minxy
09-23-2007, 05:14 PM
Part 2: Learning to accept and more
Part Two of Tori's Story
I got asked out by a really cute boy in school and I said, "Yes." It was a great and fun relationship for about a month. Then, of course, he ended up cheating on me. So, guess what happened to my lovely, long-awaited, beloved eyebrows? Gone, gone, and haven't come back since. I had laid there at night and pulled them all out because of a simple little heartbreak. I remember getting up in the middle of the night, going to the bathroom and looking at myself for the first time in months with no eyebrows. I gasped then broke down in tears. I wasn't the pretty blond girl anymore; I was back to my freakish self. I hated it. I hated myself. I hated the urges.
That was the first time I ever thought of committing suicide, all because I thought I was so ugly and because others made me feel ugly and still to this day they still do.
I thought I was worthless; I thought I was God's personal joke to the world. I thought I wasn't correct. I thought I was the only one who did this. A few weeks later I had attempted to kill myself, but my attempt failed, and after that I couldn't do it again. It was too heartbreaking to know I couldn't just die like I wanted to.
I had to get counseling at school that year. My counselor had asked me if pulling out my eyebrows and eyelashes helped eased the pain that I might have. I remember telling her, "I don't know why I do it. It just seems like whenever I'm nervous, afraid, sad, angry or upset, that urge to rip them out of my fucking face comes back and I can't stop it." Talking to her helped. I didn't do it as much. My mom still fussed at me constantly for it, but I ignored her. I had to accept these urges; I knew there was no way around them. I didn't know it was a disorder; I just thought I was crazy. And hell, I might as well accept it.
The summer before my freshman year started, I still had no eyebrows, but I had eyelashes. It was a fun summer. I got asked out a lot, which boosted my confidence. I was in love with a new boy. But I didn't know then, I was in danger while I was with him. I was so depressed; I didn't feel alive. I was constantly in fear of losing his love, especially after he cheated on me. He pressured me to sleep with him after that, promising me he wouldn't cheat again, promising me the world, and I still refused to give up my virginity. So I got dumped. My heart was broken. I missed school. I wasn't pepped up; I was thrown down. So, my eyelashes got pulled out and they haven't been back since.
My mom finally grew totally disgusted with my appearance and sought out to find what my problem was. She looked it up, she asked doctors, and finally she found it out, and it all pieced together perfectly. Her daughter had trichotillomania, a rare, mysterious, and loathed disorder.
I know most of you are thinking and I've been asked this a millions times, "Why don't you just stop? Just stop pulling; it can't be that hard." And how would you know unless you have trich? Keeping a person with trich from pulling is almost like keeping an alcoholic from alcohol or a pothead from pot or a nymphomaniac from sex. You would drive them mad, no matter how much better it would make their appearance. It is almost like an addiction! People with trich have the need to pull for whatever reason. I can tell anyone who's maybe facing this problem: it is not as bad as it seems. It's like that whole phrase thing: "Will it matter in 10 years what jeans you wore? What car you drove? Who you dated but did not marry?" or whatever it says. "Will it matter later on in life that you had bald spots on your body?" No, it won't. Life isn't about appearance. People just tend to make that seem like a necessity when it isn't. What's on the inside really is what matters. I know, very cliché, but it's the truth, and I bet any person with trich will tell you this or will eventually learn it.
Now I'm in the middle of my freshman year. I have received no therapy or medication for trich and I don't think I want it. I decided not to hide myself in all black hoping not to get anyone's attention, when on the inside I really want it. I decided not to be a fake airhead in hopes of getting attention when I really want away from it. I am myself. I pencil on my eyebrows and embrace it. I wear lots of eyeliner but still play up my eyes. I still embrace it. I'm friends with almost everyone in school, popular or not, and I couldn't be happier. I always thought trich was the cause of my unhappiness, but it was my insecurity and uncertainty with this disorder. Don't get me wrong, I still wish I had eyebrows and especially eyelashes!
If anything, I can say I am not happy with having trich, but I am happy with what having trich taught me. It taught me that beauty isn't created in a bottle of mascara or in a tube of lipstick; beauty is created in your confidence and how you see yourself in the world. Strength isn't being able to hide your tears and pretend the pain isn't there; it's being able to let those tears fall and know you feel. Bravery isn't being a stuck-up snob and hurting others; it's going to school every day and knowing you're at risk of getting picked on, but you will face every day with a smile on your face and warmness in your heart.
thanks,
minxy.
