Stop Pulling My Hair Out (Attempt 2.0)

My first battle with hair pulling ended after about nine months when somehow, I managed to will myself to stop pulling. Finding my first bald patch, about the size of a 2p coin, had seriously freaked me out and so I’d been determined to stop. The first few days were absolute hell. It was like my fingers were magnetically attracted to my head and the longer I didn’t pull, the stronger it became. Have you ever held two magnets close enough that you can feel the pull between them? It was a bit like that but all through my body. I won’t lie, the thought of shutting my fingers in a door so that I physically wouldn’t be able to do it did occur to me more than once. I couldn’t concentrate on anything; my whole brain was focussed on not pulling out my hair. It becomes a habit and you do it without thinking about it so when you try to stop, you have to think about not doing it all the time, just in case you slip up. And then the need to do it just overwhelms everything.

I’m not sure that feeling exactly faded but I learned to compartmentalize: I managed to cram it into a box and think around it. That sounds impossible now. When I couldn’t do that, I tied my hair up in a ponytail and allowed myself to pull the hair out of that, the resistance from the elastic band fulfilling some of that need. But I wasn’t allowed to pull it out. It wasn’t perfect but it did keep me from relapsing. For a while, that is. I didn’t pull for over a year but then I started again. I’m not even sure why, if I’m honest. I think I was tired. I was tired of fighting it. The urge to pull hadn’t gone anywhere and suddenly I was back in that vicious cycle, pulling and pulling and pulling.

That was about eighteen months ago. I’ve tried all my old tricks: wearing a hat, playing with fidget toys, fiddling with my spinner ring. But so far nothing has really worked. The hat worked best but the anxiety of not being able to get to my hair almost sent me into a meltdown and at the moment, pulling out my hair is the lesser of those two evils. I guess it’s not surprising, considering the amount of anxiety I’ve been dealing with recently.

In the last couple of weeks, I tried (again, hence the 2.1) to stop. In some ways, I was lucky the first time round: when I was pulling, I tended to pull from a point that was hidden by my hair most of the time. I mean, it still sucked but at least I didn’t have to deal with anyone else’s reactions. But this time, I’m pulling from all over my head: my fringe, my parting, my hairline… Literally everywhere. I’m triggered by a change of texture in my hair, from smooth to almost crunchy (if you have any advice on ‘fixing’ this, please let me know!) and that’s not specific to one area. And that means it’s much more likely to be noticed. Maybe it’s vain but that’s my motivation for stopping and I figure any motivation is good motivation.

So last week I tried to redirect my pulling away from my parting and my fringe. I was ‘allowed’ to pull from other areas but not from those two. I thought I was doing okay until I realised that I was chewing the inside of my cheek, with the effort or the redirected urge I don’t know. I stopped as soon as I realised, although not before it had bled quite a bit. Again, I thought it was all okay until a day or so later when the inside of my cheek started to hurt. I figured it was just healing but within a few hours, the pain was blinding. I’m writing this out and thinking, “This is ridiculous. You’re exaggerating. It was just a little gash inside your cheek.” I’ve always been sensitive to pain and easily overwhelmed by it but I don’t think that matters. In all seriousness, it was so bad that it made me cry (which only made it worse because, obviously, you move your mouth when you cry). It was that strong. For three days, it was so bad that I wasn’t able to do anything. I was barely able to eat, or drink, or talk. I almost cancelled an event I was looking forward to because the thought of having to talk and smile all evening was unthinkable. I woke up on that morning feeling a little bit better so I did decide to go but it was still very painful.

A few days on and I’m mostly pain free. That was not something I’d expected when I made the decision to try this again and it was really upsetting. I’m not sure when or what I’ll try next but I’m sure I’ll find something.

Conclusion: Failure.

Lesson learned: Be careful of where you redirect the urge and/or the effect that your attempt is having.

When I Said I Wanted Superpowers, This Isn’t What I Meant

I’ve seen a lot of people make sense of their mental health issues or their Autism or their whatever by saying that it’s given them a superpower: sensitivity to emotions, intense focus, and so on. Despite my love for all things superhero, this has always irritated me and I never really understood why until I talked to my Mum about it. The words just came out and it clicked into place.

