More visits to the doctor

In 1998 I am at my doctor's surgery attending one of the many appointments I continually make for myself. I still desperately want to confide in her about my trichotillomania, and as I wait for my name to be called I have no idea that today is the day that I am finally going to tell her.

When my name is called I still have no idea that I am actually going to be brave enough to tell her.

But I do.

Before my doctor has chance to sit down I stand in front of her and pull my trousers and underwear down and blurt out the words that I am terrified to say. I say that I cannot stop pulling my pubic hair out and I cannot stop pulling the hair on my head out either. I tell my doctor that I have done this since I turned eleven years old, and that she is the first person that I have ever told.

I pull my clothes back on and sit in front of my doctor.

She is very kind and thanks me for telling her, adding that she realises that it is very brave of me to do so.

But I am not really listening to her, because of my shame.

I feel so very ashamed that I cannot look her in the eye.

My shame runs so deep inside of me that despite the fact that I will see my doctor many ,many times in the coming months and years, I never really talk to her about it again.

In fact unbekown to me at the time, ten years will pass before I finally do ask my doctor to help me.