It's a strange phenomena.

On one side, you tell yourself it's just a bad habit. That all you have to do is stop pulling and all your problems will go away.

 On the other hand, if it's so simple, then why can't I stop?

At the end of the day, no amount of research, statistics or doctors can really understand what it feels like to walk around with bald spots, bald eyes, barely any eyebrows or weird hair-dos that you don't even like yourself. No one can explain the shame, guilt and self-loathing we feel every time we pull a hair, a semi-regret that you wish you didn't do it, yet somehow your fingernails are already clasping another frock to tear out.

The worst is when you finally think you can control yourself, but you realize that it wasn't control that let your hair grow back, it was that you simply weren't feeling the urges. When they finally come, you realize the chains are stronger and heavier than you thought, and you succumb to the follicles that are begging to be freed.

My friend once told me that even though she wanted me to get better, at the end of the day, no amount of hair or eyelashes could turn me into the person I have become. And the person that I had become was a lifelong friend that could never be duplicated regardless how much hair, eyelashes or eyebrows she had. That moment was the first time I ever felt the slightest bit of acceptance.

The biggest problem, at least for me, is accepting that I simply can't control it as much as I would like. If you think about it, the hardest part about anything is admitting that you don't have control.

That's why there are alcoholics, drug addicts, sex addicts, gamblers, shopping addicts, pathological liars, skin pickers, and yes, hair-pullers. It's all about control.

And I fucking hate it.