Girl on the pull…

I’m turning 26 this year, but for 20 years of my life or a little more I have been a girl on the pull. It’s something I try to conceal but I can’t, I am ashamed yet it’s a part of me and all I have ever known. Truth is I’m always on the pull….


‘A mental disorder that involves recurrent, irresistible urges to pull out hair from your scalp, eyebrows or other areas of your body, despite trying to stop.

Hair pulling from the scalp often leaves patchy bald spots, which causes significant distress and can interfere with social or work functioning. People with trichotillomania may go to great lengths to disguise the loss of hair.’

  • Trich o what?”
  • But why would you want to pull your hair out?”
  • “Well that must really hurt you”
  • “Can’t you just stop?”
  • “Stop doing that”
  • “Do it for me”
  • “You don’t want to be bald do you?”
  • ” If you carry on like that you will have no hair left”





All of these questions are something I have faced nearly every day of my life.No it doesn’t hurt, it satisfies me but then I beat myself up after. I twist and twirl strands of my hair around my fingers until I find the right piece and snap. A beautiful sound, one I’m often searching for.I will be on the pull and think ok just one more won’t hurt, oh that was a good one let’s do that again and it takes you several attempts before finally you stop. Before you know it I have a pile of hair on my lap or on the floor that I then must try and disguise. The thing is I do it ok Secret. I panic.I roll my hands over the carpet creating a ball of hair that I analyse and then hide in the bin, throw out of the window or flush down the toilet. The condition is crippling. My hair is un even and my dreams of ever having that sultry mermaid look will never happen. I frequently am able to block the family hoover regardless of how much hair I gather to dispose of. Times of stress will make it worse. And now I am at a point where I am severely depressed and show no signs of growing better.

Catherine look at all this hair on the floor, you must not do that do you hear me?” My first memory. Aged 5, pushed into the corner of my bedroom by my mum and grandma. I was scared but couldn’t stop. Teachers would tel my parents I was away with the fairies. I would sit at my desk and pupils in my class would shout at me to stop but I couldn’t and that’s when I started to do it in secret on my own. It seems to be worse during times of high stress. My GCSES and A Levels. I remember standing up to leave the exam hall and seeing a pile of my brown hair on the sport hall floor and everyone looking past and looking at it. My coping mechanism in a way I suppose? I first sought help at the age of 17/18. Having just nursed my terminally ill grandparent at home until their last breath my life would never be the same. Worried what my parents might do and say I chose the CBT route instead of medication. I never clicked with the lady, she had hairy armpits and chose to pin a lot of the blame on my parents, I went twice and never went back.Then again while at university I was having a rough patch and felt such incredible guilt that I scratched all the skin off my chest until it bled. I had to cover my chest for over a week to hide the marks. I had some therapy he was a nice man but I never felt it helped. And recently loosing my dream job and living isolated alone abroad, this time a mixture of my depression, anxiety, hair pulling and alcohol. Not a great cocktail as you can imagine, feeling I had to explain myself every time I went for a haircut. It’s something I have always done.

It’s not just the hair on my head. I have always been obsessed with hair removal. I can’t bear it. I will constantly epilate my legs and underarms, and will be waxed on my bikini line.I take great pleasure after I’m searching for ingrown hairs that I can pick out, digging so deep that I bleed and scab and scar. So no, I can’t just stop. Does anyone know how I can?

Dark Fantasies

His eyes begin to wake, slowly but surely opening to revel in the slightest gleam of light that is piercing through the far window.

“I’m still alive”

He says to himself in a hushed slur. The alcohol from the night before holding down his limbs, his breath drenched in the stench.

“Why am I still alive”

The throb in his head is only superseded by the throb in his heart. The light slowly cutting through the far window. Extending its reach, now covering his entire face. A light knock raps at the door, echoing through the cold room as the gears begin to turn in his mind. Always racing, no solace from these ever turning gears. From wake til slumber, these gears turn faster and faster without remorse. As these gears clunk and grind, so do his joints as he lumbers to sit up. His body, still attempting to sink back into the comfort of the aged springs. A loving voice calls to him

“Coffee is on the stove”

A warm voice from his caring mother. Except the only feeling this sound brings is dread. The dread that there is still someone that cares for him. Someone who will not let him die. All he wants in this world, is to not be in it. He begrudgingly lays his feet on the stiff, unwelcoming floor. The frigid feeling echoing up his legs, before dissipating into the warmth his body yet retains. The creak of a floorboard, the retort of his knee, as he stands the shadow of his thoughts lurking above him. No person living or dead can see them. Ensnaring him as they do every day as he wakes. The thump of his heart, that refuses to cease. He travels across the room to the closet where his work clothes hang. How jealous he is of them. The day is like any other, it starts the same, and it will end the same. Crawling into bed after drowning his worries in cheap liquor. It is the one thing he looks forward to. He unshelves a pair of dress pants that have forgotten the feel of a wash. He unhooks a dress shirt that you would find on any worker confined to a cubicle would wear. He wraps his body in these fabrics that reek of defeat. Each button feels like a nail in the coffin that houses his aspirations. As he finishes dressing, another ghostly tap at the door

“Are you up?”

