I have an addictive personality. No, really, I do. In fact, it has gotten so intense that it is no longer just a part of my personality. It is a mental disorder, and to be more specific, an obsessive compulsive and psychological disorder. I have Trichotillomania.
The dictionaries define it as follows: a mental disorder that involves an irresistible urge to pull out one’s hair. All of the doctors, physicians, and specialists that I have been to, say that this is rare, and is caused by severe depression or stress. Nevertheless, from a personal stand point, I can say that there are many other motives.
Knowing when an urge is going to come is near impossible. It comes when I’m bored, tired, angry, confused, stressed, or happy. The actual act of pulling the hair out is overwhelming. The sensations bounce from pain to pleasure at their leisure. There is a sick gratification that comes from the extreme discomfort (perhaps that’s the psychological part of the disorder). When the hair is out, however, a devastating feeling of defeat overwhelms me. I know that I gave into the temptation, and lost the battle terribly. The irony of it all is, because I feel defeated, and therefore stressed, I pick and pull more hair.
This disorder is embarrassing. It is not something that someone comes to terms with easily. It took me years before I could come up to my mother and talk with her about it. Fear paralyzed me. I was afraid of being labeled.
I’ve heard people talk about others with disorders. They speak of darting eyes, being crouched in corners, and talking to one’s self psychotically. Like racism, I fear that these ignorant assumptions won’t ever completely disappear.