Trichotillomania

Trichotillomania....this is a word that I hate. I'm not sure what it is about the word, I just absolutely hate it. Maybe, it's because this is a word that I have let define me for over 20 years. This is a part of my life that I have kept hidden, lied about, been ashamed of and fearful that people would find out. It is a word that has kept me from doing many things that I once enjoyed in life....swimming, water skiing, having my hair and make-up done by others, wearing my hair down in a boat or with the windows rolled down.
I've talked about Trichotillomania (TTM) briefly in previous blogs, but never really shared my story with the word or how it has really affected my life. As a counselor, I believe that sharing your story is healing. "Every time you tell your story and someone else who cares bears witness to it, you turn off the body’s stress responses, flipping off toxic stress hormones like cortisol and epinephrine and flipping on relaxation responses that release healing hormones like oxytocin, dopamine, nitric oxide, and endorphins. Not only does this turn on the body’s innate self-repair mechanisms and function as preventative medicine—or treatment if you’re sick. It also relaxes your nervous system and helps heal your mind of depression, anxiety, fear, anger, and feelings of disconnection." (Rankin, L., MD, The Healing Power of Telling Your Story) I believe with every story shared, you continue the healing process. I've seen this with my dating/domestic violence awareness. I remember the first time I shared my story about being in an abusive relationship and the women who came up to me afterwards. It was scary telling my story for the first time, but as I got farther into the story, the more comfortable I became and the more I began to recognize the emotions the experience brought up in me...I felt them all as I shared my story....stress, anxiety, loneliness, and finally relief. Then when I had women come up to me and thank me for sharing my story and then to have them share their story with me, some of them this was the first time they spoke about it themselves, I was floored. I never imagined that my story would have an impact the way it did. And then when I shared my story at a middle school and the signs of dating violence and had a young man come to me after my presentation and tell me, "Miss. I just broke up with my girlfriend today and after hearing you, I'm glad I did. I was in an abusive relationship and I was the one being abused".....WOW!!!! I wanted to cry. By sharing my story, I was getting through to middle schoolers. Well, now I'm going to share my story with Trichotillomania.
First of all, I have to say that this is very scary for me. Scary because you never know what other's reaction to your story is going to be. I have been trying to recover from my TTM for over 20 years and I have to share my story for my healing, as well as to let the many others out there with TTM know that they are not alone.
TTM is a disorder in which the person has irresistible urges to pull out hair from the scalp, eyebrows, eyelashes, and sometimes other areas of the body. TTM has been referred to as both an impulse control disorder and an obsessive compulsive disorder; however, it doesn't really fit in any specific category. The cause of TTM is still unknown; however, in my experience, it is linked to trauma (something I believe most cases of TTM have in common). For some people, like model and actress Olivia Munn (Magic Mike), they pull only from their eyelashes; while others, like Paula Dean, pull out their eyebrows and eyelashes. Many other famous celebrities have also been reported as having had mild to moderate cases of TTM: Justin Timberlake, Katy Perry, Charlize Theron, Leonardo Di Caprio, Christina Aguilera, Victoria Beckham, Kate Beckinsale and Naomi Campbell. Many of these celebrities have only discussed their TTM in passing and Olivia Munn is the only one who has openly spoke out specifically about her disorder. TTM affects between two to ten million Americans, with more women being affected than men.
