I haven’t posted on this specific blog in a while– I haven’t blogged at all, really, in a while.
But my lack of online writing seems to inversely correlate with the amount of hair that I pull out– the fewer the words, the bigger the bald spot.
I am simply frustrated. Frustrated that I can’t seem to live without pulling my hair out, whether for comfort or to relieve anxiety. Frustrated that no matter how much I hate trich, I like it because it gives me some sort of twisted security blanket. Frustrated that my giant bald spot is taking forever to grow in; frustrated that I’m creating another one, frustrated that I have to hide them all the time, frustrated because I feel alone.
Tonight at a family party, my mom told me that my aunt had asked her if I had some sort of alopecia, because she noticed…
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