Shit. My mom sort of found out about my hair sans the actual word trich. And she is not happy, is slamming things, and doesn't understand it at all. She told me if I have a medical condition I need to get it fixed; if I have a permanent bald spot I need to get that fixed�I can't explain it to her. I just told her that I don't want to talk about it and to please leave me alone and went in my room. I will never hear the end of this from her, because I never hear the end of anything else I have, but this is worse � much worse. This is incurable - this makes people look at you differently, like you're a different person than you were 5 minutes before. It's that stigma and ridicule that is the reason people (I) hide it. And I have a feeling that I'm going to be spending a lot of time in my room and avoiding talking to my mom, and most likely crying from not being able to explain it to her without her getting mad at me. She made a call to someone. I think it was to a psychiatrist. I hope she doesn't sign me over to the state, because as my legal care taker, she can and she can do it against my will too by simply signing a statement that she can't care for me any longer and poof, I'm a ward of the state.

I've grown to work towards accepting myself as best as I can, and realizing that I'm still beautiful, cause I am dammit, and deserve love and acceptance anyway even with all of this. I'm not psychotic, I'm a lil weird at times, but I'm not psychotic. Since there is no definite cure, and it's believed to be genetic, and is definitely beyond my control, I can't exactly hate myself forever for having this disorder. Especially when I'm one of 10 million people in the U.S. who have it. It is very hard to accept, I'm not going to lie. My internet friends, and even W have been really kind about it, amazingly so. But it is harder to try to get my mom to accept this. I started this at age 13 or 14, and stopped for a while, but I didn't even have a word for it till I was almost 24. I hid it very well because I thought I could be hospitalized against my will for doing this, but it turned out I'd just read too many 19th century literature books about women in hospitals. :-P

My life feels so uneasy right now. And if she acts up this week, I may ask W if I can sleep on his couch. It's my only resort, really I have no one else to go to now that all of my friends moved away.

To sum up my week, my tooth needs to be re-re-filled cause a spot he seems to have not sealed properly is bugging me, and I have a lot of really nice clothes for school. And I bought a small mp3 player that plays protected files so I can legally download or rent stuff in wma format with licenses, and this lil thing is so awesome, it's only 2GB, but it will hold at least 12 audiobooks, which is plenty big. It also has a radio, and I hate to say it, it makes my ipod sound a lot flat, cause there is no surround stereo for some reason on the ipods. :-( But I rented a legal professional copy of The Island of Dr. Moreau to listen to tonight. I'm not sure it was a good choice, but I'm wondering how much I remember from having read it years ago.

Also, I don't want to be mean, but I really need to escape from my mother right now. May she do what I did and google the SOB and learn about it on her own. And may she not find this diary while doing so�god please�

Best damn video around on the subject for anyone desiring enlightenment:
linky: **20/20 video**

~e