I just discovered that I have trichotillomania. No, it's not a contagious disease, it's, essentially, a compulsive urge to pull out my hair. I've been doing it for years and tried to stop, albeit unsuccessfully. It's good to know that some others out there share this weirdness. I do notice that it increases with stress or depression, and it's ritualistic in a way- I only pull out certain types of hair. Two schools of thought on this one: 1. an impulse-control disorder, or 2. a bad habit. If I choose #1, does that make me less of a loser?

Dear God,

I thought about driving off a cliff on the way home today. At first, I thought I might just go into the river-- it looked so... pure. It rushed and surged past, glinting and ice-cold. I thought that maybe it would cleanse me, purge me. But then I remembered... I don't like the cold. It might be neat to watch the bubbles rise and the current spin past me from behind glass... to just wait until the darkness claims me... but I don't like the cold. So then I thought that a cliff might do well. I can just imagine soaring through the air in one last graceful arc... the freedom might overwhelm me.

But then, I thought, You know... that would be an easy way for my adversary to get rid of me. No way! I'm not going down that easy! I'm sticking around, if only because I hate you! I WILL fight, because you can't take me down. I won't let you.

Why do I hate myself? It seems that, no matter the scenario, I cannot escape the snide, condemnatory voice in my head. I tell myself, No, it's not true! You're being lied to! It doesn't seem to make a difference.

God, am I doing this all wrong? Am I failing? Am I not doing this, or something, anything, right?

I'm doing the best I can. I think I'd rather have it this way than trying to work through the checklist each day.

Why do these thoughts of killing myself come? And why, even though I dismiss them, do they linger in the back of my head? Why am I depressed? Why do I get these funks? Am I blaming too much on my past? Is there just something fundamentally flawed within me? Do I have a mental illness? Do I have a disorder? Is there a reason I experience these things, or am I just not doing it right?

God, I don't want to be this way. I don't! If I could wake up tomorrow and be different, I would. No, I would NOT choose this pain. So why did you? Who are you, anyway? What kind of a god voluntarily puts himself at the mercy of the demons that torment me? In my darker moments, I might just tell you that you shouldn't have done it. Obviously, it hasn't fixed me. Go on... save yourself. Noble, right?

I wondered tonight, on the drive home... I think I care entirely too much about "the church" and what they think of me. I'm just afraid of being attacked... rejected... of more stones added to the weight that already crushes the breath from my lungs. But, really... who cares what they think? They're not the ones that let me into heaven. Besides, if they kick me out, I know a few sunday churches that would be happy to have me, warts and all. Sad, isn't it? "The Church of Destiny" strikes fear into my heart. Also, the fact that if I walked away I would be considered "fallen", possibly even damned, really irks me. (Being irked...that's so not Christ-like. *sigh*)

I'm sorry for my confusion. I'm sorry for my rebellion, for my pain, for my darkness, and for my instability.

I'm scared. Backpedaling in my mind. I don't like him, I don't. If I don't like him, nothing will ever happen (because he might be "too old" for me anyway), and if nothing ever happens, then he will never have to deal with my pain, my issues, and he will never see my darkness, and I will never be rejected, and...

I just want to be loved so desperately... I'm afraid that I'll jump at the very first chance. Any chance. Just love me. Don't leave me. Don't hurt me. Above all, don't condemn me.

I cry entirely too much for my own good these days.

Goodnight, God.
I'll see you tomorrow.

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