Who am I?

       As I had told you before, I'm seeing a psychiatrist. What I don't remember is if I also told you that I'm also having therapy sessions with a psychologist. 

       Today I had therapy, during the one hour therapy, I realized that what I want the most since I was a little kid is the approval and acceptance of my parents, especially my dad. When I did or still do something that they don't like or approve of I alway feel anxious, depressed and my it lowers my self-esteem. 

      Today I realized I shouldn't look for their approval nor their acceptance, what I should look for and is much more important than their points of view is my own acceptance and my own approval. I need to accept who I am and embrace it. 

      I can't make anyone proud or approve of me if I don't do it for myself first. I also realized that it is my life the life I am living. I shouldn't look to accomplish my parents expectations. If I'm happy and I accept myself, nothing else should matter. 

     So this is my goal for the next months: get to know myself, discover who I really am, explore anything that I love about my life and even if it takes me awhile to accept myself just the way I am. 

Psychiatrist

      Three years ago I started going to a psychiatrist. Even though that first time I didn't receive a constant treatment, he didn't inspired me confidence and his office was in an old asylum and that kind of freaked me out. 

      After that experience, I moved to a different city, but not only city, I moved to a different country in a different continent. I felt that if I moved far away enough from the place I had many problems in everything would be different. I wanted to start a new life. To be a new person. Change my name and appearance and start over. 

      All of that wasn't enough. I couldn't make it. The ghosts of my past were still there with me like before, or even worse. I started feeling suicidal. I lived in a fourth floor. Every time that I looked out my window I thought how easy it would be to just let myself drop and end everything. Once day I almost did it. That scared me to the core so I went to consult a psychiatrist. 

      I met the second psychiatrist in Spain. He inspired a lot of confidence, he reminded me of my deceased grandfather, he told me I needed to take a bunch of pills and to start going to therapy. The therapy I received were with a different doctor. I don't think those therapies helped in any way. Still, I went for over six months. 

      I left the treatment with these doctors because I felt like my country was calling me, I needed to be in peace with my hometown and with my family. I hadn't accomplish my wish to start a new life in Spain and I felt alone. I didn't know and still don't know who I am, so in the meantime I took the decision to move back home. 

Trichotillomania

      There's a part of me that non of my "friends" know about. But today I'm ready to share it with all of you here. This is the moment for me to accept my reality and face it to fully live my live. I hace Trichotillomania. 

       Some doctors say that it is a kind of sickness and others say that it is just an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder issue that is not necessarily a sickness. This condition is not very known, much the less here in Mexico. Trichotilomania consists on pulling ones hair in a compulsive manner. I mostly pull from my hair and my eyebrows.

       There are times when my trichotillomania  gets so bad that I get these big bald spots all over my hair. Which is why I often wear hats, caps, bandanas, and all I can get to cover my head and not look like and idiot. Fortunately, not many people around me notice it. My Trichotillomania is something that embarrass me a lot. I think that is just now that I'm starting to accept it like something that has always been a part of me and always will be. I started to manifest the symptoms when I was one year and a half, so I've lived with it more than 19 years and I'm just starting to accepting it as part of my life. I don't think this is the best thing, but my mom always tells me to ignore it and to not say that it has a name and that shouldn't investigate about it. 

     The day I found out that pulling my hair out obsessively had a name and it wasn't something that only I do and many people around the world do it too I started crying. That excited me to a level I'm not able to express. I felt like I wasn't alone and I wasn't crazy because I pulled out my own hair. Ironically, the thing I love the most about me physically has always been my hair.