My TTM began for me when I was about 10 years old. My grandfather died and shortly after, I began being sexually abused by an older male cousin. The abuse happened a handful of times and I didn't know what to do with it or about it. He had told me not to tell and although I had been told my entire life not to let anyone touch me, I couldn't bring myself to tell. I was afraid that somehow I would be blamed or that no one would believe or worse yet...what my dad would do if he found out. I kept this secret to myself, while I began to develop internal anxiety and stress when I had to be around him. I was full of anxiety and shame. I wanted the way I felt inside to go away and I accidentally found that relief with TTM. I remember the first time I pulled. I didn't intentionally pull for a release or pleasure. I had an eyelash poking me in the eye and I pulled out the eyelash that was curled under. I wasn't expecting the release of tension that came with that pull. The only way I can describe is by comparing it to someone who cuts themselves. It's that release that you get from that brief pain...and it becomes addicting. From that day on, I have been a puller. It began with my eyelashes. I remember my grandmother noticing my missing lashes for the first time and I told her that I had tried to use an eyelash curler and accidentally pulled out my lashes. Then I began on my eyebrows. My parents were convinced I was shaving them. My dad would ground me and I was constantly in trouble for my pulling. I couldn't tell them I was intentionally and sometimes unconsciously pulling out my eyebrows and eyelashes. I was in junior high when I started pulling my hair. I thought if I started pulling the hair on my head, I would stop pulling my eyebrows and eyelashes. I pulled for nearly two years from my head before my mom noticed my thinning hair one afternoon after we had finished swimming. Just a couple of nights prior to that, I had been deeply depressed. I had been in sitting in my room for a couple of hours listening to music when I looked down and noticed a huge pile of hair next to my bed. I picked it up and threw it in the trash and looked in the mirror. That's when I saw the huge bald patch on my head. What had I done? Why had I pulled out my hair? Why couldn't I stop? I didn't like what I was doing, I didn't like what I saw in the mirror, I didn't like who I was. I felt like a monster, a freak. Why was I the only person in the world who did this to themselves? After sitting on the edge of my tub crying for about 30 minutes, I decided to pull my hair into a ponytail and go downstairs. I was flipping through the channels on tv when I stopped on an infomercial about wigs. It was while watching this infomercial that I realized that I what I was doing had a name and that there were millions of other people who did it to. It was called Trichotillomania. I sat watching the infomercial crying my eyes out. Crying out of relief that I was not alone and out of fear that the disorder had no known cure.
When my mom noticed my hair that day, I looked at her and began crying. For the first time, I admitted what I had been doing and told her that I had Trichotillomania. Mom worked for a doctor's office and had actually heard of the disorder. She made me an appointment with her doctor, who confirmed that I did have TTM and prescribed me an anti-depressant and referred me to a psychologist. I was a junior in high school when I began seeing my psychologist. Something I find interesting now, is that she never did an intake, which is the first thing I do with all my clients. She simply tried to treat my symptoms, rather than trying to get to the bottom of my disorder (my past trauma). While going to the psychologist, she wanted to work on my self-esteem, so she suggested that I purchase a wig. At this point, I had a very thin ponytail because the entire crown of my head was bald and wearing my hair in the ponytail was the only way to hide it. Mom took me to purchase a wig and I was more subconscious wearing the wig than I had been with my thin ponytail. However, having the wig on my head for 75% of the day, kept me from pulling my hair. We purchased the wig in the fall of my junior year and by winter my senior year, I was able to get rid of the wig and sporty a really cute pixie cut. I remember the day after I got my hair cut at school. I walked into my first period class with Ms. Myers. I had had Ms. Meyers for freshman English and she was our sponsor for Lions for the Lord (our school prayer group) and was blessed to have her again for senior English. When I walked into her classroom, Ms. Myers looked at me, walked across the room and with tears in her eyes gave me a hug and told me she was proud of me. We had never talked about my disorder, but she knew. That moment has stuck with me all these years later.
