My Hair is Always a Mess

I have this thing called trichotillomania, or hair pulling.  It resides along with my OCD/bipolar/borderline personality disorder.  YEAH, I'm not sure if I'm all of those.  In fact, I know I have trichotillomania/OCD, but I highly doubt I have bipolar, but rather BPD.

Anyway, we won't go into my lists of diagnoses.  Hair pulling is something I have done since the age of 13.  I remember plucking out my eyelashes and eyebrows in junior high.  I spent hours in front of the mirror, usually until 2 or 3 in the morning, pulling out my eyelashes and eyebrow hairs.  I wanted them to be balanced, and they wouldn't be; and even if they were, I wouldn't see it for my neurotic, slanted perception of myself.  At certain points, I had no eyebrows or eyelashes.  My grandmother used to tell me that they wouldn't grow back, and I told her that wasn't true-- I knew because I had been pulling them out for several years.  They usually grew back within a month at first, then two or three months after constantly pulling them out.

Even when I was watching TV, I would sit and pull out my eyelashes.  I also did this while reading.  It relieved my stress, and it angered me when anyone pointed it out or told me to stop.  I obsessed over hair, and yet the thought of it grossed me out.  I hated hair.

This intense hatred of hair started long ago, when I was little.  While taking baths, my mother's hair would blanket the tub.  It floated around in the bath, covering my arms and legs.  It freaked me out.  My poor mother couldn't help it.  She has thick, thick wiry hair.  She loses massive amounts of it, I mean, complete handfuls in a day.  I can't blame her at all, because my hair is the same way.  I shed like a dog.

But, since her hair freaked me out when I was little, I make sure my hair is out of the shower and bath.  I don't want it on the sink.  I don't want it anywhere.  Yuck.  Hair is so gross.

I would love to not even have hair.  How wonderful would that be.

So, yes, I am crazy.  Seriously weird and crazy.  I'm so lucky I married a German boy with no body hair.  I thank God every day for that.   

The Quiet Peace

I haven't written in quite a while.  For once,  busyness isn't the only reason.  I am also more at peace than I have been in my whole entire life; it's the kind of peace that drowns me and swallows me up whole.  I'm glad to have such a wonderful husband, and I'm happy with my job.  I'm happy with life, generally.  Every once in a while, I have a bout of depression, but it's been good lately.

I don't really know how to deal with the feeling of peace.  It's strange, yet pleasant.  I sit at home on the couch next to my husband, with my head on his shoulder.  I think in anger and stress I was missing out on life and so many other great things.  Breck's childish humor, cooking food without freaking out about how it looks or tastes, taking care of our crazy dogs... no matter what is going on, lately I can feel God's grace.  I don't have to plan everything.  I don't have to have the strength to make it through everyday.  That would be just me trying to do it all myself.  In the fight to be independent and handle my own problems, I forfeited marvelous grace.  I crumbled under the weight of all my problems and life itself.  I became so weak.  But there's something wonderful about knowing how weak I am, and that has taken the burden off of my shoulders.  It's such a wondrous feeling.

I love my life.  I love that I can trust Someone to handle my life for me.  I'm nothing but a conduit, and I need to stop letting myself get in the way of God's grace.  His grace heals everything I can't.  It carries me through things that I can't change, and yet in His power, it all changes.  I think mountains are moving now.