she mentioned about her husband having “trichotillomania.”
She said whenever he was nervous he would pluck his eyebrows or eyelashes.
She made it sound so innocent, like it was a harmless habit.
I had it opposite.
Whenever I would get a hint of depression, I would run to the bathroom and just, pluck, for hours.
I guess it all started when I transitioned from the 5th grade to 6th.
I was really sad and depressed when Nicole and her fam moved away. Now I know I was annoying at times, coming over their house every afternoon, saying stupid 5th grader things, but I felt like they were my sisters.
Going over their house was my escape from reality, from Johnny and his problems brought onto my mom and I. I didn’t know I was that annoying, calling them, etc. until I got the point that they were ignoring me with reason.
When they moved out of the neighborhood, that signaled all hell to break loose. I remember for a month straight the cops came to our house, every weekend. Johnny would be drunk, or high, physically fighting my mom. Even though she tore him up, I wasn’t supposed to see the things I saw, nor hear the things heard.
When I started to watch youtube, Johnny called me a whore because he thought I was web-camming with a guy, but we didn’t even have a web cam. I remember my mom fought him hard, (literally) about that.
Sometimes Johnny would come to my room and tell me, “You need to tell your mom to calm down, because if she gets me mad enough I promise you I’ll pick her up and throw her out the window. ‘Cause you know I can.”
Those 5 words didn’t really creep the shit out of me, but it made me more afraid of Johnny, I mean I did the physics in my head..
My mom weighs more than enough that if he really tries it she’ll do something before he has enough time to fully lift her.. But what if he charges at her and pushes her against a wall or out the window…?
Well guess what, that shit happened. I mean, the charging to the wall part. He broke through the door, smashed a little fridge we had, but my mom punched him to the wall. I mean, the dynamics are really hard to explain but she didn’t get hurt. Johnny was bleeding and bruising from my mom’s nails and punches. My mom is not a kicker like me. So.. she didn’t take the easy way out and go for his balls.
Oh, uhm.. If you’ve never seen, my mom is 5’1. Johnny is 6’2, twice her size.
I don’t mean to write a documentation of all the times they fought but I just mean to say that it fucking traumatized me.
There were times where Johnny pulled out a gun on us, when my mom charged at him I had to be the one that ran in and took it, holding it or hiding it.
Sometimes I don’t understand how gangs can be readily equipped with that. If you purposely kill someone, you kill their life, including their family or friends. Holding that cold, hard trigger is beyond words scary.
By 11, I knew I didn’t have it in me to kill Johnny. All those years before that though, my imagination soared. And when I came to that realization at 11, that’s when my mom took me in for an eyebrow waxing.
It wasn’t until she handed me my first tweezer that I used it as a weapon, like a gun, killing myself. Well not really. If you would have noticed, my eyebrows were super thin in the 8th grade for a reason. But as a kid, I explored. I plucked my arms, armpits, legs, toes, and even on the pubic mound. I thought I was a freak for doing it, but it was’t an addiction, it was my way of escaping reality, because Nicole and her sisters left. It was a soothing feeling, much like cutters. When I pulled out a hair, a relaxing sensation came out of it. It was both an emotional and physical feeling.
It became a noticeable problem when my skin got irritated and blotchy. In the 7th grade, when Krystle and other 8th graders saw it, I blamed it on me “running through the woods and I ran through harsh bushes.”
They believed it.
Everyone believed it.
I lied about it so much, that I started believing it and stopped feeling guilty for harming my body.
I remember the talks I would have with other girls in middle school.
They would come to me about their problems, and admit to me that they cut to relieve their pain.
And it stung me, whenever I would tell them to stop because it doesn’t help anything. Because I knew inside I was hypocritical, under my clothes.
In high school too, this.. habit carried. I tore up my skin when I moved to Hawaii. I really started to connect with the right people in the beginning of sophomore year, or so I thought. When I went back to Maryland in April, I tried stopping because I was happy to see everyone. But when I flew back to Hawaii from that trip, I came back weaker than how I left. I lost a lot of friends. The most important to me were Nancy and Lomond.
With Nancy, I didn’t just lose a friend. I lost the longest best friend I ever had, that stuck with me for so long. We were best friends for almost three years. I’m not about to put the details on blast, because I’m tired of that, of bitching about it. Whenever I drive through the streets and see two hispanic girls trying to look cute in a [wife-beater] and tight shorts, I always think of us. When I met her she kinda transformed me into a cholo. She taught me how to talk like I was 15, (when we were both 12) on the phone with guys. She told me specifically, “DON’T TYPE THAT! TYPE wutz up witchu???”
Now that I think about it, it was so cute. I mean, it wasn’t the best influence someone had on me but it was fun. We had the best journey together. I’ll always miss that.
And looking back on it now, to see how distant we are on facebook.. I’d give anything to go back and not let our friendship dissipate.
But if you’re Nancy and you’re reading this now, thank you for our memories shared, the good and the great ones, I mean..
Now, Lomond.. with my experiences and in my definition, cheated. I had a crush on him in the 6th grade, but I stopped when I found out he liked Aiyana’s sister. I know my boundaries when it comes to [love] triangles, so like in the 6th grade, I just dropped his shit when I found out.
I plucked for 2 hours from him. Again, it was soothing. Before I walked in the bathroom, I was arguing with myself because I wasn’t sure if he was an experience or a waste of time. By the time my skin was almost bleeding, I realized he was a lesson learned. I did a lot of heavy thinking while plucking.
Even before major exams or even little quizzes. I would pluck to try and get me motivated to study. It honestly did work.
And to boil down to the reason why I continued to pluck, was because I was lonely. If you didn’t figure out already, there wasn’t a lot of people I could turn to for help. And I honestly tried doing the mature thing and going to my mom, asking her for help. But I was crying when I did, and she didn’t take me seriously when I said I need to see someone, like a shrink. I guess its common for all determined mothers like my mom to never have to need to have your child ‘get help.’ She told me that I had to get over myself, that I’m too emotional, “just like your dad.”
Even though she didn’t understand, I got better. The only reason why I made it so far was because I knew this was just a phase, like my mom said. But the problem was that I didn’t know when the phase would go away, or how to get out of it.
Luckily I stumbled on a few great friends my senior year in high school. I was past the suicidal thoughts and harmful plucking. I was only suicidal because when James and my general 8th grade class would laugh at my height, I was sad. And I thought the only way I could punish them was for them to live with my death. But now I know that suicide isn’t just suicide. It’s homicide. It wouldn’t just kill me, it would kill my mom, my cousins, my grandmother, grandfather, uncles, aunts, teachers, etc.
Like I said earlier, you kill someone, you kill their life—including everyone in it.
So needless to say, I’m way past everything I suffered through. I didn’t highlight all of the things I went through as a kid, but I hope you get the picture.
I’m definitely stronger
But not strong enough.
Augustine and my absolute hate for him is exhausting.
I know it’s not making me a better person, but if you guys have any questions to ask me, feel free to.
Tumblr shouldn’t be your only option. Text if need be.
NOTE: I will not from this post on regard people from their last names, only to preserve the goodness of employers or colleges or themselves googling their name,
I don’t want to spite anyone, anymore.