Self Inflicted Blues

This day I grow tired and so incredibly weary. My heart holds only dreams of a Life unfullfilled A Life not nurtured, yet barely a glimmer of the spirit that once was. I do have memories of some things good -not all bad, But the fear that I am alone is Like a fingerprint on my Life. Shadowing, waiting to pounce, always there, unshakeable. It's the mirrors that hold me accountable to my actions. Proof positive that where ever I go there I am, Naked, vulnerable, and yes still alone. As I try to allay this fear, one Lonely and painful pluck at a time, It becomes crystal clear, that I alone am damaging my soul to the very core with each stroke of my hand. I steal one Last Look in the mirror and know that I alone have self inflicted these blues Leaves me to ponder one question: Will I ever allow myself the strength and grace it will surely take to heal my scarred soul?  This poem was written in hopes of begining the healing process for my self. I have a disease called trichiotillamania. It is an obsessive and manic urge to pull one's own hair until baldness occurs. I'm a 48 year old woman, married(with kids & grand kids)and have been doing this since the age of 5. It coincided with the begining of my stepfather raping and torturing me which lasted until the age of thirteen. This disease has me trapped and is NEVER letting me go. There are two inflictions in regards to my hair pulling in this poem, one must know about my disease in order to understand this poem.