istrich

[istrich]

Oh god, when I was trying to be some kind of poet 😫 in my cringe era

I have an eating disorder

But not the one you expect

I don’t puke and I don’t fast

I simply eat what you don’t want

You see, I don’t like vomiting

And I do enjoy eating

So Ana and Mia are not my friends

I hang out with PICA instead!

Pica likes eating grass

Sometimes she even wants to try glass!

She eats plastic and paper and clothes

However her favorite of all is glue!

Some people don’t think

That PICA exists!

How silly of them

Because she is my best friend

We hug and we cry and we laugh!

Sometimes she makes my tongue sting

I don’t mind though

Because I need her to live

And she needs me to exista

[istrich]

I have an eating disorder

But not the one you expect

I don’t puke and I don’t fast

I simply eat what you don’t want

You see, I don’t like vomiting

And I do enjoy eating

So Ana and Mia are not my friends

I hang out with PICA instead!

Pica likes eating grass

Sometimes she even wants to try glass!

She eats plastic and paper and clothes

However her favorite of all is glue!

Some people don’t think

That PICA exists!

How silly of them

Because she is my best friend

We hug and we cry and we laugh!

Sometimes she makes my tongue sting

I don’t mind though

Because I need her to live

And she needs me to exista

[istrich]

At some point

At some point I gave up on the idea that I will stop

At some point I decided to accept that this is part of me, that I don’t want to change it

At some point I realized that this is not as shameful as I thought it was. That it’s not a dirty secret I have to keep locked up

At some point I gave up on pretending I don’t have Trich, I stopped hiding it when I pull out my hair

At some point I realized that the reason I no longer give a shit is because is not visible.

At some point I admitted to myself that I’m not a badass mother fucker who finally accepted this, but in reality I’m just someone who can just hide my bald spot better

At some point I will cry about this again. I will cry and my mom will yell again bc wasn’t I getting better?

At some point I stopped looking for a solution and accepted this as just a quirk of mine. I hope at some point you accept this about me too, mom

[istrich]

Two years ago

Two years ago I posted “sorry”

Two years ago I talked about my feelings, about how I felt helpless, how you promised to help me and you didn’t

And I read my post again and I cried a little bit

Because two years have passed from that. And I still feel the same

I still feel alone. I still feel worthless. I’m still afraid of you

Because since it happened, you have shown me more things about you, mom.

You promised you had changed. You said you were a better person.

But I tried to kill myself. And your reaction was to yell

was to tell me i should stop getting things because I wasn’t even worth it

I cannot believe you sometimes. I love you and I hate you and I fear you and I wonder where would I be without you

Because you are my mom and you were there for me in some of the bad parts but you left me alone in the worst parts

Because even after my suicide attempt, I still feel alone. You said this time you were going to help, you said this time I could go to a therapist. And I’m still here, alone, in the middle omg the night spilling my feelings in my shitty tumblr blog

After everything I have been through, after everything I have done and everything I didn’t do, I just feel like I deserve something. I’m not sure what. Maybe I deserve peace. Maybe I deserve happiness. Maybe I deserve a peaceful death. I don’t know. I just know I deserve more than the help you gave me

[istrich]

When I think of my trichotillomania, it feels like a journey, but I don’t know where or when it started and I don’t know where or when will it end. A friend asked me if it’s gotten worse or better. I don’t know. A part of me wonders if I have carried this thing from the beginning. A part of me wonders if I will carry it to the end. I don’t know if I will ever stop. A part of me doesn’t want to. A part of me wants to die. I guess that’s life

I still don’t know where it started or when will it end. I just know for the moment I’m carrying it, and I’m okay with that.

[istrich]

I’m sorry

You ask me: “why don’t you trust me?”

“Why do you hide things from me”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t talk to you about my problems without crying

I’m sorry that I fear you and your reactions

I’m sorry. I’m truly am

I’m sorry for crying myself to sleep

I’m sorry for being “moody”

I’m sorry for being like this.

I’m sorry for pulling.

I’m sorry for you. Because you don’t know what you are doing.

Because when you found out about my trichotillomania, you screamed at me

Because you made me pull like never before

Because you made my cry like never before.

Because I asked for help. You said you were going to help. It has been almost two year since.

I am truly sorry mum.

[istrich]

Somedays

I love new year, I love being with my family, celebrating. I don’t love the looks of my family when my hand goes to my head.

In new year, you make resulotions, some are basic, like "This new year, I will read 5 books more" some are more complicated, like "This year, I will stop eating so much meat and will start using more my bike" and some are straight up lies, like "This year, I will stop pulling"

 Look, I am not saying you can't stop pulling. I am saying I can't stop pulling. I wish I could, I really do, but I know, when the night comes, when nobody is watching me, I will pull out that tiny hair. until that one becomes 2, and then 3, and then 10 and then 22. and then, my fingers will hurt, my feelings will hurt and my head will not be pleased. And then, my bald spot will, once again, be seen. And then, people will comment about it.

When i was in 9 grade, people used to ask me "what happend?" "why does it look shaved?" my friends would laugh, my mom would scream, my hand would itch. My heart would break.

Somedays, I dont think I will ever be able to stop. Somedays, I want to shave my head and make it go away.

Somedays I want to die

But I dont, I keep going. I convince myself that eventually it will pass. Eventually, my mom will help. Eventually

Somedays I dont want to wake up, but I do. and I keep going, keep smiling, keep pretending. Because maybe, just maybe

Someday I will get better