Enter Caleb

[Content Warning added 20Jan2014 for trichotillomania aka hair pulling.]

It's good that I haven't blogged for a long time. It means I'm not obsessing anymore, and that's a step forward. I'm getting to a point now where I'm mostly reasonably comfortable with my appearance. There's a long way to go still, but my god I've come so far. Scabs are few and far between. Freckles are re-invading my whole face. Hyperpig is gradually fading. Life is continuing, without me needing to think about my complexion every day. Major pat on the back to me. I do still mess with it - maybe for a few seconds every other day or so. This time last year I would not have thought it possible to pick so little. I would have laughed at anyone who suggested it - right before crawling into a hole to await death by intense shame.

On Saturday July 21st, I met Caleb. I'm not going to go into details about him, that's what my diary proper is for. I don't write about dtM stuff in there, and I don't write about life stuff in here. So this is the part of last night that isn't going to make it into my handwritten diary. It's dtM stuff and it belongs here.

Last night, Caleb was filling me in on some of his 'oddities', as he affectionately terms them. The best way I could describe them is as OCD-type impulses and fixations. Nothing debilitatingly severe, but a liberal sprinkling of mild-to-moderate symptoms. He gets the symmetry thing sometimes, and can also get pretty twitchy when certain things are not as they 'should' be. He talked about it for a little while, then expressed an interest in any little oddities that I might have.

Of course dtM came instantly to mind. But I’ve only known him a month and I was a long was from ready to discuss that. So I went for something similar – something that probably happened because I am picking so much less now, and my crazy is looking for an alternative escape route. I guess I was sort of sounding Caleb out, to see if it would be worth trying to explain the dtM thing to him at a later date.

I made it funny, to start with. I related how I was trying to wax my legs for the first time on Sunday night, and making a right hash of it, and then tried to do my bikini line and dropped the wax strip directly between my legs, like a right klutz. Sticky side down and everything. Well it was meant to be soluable in warm water, but that claim was apparently a fine joke on the part of the makers, because I ended up having to shave down there to get it all out. I hadn’t wanted to do that. Stubble itches. Within twenty-four hours I could feel it growing back down there, and I guess it affected me so badly because I’m rarely doing my face these days. It drove me nuts. Here’s how I explained it to Caleb:

“Okay, so I have this thing about my skin. If anything’s stuck on it, or in it or under it, I just can’t stand the feeling of it. It makes me go totally batshit and I need to get it out. Like when you get a splinter or something? If I have a splinter, I can feel it there, and it’s got to go. It doesn’t matter how deep I have to dig or how much I make myself bleed, it’s just GOT to go, I can’t stand feeling it there.”

“Oh god, yes,” he replied fervently. The look on his face told me that he was right there with me and knew exactly how I felt on the subject. It wasn’t just sympathy, it was an instant understanding from someone who felt the same way. It was wonderfully encouraging. I went on,

“So when this stubble started growing back, it felt like a thousand tiny splinters down there. It was absolutely driving me insane. I just had to get it all out. And so that’s why my tweezers are in my room.”

He winced, hard. “Ohmigod. That must have hurt like hell.”

“Well, yeah,” and I shrugged, “but that wasn’t the point. I just needed to get it out, and nothing else mattered.”

We hugged. There was quiet for a while. And then he said, “Have you ever heard of Trich?”

I froze. He knew Trich? What other OCD-related disorders did he know? “Trichotillomania?” I said guardedly.

“Eh?” He looked confused.

“You mean, hair pulling?” I clarified.

“Yeah, yeah!” He sat up properly. “I used to do it all the time, mostly in my teens, especially when I was stressed out or something. I told a friend one day and she was like, ‘Oh yeah, that’s Trich,’ which was how I found out it was an actual condition. I’d just sit there and pull strands out of this particular patch for hours, sometimes I’d do it in front of the mirror. Spots are another thing, too. Like especially those little subdermal ones? I just can't stop fiddling with them, they irritate me so much, I just end up digging them out. None of my ex-girlfriends ever got why I'd get so pissed off with them if they pointed out a spot on my nose..."

I was utterly and completely rabbit-in-the-headlights frozen. He didn't look like a dtManiac, but then neither do I anymore - not much anyway - and he sure as hell was talking like one. Part of me wanted to grab him and squeal and jump up and down shouting "Me too, me too!" but the majority of me absolutely could not move or speak. So I just sat and stared at him as he reeled off all this stuff that sounded as though it came directly from my own head. I guess I was sort of spellbound. It wasn't just what he was saying. I couldn't believe his courage in feeling able to say it. He totally dumbfounded me. In that moment, he was the most amazing person on earth. I was in awe.

I was also staring with the most huge eyes ever, and Caleb broke off, studying me. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You look really shocked."

"No, no -" That was the last thing I wanted, to make him think I didn't understand. "I just... I..." Words were not my friends. They had deserted me. I looked away in confusion.

"I think I've struck a nerve here, haven't I," he said.

I nodded, taking a deep breath and focussing very hard on the bedsheet. I couldn't look at him. "If," I said in a low voice, "if you'd met me this time last year, you wouldn't... My face was such a mess."

I made myself look up at him. I think we were both holding our breath. I'd been absurdly scared to look him in the eye, but the second I did it was just, Yes. Yes, this person understands. I could see him thinking the same thing. It was an enormous relief. Hugging him was like coming home.

"My god," he said, "we even share the same neuroses."

I told him about dtM, showed him my stickers. He just got it, instantly, without me even having to explain. He hadn't known that it was a condition like Trich, but it didn't surprise him in the least.

"I think it's amazing, what you've done," he said. "Especially that you've done it for yourself and not because of somebody else or anything. You are genuinely amazing."

Was there ever a moment more perfect? I think not.