Impulse control

I did the unthinkable.

I did something momentous.

What is this gargantuan accomplishment, you ask?

Well, I...actually made an appointment to see a therapist.

...Believe me, that's better than it sounds. I've been saying I need to do this since 2004. This is the first time I've gotten desperate/miserable/motivated/determined enough to do so, and it was right after I wrote my last entry.

And of course, as it always is when I finally cave and make an appointment to go to a doctor, therapist, etc., I've been feeling a lot better lately. Relief, I guess. That's something to talk about-- how acutely I make myself worse just by keeping it all in, worrying away at it, building it up and up until it's a big scary volcano of fear inside of me.

I feel like I have been doing better lately, though. The exercise is unquestionably helping. I feel less upset when I feel healthy and look good (it helps to find out that my supposed current body fat percentage is at the "athelete" level...don't judge me!). I have been actively trying to address my nervous compulsions, the trichotillomania, the dermatillomania, the sugar addiction, etc., though I'm trying not to overwhelm myself with that so I'm focusing mostly on the hair and the sugar. I've drastically reduced the amount of hair I pull out-- I can touch my hair without feeling the need to search for "aberrant" strands to yank on. I've cut back to sugar in my coffee (and not always then, even) and fruit, though I do plan to allow myself a treat once a week or so. And, of course, the fact that I've managed to exercise every day for nearly five weeks now, and floss every night since June 20th, makes me feel wonderful. I've formed two positive habits! Hooray!

But...ugh, I feel like I need a diagnosis. I feel like I need someone to tell me that I do in fact have a problem (or problems) with a name, and that it's not just me. It's not just weirdness. Having something with a name that is medically recognized means having an enemy you can fight. Simply being weird, and having to fight weird, is like the U.S. going to Vietnam to fight communism. Where the hell do you even start?

I am hoping that my therapist will actually listen to me when I tell him all this. I am taking a first step towards trying to get beyond the fear, and trying to not always aim low, and trying to make my life something that I want to live.

I hope it gets beyond one step.