Trichotillomania, by Dima

I stood in front of the mirror, holding the clippers out in front of me, and stared at my reflection.  I hated it.  I hated what I saw.  What I saw every time I passed a mirror or a glass door.  Patches of hair, patches of baldness, a shock of dark brown in the front and back and pale white skin on the sides.  People thought I cut my hair like that on purpose, I knew, thinking I was some sort of skinhead who couldn’t shave in a straight line.  I angled my chin down and tried to catch a glimpse of my crown.  I saw it just for a second.  Splotchy.  Shaggy and then bumpy spots of irritated skin.  I looked like a circus freak, a scary clown.  Or a prisoner in a concentration camp.  I didn’t want to see this anymore.  I didn’t want anyone to see this anymore.

I turned on the clippers that I held in front of my chest.  I felt the buzz throughout my whole body.  It felt like reassurance.  Like I could do something to make my life better.  I brought the clippers up to my forehead and look at my reflection once more.

I looked like a unicorn.  Ha.  A smirk played out along my lips.  Just as soon as the moment of levity had appeared, it was replaced by that overpowering sadness that I felt was taking over my life.  No more.  No more.  I thought back to last week, back to Friday’s math test, the one I’d stressed out about the whole week.  I didn’t realize it as it was happening.  I was filling in the scantron with one hand, and my other hand crept up to the side of my head.  Unconsciously, reflexively, I started to pick at the few bristly hairs that still remained above my ear.  Yanking out one, then the next.  Digging into the skin with the fingernails to really grip that short little wire and yanking it out with quick jerks.  I let each one fall onto my desk as I got it free.  I didn’t notice.  I think I was just sort of staring off into space.  That is, until Chad, who was sitting beside me, decided to make a scene.

“Why do you do that to yourself?” he bellowed, and all heads in the class, mine included, whipped toward him to find out who he was yelling at.  I thought maybe it was someone sitting on my other side and turned my head to look the other way when suddenly I was realized that Chad was staring at me.  And so was everybody else.  And I instantly became aware of my hand on the side of my head and my eyes flashed down and saw the little hairs covering my test paper and then the hotness burned across my cheeks.  I shoved my hand into my other armpit and looked intently down, not wanting to show anyone my shame.  But I could feel myself being betrayed by the blushing of my face.

I took a deep breath and pushed the buzzing clippers onto my head.  I felt the vibration rattling throughout my whole skull.  Clenching my teeth, I closed my eyes and pushed it back, toward my crown.  I opened my eyes just in time to see a whole lock of hair fall in front of my face and into the sink.  It made me catch my breath in anxiety.  No! What was I doing?  Why was I shaving what little hair I had left?!

But I knew I had to do it.  As much as I didn’t want to be bald, I knew that if I had no more hair, I couldn’t pick it out anymore.  And that would be that.  That would pretty much bring an end to all of my problems.  This was the only thing to do.

So I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth again and finished the job.  I got rid of it all.  And when I’d finished, I opened my eyes and looked at my handiwork and then sunk to the floor and cried.

That was last month.  It wasn’t quite the end.  With no hair left on my scalp, I’d taken to pulling out my eyelashes as I fell asleep each night.  I didn’t know it was happening until one eye was naked.  And then a few days later, the other one.  But then it was finally done.  Sure, it looked weird – people probably thought I was one of those people who couldn’t grow hair - , but it was done.  Finally.  It had been weeks already since I’d pulled out any hair.  It was great.  I felt great.

I was sitting on the couch in my basement talking to Becky.  Becky was cool.  We were pretty close friends.  I don’t really know how it happened.  We’d just started hanging out a lot around the time that I shaved my head and we were still hanging out a lot.  She was cool.  I wouldn’t say there was anything going on between us.  We were just friends.  But then, we were sitting alone in my parents’ basement, just talking, just the two of us.  We seemed to do that a lot lately.  Maybe there was something there.  I don’t know.

I don’t remember what we were talking about.  Probably school.  Or music, probably music.  I was kind of tired.  It had felt like a long day, and we were just relaxing, sitting pretty close together on the couch.  I think at the time I was daydreaming a bit.  Talking, but my mind wandered a little.  Maybe thinking about us.  Maybe wondering why I couldn’t seem to get a girlfriend.  Maybe thinking that this could turn into something more.

“What... are you doing?!”  Becky’s voice shocked me out of my thoughts.  It was annoyed, maybe even afraid.  I looked at her, confused.  What was going on?  And then I saw it.  My hand.  At her face.  At her eyes.  I was pulling at her eyelashes.  I jerked my hand away and tried to hide it behind me.  I felt that burning in my cheeks again.  Ow, it was so hot.  I looked back into Becky’s eyes.  She looked offended.  But she looked scared.  No.  No no no.  I didn’t want her to be afraid of me.  No, no, please, no.  Please no.

“I, uhh, sorry, I’m sorry.  Sorry.”  I stammered and she said it was okay but neither of us believed it.  I tried to go back to talking, but she found a reason to excuse herself quickly.  She went home.  I think I stared at the door for five minutes after she left.  And then, suddenly realizing I was alone again, I sunk down to the floor.  And I cried.

That was the day I finally decided I was going to talk to my doctor about this.  I can’t do this anymore.