Shelly's trich poems
| Twas the Night before Houseguests Twas the night before houseguests, And all through the house, The tension was growing, Tween me and my spouse,
The children were sleeping, All snug in their beds, With dreams of my in-laws Dancing around in their heads,
The laundry was heaped, On a living room chair, Without even thinking, I reached for my hair,
And DH in his sweatpants, (Who I wanted to slap) Had just settled in, For an all-night long nap.
The house was a true mess, My heart filled up with dread, My fingers were moving , Around on my head.
Then the trance state was broken, I "awoke" with a start, With a hair in my hand, And a sad, heavy heart.
Three months of awareness, Had disappeared in a pull, Had it been a remission Or just a brief lull?
Did I go with my impulse And indulge in a spree? Nope- I ran to my 'puter (Actually, I have WEBTV!)
Come Margie,Come Christine, Amanda and Steph Yon CJ, Yon Fairlight,and all of the rest! With your great words of wisdom, Support and true love,
My impulse to pull, Was pushed aside with a shove, Though you don't even know me, I lurk here a lot, And the support I have found here, Well, it just hits the spot!
So I put my hands to good use, Started scrubbing the sink, With a twinkle in my eye, A cyber-kiss and a wink,
So as I leave this board,(just for the night) I shout Thank you to ALL, and Keep up the good fight!
|
PEACE HAS ARRIVED There's a rumor, round these parts, That the war above has ceased, The battlefield, though scarred and shocked, Can heal in time, in peace
Is it safe to grow up yet? I'm so scared to try, So many others have ventured out, All too young to die.
I have heard, from the longer hairs, (Down here we call them geezers) That those awful weapons have been tossed, (I think they were called tweezers)
I'm all curled up and white with fear, Once up, no turning back, Is there real peace, or just the calm, Before the next attack?
I 've heard that we "hair babies", Are safe till bout an inch I'll grow real slow, Cause then I'll know,
I'll stay too small to pinch. But if I belive that peace has come, And dream of a life, full and long, Of feeling the breeze,
Being brushed with ease, Please don't let the geezers be wrong! So I reach up, toward the light, Hoping and praying the rumors are right.
I peek out. It seems calm. And what is this? A soothing balm?
Is this heaven? Am I dead? Or am I growing On a different head?
The war IS over! Peace has arrived! I stand up. I have survived!
In the words of a woman, I may never know I say YES! YES! LET MY PEOPLE GROW!!!! Keep up the good fight! Shelly
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| "My Beauty" (by Crissy) My beauty has fallen to the floor. My beauty is fading fast. My beauty is dying at my own hand. I bat my lashes. And fling my hair. From my fingers to the carpet, My beauty has fallen And my hands are begging for more. My beauty is not that puddle on the floor. Ringlets of hope still Cascade around my temples. And I'm teaching my hands. And I'm teaching my heart. That my beauty is not in the mirror. My beauty lies within my soul... |
Bad Hair day (this poem was sent to me by a trichster who found it somewhere on the net) For six long months my stubborn "do" |
| One trich, Two trich I pick, You pick (A Twisted Dr. Seuss Tale) Once upon a dreary day With nothing to do and nothing to say Nothing to watch and nothing to eat I sit and stare at my propped-up feet. I do not want to watch T.V. I do not want to climb a tree I do not want green eggs and ham How blatheringly, blitheringly bored I am! Then suddenly came a knock, knock, knock Which forced me towards the door to walk And open it up to the startling sight Of a Cat in a Hat striped red and white. He bounded in, flopped down in my chair As if he quite belonged there And asked with a wondering, credulous air, "If you’re so bored, why not pull out your hair?" I know not from whence he came, or why But I thought that that I ought to make some reply. "Why," I said "would I want to do that?" "Because you can," said the clever Cat. "It passes the time when you’re all alone Gives your hands a task when you’re on the phone Calms you when you’re feeling stressed You just need to be de-tressed You can pull while riding in your car Pull in places near and far Pull in Springfield or Siam Or while you eat green eggs and ham." "And most of all, what this game is about - You've just GOT to get the bad ones out." "Look, you’ve got one over here, That’s sticking up all crooked and queer." The feline said, "It really must go." And he yanked it right out before I could say no. He held it up to the light for me to see Proud of himself as he could be Didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would As a matter of fact, it kind of felt...good. "Here’s another," he pointed, "All frizzy and fried, And this eyebrow hair sticks way out to the side And this eyelash is not quite in line with the rest To pull them out now would really be best." I yanked, pulled, plucked, and those hairs were soon gone But we quickly found more, and so we kept on I didn’t know that two hours had passed Till I looked in the mirror