It has been terribly long since an update, hasn’t it? I do apologize. Have I been busy? Nope.
Have I been ashamed? Yes.
That’s how it normally is with us trichsters, and as much as every website and every piece of literature says the same thing over and over, reiterating it so many times that it just makes us feel worse, we cannot help it. I guess it is in our nature to be ashamed of this.
Don’t tell me to not feel ashamed, especially if you are not “afflicted,” as others tend to say. If you are one of the few that have this, then you know exactly what I’m saying and wouldn’t telling me something like that be a smidge hypocritcal? Sorry, but I tend to be a realist here.
Relapse sucks. It sucks hard. Bare spots are growing on my head, just in time for it’s-too-hot-to-wear-a-beanie weather. Just great.
I’ve never been much of a scalp puller, but since I had stopped pulling at my lashes (which are looking fabulous, by the way), I can’t seem to keep my hands out of my hair.
Here’s to day one. Again. I may find that this isn’t my last day one, but hey, it’s a move forward. I have pulled today. So tomorrow, I welcome day one. Again. And I’m okay with that.
Onto lighter things. So, what’s new in the life of the teenage trichster? Well, she’s only about seven months away from being a twenty-something trichster. I don’t like the sound of that. But, it’s like alcoholism. No matter what, I will always be a trichster.
My brother is a hippie. I love my brother. He and his girlfriend are on a hippie trek around the country and I’m at his house with their dog, Xander Crews (named after the flamboyant character on Adult Swim’s Frisky Dingo. Teehee). This dog is the best dog I have ever seen in my life. He listens, and he loves to cuddle. I think I’ll post a picture of him.
I’ve been here since last Wednesday. I’m here until Sunday. My brother has tried to take Xander to a kennel. And even though the pup gets to play with other dogs and loads of kennel personnel, he’s depressed as soon as he gets home. The same thing happens when my brother takes the pup with him. This dog can’t be away from home for too long without becoming depressed. He’s anti-social (in fact, he’s terrified of other dogs) and anything that’s not in his routine is unacceptable. Think of Asperger’s syndrome but in a dog and you’ve got Xander Crews. But oh do I love him. Especially because he’s potty trained.
Being with him is almost therapeutic. Thank God I am their go-to-girl when it comes to dog sitting. I find that I pull less when I have Xander snoring away in my lap.
*sigh* So, I’m going against everything that I am, but I am watching “A Cinderella Story.” I know, I know. Hilary Duff? Well, the prince charming dude isn’t that bad looking and I’m tired of watching the same episodes of Daily Show and Colbert Report on Comedy Central (really guys? You can’t play any other episodes other than the May 21 episodes? It’s probably because of Larry King and Green Day, but I digress).
Anyway, I have a point here. I’m actually seeing the message in this cliche movie. No one knows who I am. Even my closest friends are falling for the mirage. My mask is firmly planted across my eyes and I don’t know how I feel about that.
Actually, I don’t have many friends anymore. I was that girl that was everyone’s friend, but no one’s friend. I was that person that people liked but never invited anywhere. And now that high school is over, I was slowly kicked out of my “groups.” The funny thing about this is that I was getting so close to telling my friends about my trich.
Then, the slow-booting started happening and I just couldn’t tell them. To me, it would sound like I was fighting for their sympathy, only telling them in order to hold on.
I wanted to be like, “Hey! I can’t help but pull out my hair. I do it without thinking about it and I spend insane amounts of time every morning hiding it from you. I’m troubled and I need your help.” But I just couldn’t. And I don’t regret it.
But I wish that you guys knew about it. And I can’t help but wonder, “Would things be different if you knew about me?” But that’s incredibly selfish. And I don’t want to think about that.
On a completely different topic, I’ve been doing a lot of writing. You know what keeps fingers out of hair? Typing. I’ve been writing a bunch of different stories. Some I’ve shared anonymously and some I’ve kept to myself.
Call this coming out into the open, but I’m still hiding behind my facade. My name is not Dana (if you know what this means, then kudos to you, but I’m not quite ready to tell you more about me other than this.) I am still just the teenage trichster.
Until then, farewell, and as always, thank you for reading my rant/confession/whatever you want to call this post. I love you for taking the time to read this, when everyone else in my life fails to look close enough to actually see. Thank you.
—TT
