This article was partially never published because it is so personal for me. But because I know so many women and men are struggling with a similar experience, I feel it's time to overcome any insecurity and practice some honest journalism (or whatever this can be called).
My experience with make up, as has been mentioned, is entirely different than that of my sister. Unlike her, I was never drawn to the stuff. In fact, it wasn't until Winter 2012 and the age of 19 that I learned how to properly apply eyeshadow and eyeliner. Until then, eyeliner had been a tool only to hide my trichotillomania.
Unless you don't know what eyeliner does, it may be pretty clear where my trichotillomania manifested. I have a strong memory of being 7 years old, when symptoms of the compulsive disorder began, and playing on the pool deck (a place where my glasses couldn't hide my abnormality) when a friend shrieked "Oh my gosh, you have no eyelashes!!!" Cue me dying of embarrassment but trying to play it cool.
I don't remember my "trich," as it is nicknamed, being a socially crippling problem again until I was about 17. Perhaps swimming, which I did until this age, relieved me of some of the urges or just left me little time to sit alone and pluck.
I want to clarify that trich is a compulsive disorder. This means I wasn't consciously standing in front of a mirror and removing one lash at a time. In fact the opposite is true. I would be taking a test and all of a sudden there would be a lash between my thumb and forefinger. I would spend the rest of the test discouraging these urges, rubbing my finger along my lash line to feel for vacant space caused my "habit," worrying about whether or not it was noticeable and beating myself up for stripping myself of another little piece of my femininity.
My family saw it another way. Rather than concern for my appearance, they were disturbed by this self-harm. If they were already disgusted by my nail biting, trich set them over the edge. Especially my sister, who got up close and personal with the proof of my compulsion every time she practiced a new make up routine on me.
"Oh, look! You have some eyelashes!!" My sister said cheerfully as we sat at breakfast with a family friend in the Autumn of 2012. I got up and left, horrified and humiliated that she would bring it up in public. At this point, I had been concealing my deformity with heavy eyeliner for over a year and struggling daily to resist the urges, spending at least half an hour a day in front of the mirror just inspecting my eyes from every way possible, looking for progress or mourning loss and attempting to assess how bad the damage was.
A few months later, I was home for Christmas break and my sister, seventeen at the time, suggested we go pick up some new make up, and I could get some new eyeliner. As we poked around the counter, the sales lady came by and asked if she could help. My sister quipped, "Yes, we want a make up tutorial for her. The works."
My stomach dropped. As soon as the sales lady promised she'd be right back to do that, I spat at my sister, "What the FUCK, Lucy!?"
As I continued to spew my anger as ferociously but quietly as possible in the busy department store, my mortification and dread bringing me to the brink of tears, she stopped me.
"Listen, she does this for a living. She's seen everything. Your plucking really not that bad, tons of people have the exact same problem, and you actually have some eyelashes right now. So stop embarrassing yourself, sit down in that chair, and pay attention."
Because my sister is quite terrifying despite being barely over five feet tall, I sat down in the middle of that department store, I shut up, and I learned how to do a full set of eye make up for dummies. My sister sat by, beaming and snapping photos.
Then she dropped the bomb. "She doesn't have many eyelashes so I want her to learn how she can better fill in the lash line."
I could feel my cheeks redden, confirmed by the make up artist's, "Well, I don't think you'll need any blush..." But then something remarkable happened. It wasn't so bad at all.
Turns out, my sister was right. 80-90% of reported cases are women, and it's estimated two to ten million Americans are sufferers of trich (1). Not everyone plucks from their lashes. Eyebrows, arms, and head are popular spots too. But because of my location, make up had a particular importance for me.
It was not about enhancing any feature or looking pretty. I mean, I guess it was a bit about looking pretty. For many, eyelashes are a symbol for femininity. Regardless of biological accuracy, drawings of male figures generally don't have them, while female ones have those three big eyelashes. The thing is though, in the real world, three doesn't cut it. And people notice, though maybe not as much as I imagined in my head.
I used make up as a way to hide my disorder. For me, it returned to me some of the normality I kept shedding unwillingly. I didn't want to leave the house without it, not because I was afraid I wouldn't look as pretty, but because I wouldn't look as normal.
But makeup also relieved me from this prison of self-disgust and mutilation. The enjoyment of putting it on and feeling whole again and doing it in a group setting lead me to seek help and Summer of 2013, I began experimenting with natural cures, eventually coming up with a mixture of the B vitamin compound called inositol and biotin that resisted the urges and repaired the damage (2).
Which is not to say I'm cured. I still sometimes find myself with little black hairs between my fingertips while I'm struggling with homework or taking a final exam. I still tend to run my fingers back and forth along my lash line checking for "bald patches." But I now spend two to three minutes on make up on in the morning, the same routine I learned in 2012, and never feel the need to run to the mirror during the day to make sure my deformity is still hidden. I get to wear mascara like my friends when I get dressed up and I don't have to think of an escape plan when a friend asks to try something new out on me--I no longer avoid social situations in which someone may discover my deformity. In fact, make up has actually enabled the growth that makes me feel comfortable to not wear make up, to talk about and seek help for this infliction. And it's lead me to feel confident enough to share on the internet what I used to not even admit to my family.
What I'm trying to say is not, "make up is a cure all!" But it has lead me to share with you all about my experience with a disease that has probably inflicted many of the readers, since I know it has affected many of my friends who could have been a major source of comfort had I talked about it with them sooner. In these situations, confidence is what one needs to seek help. In my case, exactly the thing that I was using to hide my disease gave me the confidence to fix it. And that--not the long, full lashes--is the beautiful thing.
1. Trichotillomania Learning Center. (2014). Hair Pulling: Frequently Asked Questions. Retrieved from http://www.trich.org/about/hair-faqs.html
2. I'm happy to share more about this!
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