and froze there, aghast. My eyebrows were now all patchy and bare My lashes - maybe twelve were still there And on top of my head, a three-inch spot Where once there was hair, but now there was not. In horror and anguish I let out a shriek, "I look like a circus sideshow freak! To grow back will take it six months and a day!" The Cat just replied, "At the least, I should say." He pulled out from his hat, some paint for my eyes, For my brows, "This pencil will help you disguise." "But my hair is a fright," I said, "What about that?!?" He pondered and puzzled, " - Of course!" said the Cat. He reached up and taking the hat from his head Placed it squarely on top of my own instead. Allaying concern for his now-hatless dome, "No need for thanks, I have twelve more at home." "Well, I really must go, but wasn’t this fun? Now make sure you pull out every last little one!" With a wink and a wave he turned towards the door "Cat!" I called out, "Why’d you do this? What for?" Befuddled, he turned, "Why, it’s simple my dear. Just think of your boredom before I was here. Where once was ennui, now there’s self-loathing Hiding your bald spots with makeup and clothing Trying to swim and not get your hair wet Thinking up lies for the questions you’ll get You should not look at this habit all wrong You now have a fine hobby to last your life long." In a blink he was gone as quick as he came Leaving me trapped in this fixating game Pulling and fighting and pulling some more My hair and my pride left all over the floor. So if someday you say to yourself, "What a bore." And that Cat in the Hat should show up at your door Take my advice and heed what I’ve said Shut the door in his face - take up ping-pong instead. |
A trich poem by Kelly (from South Africa) I
look in the mirror And another one by Kelly
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| Braveheart
There comes a Time in every hairpullers life when she must stop hiding and emerge from that stifling cocoon into the light of day. Funny I always thought that Time would be called CURE. Hey, world, look at me, I don't... anymore! Hey, world, look at me, I've risen above it, ascended like Christ from the tomb. [what's hairpulling anyway?] But I guess my timing is off. I guess my watch is broken. I guess the cocoon has grown too small. 'Cause these wings have sprouted, much faster and finer than my hair. So naked and balding, hands trembling, I stumble out, dark eyes squinting from the flaming sun. Here I am! my brave heart sings, hairless and strong. Welcome home. Marcia Mager Copyright 1999 Marcia Zina Mager |
Hello I am Claire Dean, Geoff's daughter. I have been twisting my hair until it breaks or comes out at the roots for all of my 18 years.At present I am approaching my year 12 final school exams and I'm having trouble because I get depressed, stressed etc... then I break my hair which makes me even more stressed - a vicious cycle. Anyway here is a poem I wrote that I'd like to share with others who must feel as frustrated as I. I, he, she, others... So many people out there suffer ... alone ... but together. So much in common so many ... so alone ... every last one. It's okay It's okay You're not the only one Fighting feel alone feel like a freak! Why? Why me? Why can't I stop? Simple concept but there's more to it. I've tried everything can't stop It's bad for me Why do I do it? Unexplainable urge and strange satisfaction overule logic. It's comforting. Why? That's bizare!! I've always done it ... always can't stop now can't remember when it started ... Long ago. I can't remember back to when I didn't do it. It's a part of me. It's the way I am It's what I do, and I hate it! No one understands they laugh or shrug it off. They don't understand. You can't unless it's a part of you too. You have to suffer ... To experience every aspect of it to understand the anguish. That's why I feel so alone. I need someone ... someone who understands how it feels That's the Trich Hope you liked it Claire |
The following 3 poems come from Jackie ( who is 2 years PF!.. yeah!!)
The first one was written shorttly before I became totally pf--the trich monster
was waging a mighty battle in
me causing me to be very depressed. the second was written a few days later when i
realized that I coudl actually FEEL--it was pretty neat!!!
I feel so sad.
I feel so down'
If only I could disappear, deep into the ground.
Perhaps a box put into a grave-
or, maybe, far into the mountains,
in a cool, dark cave.
Isolated mountains,remote in their wilderness--
alone, yet rising strong and majestic
through the foggy mists that shrooud.
If I were there, hidden, where solitude reigns,
my insignificance would boldly proclaim itself.
I wonder.
Could I be free?
Free to be me--the REAL me--
the me of gloom, despair, sadness and sorrow!
Or who could I be?
Possibly the me I want to be-
the me of hope and joy, peace and happiness?
I am so tired.
I ache to give up--to quit fighting
the solid blackness that reaches out to me
with its welcoming, velvety arms.
The shrieking voices of fear and sadness fade
to a soothing cacaphony,
wooing my soul with their deceit.
I pause and reflect.
