I am scared.

I began this blog thing with one goal in mind.  It wasn’t to “find myself.”  It wasn’t even to learn to love myself.  It wasn’t to share my hopes and dreams and goals and fears and emotions, blah blah blah-dee blah blah blah.

My plan was to build up  to the point where I would…

SHAVE MY HEAD.

Yes. I wrote that. It is not a typo.

As I started down this road, I was all about overcoming my 40+ year struggle with trichotillomania.  As I delved deeper into my heart and mind, I discovered that a lot of the crap that triggers my desire to pull out my hair has absolutely NOTHING to do with my flowing locks…or lack there-of.  I allowed myself to hop merrily down that little self-discovery bunny trail, because, quite frankly, I am petrified of what I think might actually help me stop this physical coping method, namely, getting rid of my hair.

You see, I LOVE being able to turn off my brain by simply yanking out one strand of hair at a time.  I mean, how many people actually have a simple, effective way to escape from reality that doesn’t involve illegal prescriptions, scary business transactions in dark alleys, or hangovers?  Am I right?

But I don’t want to have a giant self-inflicted bald spot anymore.  So, there’s that.

I’ve read several other stories and blogs written by people who have shaved their head in an attempt to train their minds and bodies to turn to other coping strategies, and several of them have had some measure of success.  I’m thinking that dealing with my inner demons but not having any hair to turn to might actually work.  It has a lot to do with neural pathways, which I’ll write about later.

Still…shave my head?  Who am I kidding?  That will NOT be cute.

OK.  I’ve put it out there.  Its real and public and terrifying.  I’ve told some close friends, and have had mixed responses.  Several folks think there has to be another way. Maybe there is.  I don’t know, and I won’t until I try.

Alright people.  Sometime in 2017, shit’s gonna get real.

Maybe in December…