in 9th grade. I’m still self cautious in the hallways, because it always feels like whenever I pass people, they look at my eyes with wonder. But, after typing this and reflecting on the past 9 years of my life, I think it is a new opening for support and hope. All I have to do is wait a bit for them to come in

Thankyou for reading,
Erika

I would like to tell you that there is hope. I was a puller for many years. I started pulling my hair out when I was 12.

That particular age marked the time that I stopped my father from sexually abusing me. It was the time I realised what he was doing to me was wrong, and it was the time I started pulling my hair out. I could not stop myself from doing it. I would feel around in one particular spot for the perfect hair, pluck, then stroke the piece of hair between my fingers, and finally, remove the root with my finger nails before throwing it on the floor, over and over again.

It had gotten so out of control, that I would do it in public. I remember doing it in the class room at school, in the cinema, but mostly in front of the television. Pretty soon, I had plucked myself a bald patch. One night my mum caught a glimps of it through the hair I had swept over it. I was yelled at, and asked the question “why” for hours. I tried so hard to stop, but it was like an addiction, I just had to at least stroke the hair…which inevitably ended in pulling.

So then I just got smarter. I would still pull, but not as much and I would try to spread out where I pulled from, even though I didn’t feel the same satisfaction as I got from the original spot. I continued this way, on and off, sometimes I didn’t need to do it, and then other times it was full on.

I also suffered from depression on and off, when I was 14 I tried to commit suicide… then at 24 was depressed and suicidal again, with intense hair pulling at the same time.

Over the years the sensation lessened, as did the episodes. I am 36 now, I haven’t pulled my hair out for around 10 years. I practice positive thinking every day, in order to keep my mind in a good place. I have been told that Cognitive Behavioural Therapy involves working with positing thought patterns, and this could possibly be the answer. I have conquered my hair pulling, and I know you can do it too. Good luck xx