She called me at nearly midnight. I was astonished and intrigued, wondering why a girl who was one of the best friends of one of my best friends would want to talk to me. But when I answered to hear her sobbing, I knew. She was a Trichotillomaniac, just like me. I knew that, but she always seemed fairly in control as she'd report three days, twelve days, one month free. I was jealous of her; she was what I've been striving to become for the past ten years of my life. I was a failure next to her.
Tonight, she fell. It wasn't her fault; that's the point of obsessive/compulsive disorders, you can't do anything about it. I understood how hopeless and depressed she must've felt. Two months of hard work were gone in a matter of minutes. All I knew is that I had to pray, for the both of us. After praying and breathing deeply, we began to talk.
We talked about our pain, our embarrassment, our shame. We talked about the few kids we knew with trich and OCD. We talked about our own depression and anxiety and urges to vomit after spending money. We were two peas in a crazy pod, and for once, that seemed to be okay.
It was amazing to be able to laugh with a beautiful girl who understood me like I understood her. We took something so dreadful and built a connection upon it, a safety net we could catch each other. Trich doesn't seem quite so scary now that I know I have a perfect ally. She kept thanking me for my help, but I wish I could thank her a thousand times for the hope she's given me.
...
Two hours later, after having watched vlogs by trichies, reading up on the documentary Trichster, coming Spring 2014, and researching medications proven effective in treating TTM, I need to go to sleep or I WILL pull all my hair out.
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