I am 106 days pull-free.
I went through a really bad pulling spell this past spring. I was undergoing a lot of stress between work, my personal life, etc. I let it get the best of me. I kept convincing myself that my pulling was not at bad as it could have been, but I hit a breaking point on my birthday. I made a pledge to myself that my 27th year of life would not include pulling. That was almost five months ago.
I never thought I would see the day when I would have to regularly get my eyebrows done or I would wear mascara on a daily basis. Once a month, I go to the mall and get my eyebrows threaded for upkeep. I’ve gone through almost an entire tube of mascara. Sometimes, I go to work without a lick of makeup on and I look normal.
I feel like I’m always stressed about something, but I just don’t let myself cross that line anymore.Â
When I tried quitting all those times before, my eyelashes would grow out and, to keep my urges at bay, I’d satisfy them by pulling off my mascara at the end of the day, but that did nothing but thin my eyelashes to the point where I would inevitably start pulling again.
I don’t allow myself to do that anymore.
My fingers still wander toward my eyes. Hell, they’ve been doing that for the last 17 years - I don’t expect them to just magically cease. I allow myself to feel, but never to pull. I know that would open up a can of worms. Instead, no matter how weird or brittle mascara makes my lashes feel, I touch them once and move on. I keep my makeup on all throughout the day until the evening when I get in the shower and wash it off.
My eyelashes and eyebrows will never be as full as nature intended, but I am so grateful for this period of time where my will-power is strong. I hope I can keep this up.Â
I still haven’t told my husband about this illness. Even though it’s not an issue right now, I still feel scared and nervous at the thought of telling him. I know he wouldn’t leave me or abandon me. I’m just worried that he would think differently of me or that’s what he would see every time he looked at me.Â
I hope, with all my might, that I can see this through and this is the quitting point for me. Still, there’s that chronic sense of dread that comes as a packaged bundle with this illness. It’s that feeling that this moment in time will come to pass and I’ll be back at it again. It’s that feeling that tells me that, no matter how good I’m doing, this demon will rear its ugly head again. It’s that feeling that tells me this isn’t the last time. I have to change that state of mind. I have to.