I thought this was a turning point for me and my TTM. For the next few months, I did really good about not pulling my hair. While I'm sporting my wig in my senior yearbook picture, I was able to graduate in 1999 with my own hair. I had a great summer, as I prepared for my first semester of college and thought things had turned around. Then two weeks before I left for college, my first love and someone who meant the world to me, committed suicide. I struggled through the next weeks to not pull. I was at Sam Houston with one of my best friends from high school and pursuing my broadcast journalism degree. I was still struggling not to pull, but was managing. That is until we went out one night mid-semester. Our suitemate was a bartender at one of the local bars, so we went to see her at work. It was $1 pitcher night, so a group of us girls were having fun. Then we met a group of older students, who invited us to go to one of the popular clubs in Huntsville. We hung out there a while and because we were underage and they were strict about not serving minors, we had to sneak drinks from the group we were with. I remember a guy brining me one drink and drinking it. Next thing I know, we are at an apartment complex at a party. There were people all over the place and a keg in the parking lot. A guy brought me and my friends a beer from the keg and we were all standing around talking. I needed to use the restroom and someone pointed me towards an apartment with an open door and gave me directions on how to get there. As I was walking to the restroom, I got a call from a friend. We talked for a good 10 minutes before I left the bathroom. When I finished our conversation, I hung up and walked out of the bathroom. I was walking down the hall when I was grabbed from behind and pulled into a pitch black bedroom. I remember having my phone jerked out of my hand and thrown across the room and was pushed onto the bed. I tried screaming and nothing would come out, I tried to fight but I couldn't move. I began going in and out of consciousness and just remember him being on top of me when I would wake up. I would try to scream and fight, but nothing. Somehow, he managed to get me to his truck about daylight, drove me to my dorm and dropped me off out front. I don't remember his name, what he looked like, what he drove....nothing. I went into my room and after my friend went to class, I climbed in the shower and sat under the hot running water until it ran cold. I began the struggle within myself to report to the police, but how could I report what happened when I couldn't remember anything and I had been drinking. Again, I worried that somehow I was at fault or that no one would believe. I chose to keep another horrible secret. After a couple of days, calls started coming into our dorm when I wasn't in by someone, who left messages saying to tell me that my boyfriend had called. I would call my guy friends asking if it was them and no one fessed up. One evening, a call came in and my suitemate told the guy I was in class. He told her he knew my class schedule and that I wasn't in class and wanted to know where I was. At this point, it had been a few weeks since I had been raped. I had already been experiencing signs of depression and had scheduled an appointment for a pregnancy test and STD exam at the college clinic. The clinic confirmed that I was not pregnant and had no STDs. The nausea and other symptoms I was experiencing were from a bleeding ulcer. I was under so much stress and anxiety I was making myself sick and I began pulling again. After being made aware of the last phone call by this man, knowing that he knew my schedule and was stalking me, I chose to leave school. I told my roommate and parents that I was failing my classes (which wasn't true) and that college wasn't for me. I packed up my stuff and moved back home.
Over the past years, my TTM has remained my coping mechanism. I finally told a couple of friends about the rape about 2 years after it happened. It made it real to talk about it, but it also helped. However, I didn't talk about it again for years. This past year, I made a choice because of some friends that I have made through pageantry to acknowledge that I am a survivor of sexual assault and I participated in the Denver Denim Days Fashion Show, in which the models are all survivors of sexual assault. With this, came a great deal of publicity for the show, advertising the models and the fact that they are all survivors. This forced me to confront my past and talk about it with the people I had kept it from all these years. I told my husband, my parents and my grandparents about what happened to me as a child. And for the first time in over 20 years, I felt like I could breath. I felt like a weight had literally been lifted off my chest. I have been managing my TTM pretty well for the past 5 or 6 years. I have had times of remission and then I have had severe flare ups, but none that have required me to have to wear a wig and it has just become a habit to pencil my eyebrows and wear false lashes. I feel like sharing my story and getting it out of me and bringing awareness to abuse through my advocacy and volunteering has helped me reduce my TTM and I'm hoping that sharing my story of TTM will also help improve the way I manage the disorder. Getting it all out and having no skeletons in the closet is scary. It's frightening, it's horrifying, it's freeing, it's liberating, and it's going to make a difference in someone else's life. While I worry about what others will think of me after reading my story, I can't help but think of how empowering it is going to be for someone else who has felt the way I do and gone through the things I've gone through.  
This is me. This is my story. There are no more ghosts in my closet. My deepest darkest secrets have been revealed and once I hit publish, you all know. These trials and this disorder has made me the person I am, but it will no longer define who I am. I am not a victim of sexual abuse, domestic violence and TTM....I am a SURVIVOR and so are you!