I convince myself to go--
pf this flirting monster with its crown
of glittering despair.
Who would care if I weren't here?
People say "I would!", but I know the truth.
They only say that so
they won't feel guilty or sad.
It's MY choice!!
If I weren't here, life would go on--
my leaving would give a freedom
to those who've become entangled
in my web.
Freedom to be without worry about me.
Freedom from the worries I cause,
be it financial or emotional.
He would ah
have the money he needs--
she has the devoted love i always wished for her--
he woudl be loosened from the nagging chains
of "motherhood at work".
All who love me would soon replace
my drainng weaknesses with, I hope,
an invigorating, alive presence who can truly feel,
care, support, and lvoe
in return.
I am nothing.
It is said "Not true!", but I now.
I began as nothing,
have lived as nothing,
and will be nothing
when I am gone.
I am failure--failure at its best.
i began with hopes and dreams,
but my quest for them was cut short,
trampled and marred with filth,
even before I fully recognized their faces.
Filth devoured me,
covered me with its darkness
and breathed its fetid air into me.
I scrub,
I cry,
I scream--
Yet I remain bound.
I want to be free!!
Why can't I let go?
Why can't I stop--I'm only hurting myself.
I want tos top,
but my arms raise and my fingers choose
just the right one--
ah-h-
there it goes!
It's a good one--pull the next one!!
Over and over my fingers fly through my hair,
choosing, sorting in their frenzy
to calm that ruling beast.
If only that beast were dead!!
I'll go if I must
to satisfy its wants.
I'd rather stay, I think.
April 26, 1998
Today has been a happy day.
I've been showered with love and attention
yet beneath my smiles and thanks
lies and abiding fact--
I am sad!
The sadness courses through my veins,
plowing deep furrows in my soul.....
It lingers, hautning me with its melancholy--
always there,
hinting silently of its presence.
I leave it, for in truth I say,
"Welcome! I'm glad you've come."
For in my sadness, gloom and ppain,
a wee small voice announces its message of hope:
"Feel the pain!
Rejoice in it!
You ARE alive--
no longer numb--
no longer dead!"
I hug the sadness close to my breast
and tell it not to go,
but stay, and rest , and spread its woe, for
Hidden deep inside this veil of black
flickers a candle dim
growing taller and stronger as
hope seeps within.
Yea, sadness comes and humkers down
to grab and hang on tight
But it brings some wonderful joy--
joy that I can FEEL!
I often thought that I knew pain,anger, sadness--
they were all the same.
They came to stay and neve left
as theyjoned nto a blur--
a blur of numbing hurt.
So let the sadness come and
bring it hint of joy
For I'm alive,
and I can feel.
I CAN FEEL!!!!
May 10, 1998
Just another poem--sharing from my heart to yours!! How much I longed to
pull--butthis time, i defeated the trich!!! thank you God!
I awaken and know my slumber is no more.
My hand creeps up, gently, into my hair.
It searches, parts the strands, until the
right hair is found!!
My fingers tingle with joy, my energy increases
as I caress the coarse, curly filament.
My soul rejoices at having found the perfect one.
It slides through my finer's--a lover's sweet caress!
I rub it tenderly and let the feelings dive
deep inside to where the hurts still hide.
The single strand is so unique, endowed with
many a curve;
it trails seductively between my finger pads
leaving sweet sensations I'd forgotten how to feel.
But wait. I pause and stop to think--
is it really worth it?
Do I really want to pull?
Yes, I hurt and feel so sad--it seems
I'm all alone;
I need some comfort and some praise,
the battle's just begun!!
I reflect upon my hand and know just how
the pull would be--
the pop of flesh, the rip and tear
as the root glides out, into the air.
The tingly sharpness of the pull,
the glistening rooted end;
the coolness of the root as I trail it
on my face
reminds me of the joy and pride
I carry deep inside.
My fingers linger, unwilling to go
but knowing they must obey.
They know their power and how they can
take that blessed joy away!
My fingers pause for one last touch,
precious in its good-bye--
My hands unclench and fall back
as into slumber I slide.
February 19, 1999
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Poem by Mangy
FRIEND OR FOE?
We've been together for so many years
I've shared my laughter and my tears
You've been the dearest friend to me
And yet, you are my worse enemy.
Like an addict who struggles to be free
Like a blind man who dreams to someday see
I grasp at the hope to someday be free
From this insatiable hold you have on me.
You allege to be my strength and comfort
And take away all the pain
And yet you betray me day after day
You've caused me so much hurt and shame.
Who are you? What are you?
Why can't I let you go?
I search to know the answer...
Are you my friend or foe?
Mangy