I pluck one and it offers such relief. The next five come out with no conscious thought. It carries my euphoria further, just one more. That sting and snap; two more won’t be missed. Okay, I’m done for the day…
Such a hard morning it’s become, I’ll need to take a few extra. Just today, it’s an emergency of sorts. Oh dear, there’s a patch showing now. Part it over here and it’s hidden. No more, I swear… I can resist.
I cant get to sleep. The wash of pleasure when I yank three at a time helps me to relax . I’ve found the cure for insomnia. What’s a few more if I feel good and rested tomorrow.
The pillow was covered when I awoke. I can’t stop myself while I dream. Well, what is there to do about it? I begin snagging the underneath ones. Then no one will know. I don’t even need them really. It’s worth it for the peace it brings me.
When did my life become so stress filled? I wear hats now to cover the obvious patches, they can’t tell…
Nothing left to pluck.
My bliss is gone. I can’t sleep. I don’t know what to do with my hands. They search my bald head looking for a single hair to pull, but none are long enough to grab a hold of.
I stare in the mirror, what do I do now?
You know, my eyebrows are awfully bushy…
FYI: Trichotillomania is the irresistible urge to pull out ones own hair.