Dear Trichotillomania

Dear Trichotillomania,

We met when I was ten years old. I didn't invite you in, but you barged in anyway. You held my hand and told me that you were here to help me. Then you destroyed my confidence and my eyebrows. I hid my face behind my hands, drew on my face with a ballpoint pen, just trying to look like the other girls. You made me feel like a freak when I was barely a decade old.
You started to hibernate when I was twelve. You would pop up every now and again, but not enough to make any significant damage. I was ashamed of you, but I forgot about you for a while.
Until April of 2014. One of my most vulnerable times. My self esteem was shit, and I hated myself. One of the few things I loved about myself was my hair. And you fucking took that away from me. As if I didn't hate myself enough. As if I didn't have enough body dismorphia and self hatred. As if I wasn't already so self conscious that I barely wanted to leave my room. As if I wasn't in enough pain.
It's not fair, what you did to me. What you still do to me. You have made my life infinitely more difficult, and you pump shame and guilt into my veins. You took away my femininity without a second thought. You know that I hate attention, and you gave me a shiny bald head that attracted people's attention like moths to a flame. You convinced plenty of people I had cancer. You sometimes made me wish I had cancer, just so I wouldn't have to deal with you. You made me hate myself more than I ever thought possible.
You'll probably cause me more pain for the rest of my life. You'll probably cost me opportunities, and make me very unhappy. You might go away for a little while, but you'll probably never be gone. You might always be there, grabbing me by the wrists and forcing my hands into my hair. The more I try to resist you, the stronger you get.
So I'm not going to try and fight you anymore. You're in my life, and you're probably here to stay. That idea breaks my heart, but it's probably true. Most people that have you in their life will never get rid of you, and I'm probably among those unlucky people.
But I refuse to let you destroy me. I refuse to let you define me. I accept that you are here, but I will not let you take the wheel. I will learn to work with you, and in return I ask that you let my hair grow. Feel free to create a bald patch here or there--I expect it, but please, just let me have my curls back. Let me feel like a girl again. Let me look like Julia again. I know it'll take a few years, but please, work with me as I will work with you. I want long hair. I want a few dreads. I want to braid my hair and put it in a bun. I want crazy hair when it's humid and those days where I just love my shiny thick locks. I want what you took away from me. You can stay, but you cannot continue to make me feel like shit. I will not allow it. I never did anything to you, and it's time for you to stop punishing me for something I didn't do.
I'm going to start giving you the credit you deserve. It's not me that's making bald. It's you. It's always been you. And I'm going to stop taking responsibility for your actions.
I dont' like you. I don't think I ever will. I wish we could go our separate ways, and maybe we will someday. But for now I'll raise a middle finger to you and carry on. Because you shouldn't be able to control me like you do. I will be myself, trichotillomania or no trichotillomania.

Sincerely,
Julia