For me, it’s too simplistic a concept. At this point in time, I only feel disadvantaged – deprived – by my Autism especially. I’m told I won’t feel like this forever – I know that lots of people feel like it does add something to their lives – but right now, it takes away from my life more than it adds. So it really doesn’t feel like a superpower. If anything, it feels like I’ve suddenly got a superpower that I can’t control. If you want an excellent example of this, watch Agents of Shield: one character develops the ability to control the vibrations around her but because she can’t control it, she essentially causes earthquakes whenever she gets upset or angry or scared. Sometimes I feel kind of like that, like the intensity of my emotions causes irreparable damage to me and everything around me. I’m not causing natural disasters or shattering windows but maybe the effect is just slower.

An example that fits better with Autism might be having enhanced hearing – connected to the sensory sensitivities – but because I can’t control it, I can’t use it. I can’t isolate a single sound and tune out everything else; it’s just a tidal wave of noise, the world with the volume up to maximum. It feels like the best I can do is to manage it, to keep it at a level that doesn’t kill me. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to control it, even a little bit. What if it’s something that you just can’t control, like time or the weather? I worry that it’s one of those things, that it’ll be like this forever. Is it still a superpower if you can’t do anything with it, if you can’t do anything good with it?

I’ve done my fair share of those personality tests that supposedly tell you something about yourself, what animal you’d be or which Hogwarts house you’re most suited to. I think this is something that many people who struggle with identity do: you feel like you don’t know who you are so you’ll take any answers you can get. I’ve definitely fallen into that rabbit hole before. I’ve never found a good one for superpowers though. Mine would probably be something to do with emotions, like being able to manipulate someone’s emotions or transmit my emotions to somebody else. Maybe that’s the problem: maybe the strength of my emotions just falls short of a superpower, maybe one percent more and I’d be able to control them. That fits right into my fear that I’d be something special if I just tried harder, that I’m never trying hard enough. Okay, I’m rambling now.

Anyway. My point is… I’m not even sure what my point is. I guess I’m just thinking out loud. Reading it back it’s a bit of a mess but I needed to put all of this somewhere. Mostly I think I’m scared I’m not enough, not enough of anything. I’d love to know if you’ve thought about any of this, whether you like the superpower metaphor, even what you think your superpower would be… So if you’d like to, please leave a comment below.

Version 2

(Photo by Richard Sanderson. He called this my ‘superhero pose.’)

A Few Words on Hopelessness

The last year has been really hard.

I’ve struggled with depression for a long time now and while I knew what it meant to be hopeless, I’d never really felt it until now. And that made me realise that I hadn’t had a clue. I’m starting to think that it’s something you can’t truly understand until you’ve experienced it yourself. I don’t think I can even really describe it. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt and sometimes words just aren’t enough. Sometimes they aren’t big enough to fit around the feelings.

Talking about this makes me very anxious. I don’t want people thinking that I’m not grateful for the things I have because I am. I really, really am. But that’s not how it works. Depression and hopelessness have little to do with the reality of your life. Good things can be happening but, in my experience, the feeling is so strong that it can overpower everything.

So, having said that, I thought I’d share something I wrote when I felt overwhelmed by that feeling:

“And I realised that this is how life is. It’s one bad thing after another and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m going to feel like this forever so what’s the point? What’s the fucking point in trying to be happy? That was my turning point. I felt the world shift. Everything felt really clear. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I don’t know why it took me so long.

I’m not sure there’s anything that can change this. So now what? I’ve been staring at that question for ten minutes and I have no idea what comes next. Moving forward is agonizing and I can’t go back. So I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck. And all the while, time is passing, so easily. It’s like water and water always finds a way to get to where it’s going. Is this drowning? Is this what drowning feels like?”

It’s so scary to feel that way. When misery is inevitable, nothing matters. Whether it’s eating, getting out of bed… Everything feels pointless. There’s a stillness, a finality to the world. I felt like I had disappeared. And while I’m not in the eye of that storm anymore, it feels like a bit of a before and after moment. My perspective has shifted, everything feels a bit different now. I’m not the same person as I was before that feeling. I still haven’t figured out how I feel about that.

One day I’ll write more about this but for now, this is all I can do.

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