His tether to this world asks. He meekly replies, and finishes putting on his shoes and jacket. He checks a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, to make sure that he has enough certainty that cancer will befall him. He walks through his bedroom door into the hallway that connects with the kitchen. The somber feeling of a twisted stomach that is filled with regret reminds him of his mistakes the night before. As he fills his cup with the coffee prepared for him, he wonders

“Will today be the day?”

The day that he no longer has to fight survival. Where he can fall asleep knowing, that consciousness would not return. That nagging voice in his head reminds him that he is not allowed to take his own life. He is only able to hope, that by some miracle, tragedy is brought upon him. He slips on his winter coat, worn so badly on the sleeves. The frosty air greets him outside as an old friend. A flash of light from his lighter ignites his chemical ridden hope. As he inhales what he hopes to be his undoing. The day has started as any other would. He drags his feet to his car, wondering if he should just stay home. If it is even worth it to show up to his dead end, meaningless job. His thoughts haunting him like the trailing cloud of tobacco smoke. His drive to work is uneventful as always. No garbage truck running a red light. No bus spinning out of control. No semi truck blowing a tire. None of the ways he had planned to meet his end occurred, as none of them ever do. He pulls into a parking spot near where the other soon to be cancer patients gather. Although he knows that none of them share the same goal as he.

“Good morning”

As he makes his entrance to his small, unpersonalized workspace, these words are always exchanged here. What is so good about it though, there was no reason for him to say this other than pleasantries. As he sits, the dark cloud that follows him like a stray dog closes around him. For the next several hours, he is here. In this claustrophobic space. Typing and clicking, clicking and typing. Occasionally trading banter with the lost souls around him through the mobile cork and plastic walls. The day drags on as he sinks deeper and deeper into the void. The gears still grinding away, with no pause, no breathing room. A small relief once the clock strikes five. He is allowed to depart from his force labor. His beloved, soothing friend, waiting for him on the store shelf. Watching as those like him pass and select their own poison from the shelves. He cannot wait to leave this tomb of dreams to dive back into solitude. Before departing, he exchanges the rehearsed farewells, and agreements to return. Finding release of the day’s stresses in the familiar burn of a cigarette. The flame, like his endurance, slowly fading with each breath. The drive home offers similar entertainment, is uneventful, and nearing its end. This time however, there is an explosion of glee, ignited by the gleam of oncoming headlights sharing the same path of his own.

Living With The Pain Of Rejection

Emotional Pain Of Rejection

So far my posts have, for the most part, about been about chronic physical pain rather than emotional pain. The title of my site is meant to encompass all aspects of pain: physical, mental and emotional. Mental and emotional pain can be just as damaging to your body as physical pain can be.

Our bodies need to have a healthy state of mind, and a healthy emotional makeup or it affects us physically. All three of these things are interrelated and you cannot damage one without having damage of some sort done to the others.

Our Emotional Needs

For one to be healthy emotionally, we need to have the support and control of our mental thoughts. High amounts of stress over long periods of time can cause physical changes in our mental and physical health. A well-known trigger for Fibromyalgia pain is stress. Stress can cause serious mental issues like Agoraphobia, severe anxiety, and chronic depression; all of which I have extremely bad.

Humankind needs to have positive reinforcement to maintain a healthy frame of mind. We require it. When you receive more negative influences than positive, your mental self-starts to believe it. That’s when the pain starts. Emotional pain, mental pain. Self-doubt.

What We Think

Without even realizing it, you start to ask yourself what’s wrong with you. What about me makes me not loveable? Why does no one want me? Am I doing things wrong? You start to question and doubt who you are as a person and begin to believe your thoughts. You are not lovable, you are not wanted, it is all your fault. Depression sinks in and you lose your trust in the good.

Being Rejected

When you are with someone in a relationship that has been good for a length of time, and then it suddenly (or slowly) falls apart and you realize the other person no longer has those feelings for you anymore, it hurts. It hurts deeply. The emotional pain from that realization can set you into a tailspin that you cannot seem to stop.

You still love them but their love is gone. The talking has turned to angry silence and you no longer have someone to share your thoughts with. You re lonely and crave their touch but they do not even want to be in the same room with you, let alone touch you. You want to make it go back to how it was before, but all you seem to do is make it worse.

It Is Not You!

The most important thing I want you to take from what I have written is this: IT IS NOT YOU.  THEY are the one that changed THEY are the one that made things how they are now. Yes, you both have faults, but allowing a relationship to get to the point it does where one person changes and the other does not, that person is responsible for that change.

There is more reason why than I could possibly blog, but just remember, even though you may still feel the same, they do not. You cannot change them. You cannot make it better. All you can do it be true to yourself and remember that you are beautiful. You are worthy, and you are amazing. The only person that should care about that is you. As long as you are happy with who you know yourself to be inside, nothing else that anyone thinks matters.

You will be rejected. It will happen, and it will hurt. The pain of being rejected cuts deep. It is hard to heal, but you can do it and you will do it because you matter. Maybe not to that one person, but to so many other people in your life you matter a lot. Remember that if nothing else. YOU MATTER!