On January 17, 2014, my hair and my head were in rough shape. I would say that about half of my hair was gone. After ten years of struggling with trichotillomania, I had reached a breaking point. The evening before, I had begged my father through tears to get his electric razor and shave all my hair off. My scalp burned and itched, my hands shook with the need to pull out whatever was remaining. Mom and dad gave excellent council and told me to sleep, and to make my final decision after my (VERY timely) therapy appointment the next day. After my appointment, I had made my choice.