I am at a loss to know exactly where to start with something like this. I mean, I could start at the very beginning … but I don’t exactly know when that is. I am thirty-four years old and think I was roughly twelve or thirteen when it all began, but like most things, they tend to creep up on you and before you know it, they are stuck to you like glue without any knowledge of how they came to be there in the first place. One thing I can say most assuredly is that Trichotillomania and, to a lesser extent, Dermatillomania, had been there, for better or worse, for well over half of my life – at least sixteen years I would say. I will try and give you an overview of my Trichotillomania and Dermatillomania history as best I can, and even though the timeline is a bit hazy, I think it’s about right.
I’ve heard recently that most cases of Trichotillomania and/or Dermatillomania develop in puberty, like me. I remember I had just started getting hair under my arms and my mum innocently let me use her electric shaver to get rid of it. I think my problems began when I noticed there was a hair the shaver had missed and thought I might as well pull it out. That small action started a chain of events which led to the compulsions I had for a very long time. At first, it was contained to under my arms, and I would pull out as many hairs as I could, but sometimes, I would have to resort to using all manner of implements to achieve my goal, especially if there were any that were ingrown. Picking and pulling became my primary source of comfort – a way of dealing with my very unhappy school life – and when I came home, I would spend so much time hiding out in the bathroom pulling until there was nothing left, then scratching and poking away at the skin, searching for anything else I could get. I would smuggle cuticle clippers and tweezers into the bathroom and have these long, epic baths that would always leave a rim of hairs around the edge, and to get an idea of how much I’ve pulled, over the years I have turned my naturally light brown hair under my arms black.
After a few years, as I think I must have got bored with only picking and pulling under my arms, I moved onto my eyebrows to the point where I looked perpetually startled and have photos in my teens where I am the proud owner of a pair of over-plucked eyebrows. I tried to restrain myself as much as possible though so no one would ever find out about my dirty little secret. I then decided to give my legs some attention they didn’t need or want – first with a random spot just above my right knee before the problem trickled down to the front of my shins. Over the years I would say my legs have taken the biggest bashing and there have been some really dark times where my skin has been covered in deep red welts after hours sometimes picking them to pieces. I wish I could tell you that I was over-exaggerating.
In my early twenties, I began attacking any stray hairs on my body that were growing, and not long after that, I had a job that I not only hated, but bored me half to death, and there was a short period of time where I pulled out my eyelashes. It started off ‘innocently’ enough with me trying to get the clumps out of my mascara. That would have been OK, but I was also pulling the odd eyelash out, too, here and there, until my eyelashes started looking a little thin on the ground. For the first time though, I was able to see things for how they really were and knew that if I continued to do it, it would turn into a MUCH bigger problem, so I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stop before it was too late and luckily I was able to kill the fledgling compulsion relatively quickly. There have been other smaller problem areas, although to be honest, I’ve always been drawn to any random spot or errant irregular hair on my skin – especially my face. With that being said, what I find odd is that after all this time, I have never once felt the urge to pull out the hair on my head.
When I was suffering from Trichotillomania and Dermatillomania, I had OK times and very, very bad times, but even in the better periods, I would never have been able to go more than a day without picking or pulling something out of my skin, and in the bad times it completely took over my life and stopped me from doing so much.
On Friday 7th October 2016 at 2.24 pm, after years spent making desperate but broken promises to stop, I’d finally had enough, I was done with it, and I wasn’t giving up until both compulsions were out of my life. Well, that notion might have been a tad idealistic, but after nearly seven weeks, a few slip-ups, and some unexpected life lessons, I finally managed to get to the best place I’ve ever been with them. During that time, I wrote a diary which I shared on my blog before self-publishing it in mid-2017 under the name My Date with a Razor. The following year it was republished with Trigger under the name Every Trich in the Book. In 2022, I was able to get my rights back and ended up self-publishing the book again under the name, My Date with a Shaver, which is available to buy as an ebook and paperback now (for more information, click *here*). My Date with a Shaver is a very raw and honest account as I believe it is important to share compulsions like Trichotillomania and Dermatillomania openly so those who also suffer don't feel so alone.
Like everything to do with Topical Steroid Withdrawal on this blog, I’ve tried to make my Trichotillomania and Dermatillomania journey as detailed as possible, and so I have included some tips that have helped me, plus a few other things which I hope you find useful.
Sending all my love,
Cara xxx
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