Crazy

I'm sitting in the train. It's like I'm in a trance. I can't think straight, and all I want is to smoke. What do I do? I calm myself down. How? I pull out my hair. I'm sitting with a huge pile of hair in my lap, and I don't want to throw it out. Because when you have to get rid of the evidence (the hair), you realise what you've done. Then I realise that people have been watching me for over an hour, while I was fully aware of it, but didn't care. They look at me like I'm crazy. I don.t bother, because while pulling I don't give a flying fuck about anything. It's like I'm floating and everything around me becomes quiet, and nothing is harmful. The feeling of the little white roots letting go of the follicle.. It's important to grab the hair by the roots just right, cause otherwise the hair will break, and the root doesn't come out, and the hair was wasted. That's how I feel. Unless you are a fellow sufferer from trichotillomania, you won't understand. I don't expect people to understand. I needed to write this for my own sake. Thank you.