What has it got in its pocketses?

When my partner and I met in the winter of 2007, I know he realised I had some… eccentricities. I’m just not entirely certain that even if he had envisaged us still being together 9 years later that he would be having a conversation with me over txt that read as follows:

Him: “Do you want your bath robe just on gentle wash?”
Me: “Lol yes pls! Can you… can you save my pocket knots?”
Him: “I already found a giant one in the bed”
Me: “Yeah I made that one last night. You can add them together if you like. It had good texture”
Him: “Please stop talking…”

Part of me can’t stop laughing.

Another part of me is fully aware that what I’ve asked him to do, goes above and beyond a man’s love for his woman.

The bigger part of me now can’t stop thinking about those knots.

I have what is known as Trichotillomania, which is a fancy word for the fact that I pull out my hair.

It began for me when I was about 8 years old, and hasn’t stopped since. I do it almost constantly, all day, but it’s much worse when I am reading or watching television.

I think that’s the norm for many Trich sufferers, though the majority that I know pull hairs directly from the scalp, whereas I twirl my hair into messy, tangled knots, and then rip them out.

For the most part, I don’t realise I’m doing it until the knot has been well and truly created. If I stop, I have to go back to it a few seconds later. It is literally a compulsion that I can’t get past.

The only real effect that it had on my life is that there were always little knots or strands of hair laying around, until 3 or 4 years ago, when my life started falling apart. The stress exacerbated the hair pulling, and I ended up with bald spots and very asymmetrical hair (not in a cool way).

While my hair is growing in at the back and I can get away with the asymmetry at the front, all it takes is one stressful night and I undo months of self-torture (also known as self-discipline) where I’ve made the knot and untangled it before it caused any damage. If I don’t make the knot, I’m always on the edge of the compulsion.

That’s where my pocket knots come in.

I believe trichotillomania is a sensory thing. For me, it’s the texture of the knots that are the best part, and that’s why keeping a few in the pocket of my dressing gown gets me out of trouble.

My sister finds it creepy that I keep knots of hair in my pockets. I reminded her that it would only be creepy if it was other peoples’ hair.

Admittedly, while I don’t think it’s creepy, I do know it’s really gross to ask my NotHusband to reach into my pockets and blindly pull out a bunch of hair balls, and put them somewhere safe until I get home.

I would totally txt him back and tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, except I really fucking want those knots. They took me ages to get just right.

… yeah okay. I’m going to shut up now. Except to say that I am totally proud of myself for deleting refraining from saying  “KnotHusband” earlier.


Get in mah belleh

Sometimes there’s a real disconnect that goes on between the brain and the body, when just one too many things pile on top of each other.

That’s roughly where I’m at this week, after returning to work and the avalanche of shit that comes from an understaffed department that has multiple simultaneous deadlines, as well as support you’d relied on just… not showing up.

Stress is most definitely the order of the day in my world right now, and I’m having great difficulty doing all the things I should be doing to at least minimise the harm it is having on my body – I can’t change the situation, but I could at least help it, if I were able to eat, or sleep.

This is, I feel, one of those times where it’s perfectly okay for me to be taking one of those over-the-counter sleeping pills, even though I will be muddy in the head the next morning. It won’t be any worse than the way I start my day now – airy in the head, all light and slow and stupid and ready to break at the first sign of pressure.

5kg down in a week, and no appetite to speak of. Here’s hoping that finishing work on time today, cooking a healthy meal and finally drowning in sleep for a night will reset some of the changes that have happened to my body.

This was an accidental anorexia week – my usual way of losing weight. It’s been a diet of cigarettes and stomach acid. Tasty as fuck, but most definitely not required right now.

It wasn’t exactly the plan for this week and I’d really rather not have to go and buy new clothes again. The Target Kids’ Section doesn’t have anything I like there right now.

… now to decide what to actually cook.

… that I will actually eat.