Part Two of Tori's Story
I got asked out by a really cute boy in school and I said, "Yes." It was a great and fun relationship for about a month. Then, of course, he ended up cheating on me. So, guess what happened to my lovely, long-awaited, beloved eyebrows? Gone, gone, and haven't come back since. I had laid there at night and pulled them all out because of a simple little heartbreak. I remember getting up in the middle of the night, going to the bathroom and looking at myself for the first time in months with no eyebrows. I gasped then broke down in tears. I wasn't the pretty blond girl anymore; I was back to my freakish self. I hated it. I hated myself. I hated the urges.
That was the first time I ever thought of committing suicide, all because I thought I was so ugly and because others made me feel ugly and still to this day they still do.
I thought I was worthless; I thought I was God's personal joke to the world. I thought I wasn't correct. I thought I was the only one who did this. A few weeks later I had attempted to kill myself, but my attempt failed, and after that I couldn't do it again. It was too heartbreaking to know I couldn't just die like I wanted to.
I had to get counseling at school that year. My counselor had asked me if pulling out my eyebrows and eyelashes helped eased the pain that I might have. I remember telling her, "I don't know why I do it. It just seems like whenever I'm nervous, afraid, sad, angry or upset, that urge to rip them out of my fucking face comes back and I can't stop it." Talking to her helped. I didn't do it as much. My mom still fussed at me constantly for it, but I ignored her. I had to accept these urges; I knew there was no way around them. I didn't know it was a disorder; I just thought I was crazy. And hell, I might as well accept it.
The summer before my freshman year started, I still had no eyebrows, but I had eyelashes. It was a fun summer. I got asked out a lot, which boosted my confidence. I was in love with a new boy. But I didn't know then, I was in danger while I was with him. I was so depressed; I didn't feel alive. I was constantly in fear of losing his love, especially after he cheated on me. He pressured me to sleep with him after that, promising me he wouldn't cheat again, promising me the world, and I still refused to give up my virginity. So I got dumped. My heart was broken. I missed school. I wasn't pepped up; I was thrown down. So, my eyelashes got pulled out and they haven't been back since.
My mom finally grew totally disgusted with my appearance and sought out to find what my problem was. She looked it up, she asked doctors, and finally she found it out, and it all pieced together perfectly. Her daughter had trichotillomania, a rare, mysterious, and loathed disorder.
I know most of you are thinking and I've been asked this a millions times, "Why don't you just stop? Just stop pulling; it can't be that hard." And how would you know unless you have trich? Keeping a person with trich from pulling is almost like keeping an alcoholic from alcohol or a pothead from pot or a nymphomaniac from sex. You would drive them mad, no matter how much better it would make their appearance. It is almost like an addiction! People with trich have the need to pull for whatever reason. I can tell anyone who's maybe facing this problem: it is not as bad as it seems. It's like that whole phrase thing: "Will it matter in 10 years what jeans you wore? What car you drove? Who you dated but did not marry?" or whatever it says. "Will it matter later on in life that you had bald spots on your body?" No, it won't. Life isn't about appearance. People just tend to make that seem like a necessity when it isn't. What's on the inside really is what matters. I know, very cliché, but it's the truth, and I bet any person with trich will tell you this or will eventually learn it.
Now I'm in the middle of my freshman year. I have received no therapy or medication for trich and I don't think I want it. I decided not to hide myself in all black hoping not to get anyone's attention, when on the inside I really want it. I decided not to be a fake airhead in hopes of getting attention when I really want away from it. I am myself. I pencil on my eyebrows and embrace it. I wear lots of eyeliner but still play up my eyes. I still embrace it. I'm friends with almost everyone in school, popular or not, and I couldn't be happier. I always thought trich was the cause of my unhappiness, but it was my insecurity and uncertainty with this disorder. Don't get me wrong, I still wish I had eyebrows and especially eyelashes!
If anything, I can say I am not happy with having trich, but I am happy with what having trich taught me. It taught me that beauty isn't created in a bottle of mascara or in a tube of lipstick; beauty is created in your confidence and how you see yourself in the world. Strength isn't being able to hide your tears and pretend the pain isn't there; it's being able to let those tears fall and know you feel. Bravery isn't being a stuck-up snob and hurting others; it's going to school every day and knowing you're at risk of getting picked on, but you will face every day with a smile on your face and warmness in your heart.
thanks,
minxy.