"A home for fleas, a hive for bees, a nest for birds, there ain't no words."

Rogue hairs utterly disgust me.


Ulaaagggggghhhhhhh (That's the sound of me gagging.)

I'd almost bet my life that my trichophobia began during high school, the time I decided that eating Wendy's sounded like a good plan. Big mistake. While driving down the road I bit into my burger, along with what felt like a lock of someone's hair that had literally been cut from their head. The clump was disgustingly huge.


(I had to make uploading this picture the last thing I did to this post. In the three seconds that I had to look at it, I for reals almost vomited.)

I had to pull over to the side of the road so I could puke. It was traumatic, to say the least. Ever since then I find hairs in EVERYTHING. If one of my mom's happens to fall into our dinner, I. will. find it. It's inevitable. Egg shells too. I think someone put some sort of hex on me. It's the only logical explanation. I was eating some pasta my mom made once, and came across a hair or two that seemed to ball up and get stuck to the back of my tongue. I had just taken a huge swig of milk right before, and without warning, I projectile vomited it back up. The only way for me to explain it is like when a baby pukes. There was no gagging involved, only a substantial amount of milk firing from between my lips.

My immediate family members know about my (possibly irrational) fear, and do nothing to make my life easier. My little sister loves to pick hairs off of her clothing and either dangle them in front of my face, or actually drop them on me. She gets some sort of sick pleasure out of hearing me gag. It's disturbing. While on vacation a few years ago, we were swimming in the pool at the campground where we were staying. My other sister noticed someone's hair floating on the top of the water and proceeded to shove it towards me. I don't care how clean that hair was, if the chemicals in the pool had burned any diseases off of it, I don't care if it was the flipping Queen of England's hair, it was gross and I was grossed out. I figured my mother, the one who most likely loves me most in this world, would have my back, but no. She just stood there laughing her butt off. It just goes to show you that you can't trust anyone.

I'd consider going to some sort of exposure therapy, but I just have this image of them covering my body in other people's hair, and the thought of that makes me want to die. I suppose this is just something that I'm going to have to get used to. Hair is everywhere. And who knows, maybe if I get skeeved out enough, often enough, I can puke off some poundage. Haven't you heard? The Ethiopian Diet is all the rage right now.