Stranded

by Elizabeth Madden
^{(creative writers at www.morewriting.co.uk)}
Marian tells lies when she visits the hairdresser.

She is ashamed of herself, but it seems easier to nod, sadly, whenever a stylist, while carefully separating her hair into sections and pinning it in preparation for cutting, notices and utters those horrible words, "Did you know there was a bit at the back of your head where the hair's been breaking off?"

In fact, there's a sizeable bald patch, with which Marian is all too familiar.

Sometimes, Marian tells the hairdresser that it's been like that since she had a bungled perm experience at a dodgy salon: her scalp was burned by the chemicals in the perming solution. The response is inevitably a shocked look and lots of head shaking, with expressions of disapproval that fellow hairdressers could do such an unprofessional job.

"You have to be careful where you go, don't you?" the hairdresser will say, meaning, "Make sure you come to a proper salon like mine. I won't slap on too much lotion or leave your head frying under an old fashioned hairdryer hood like some of those hole in the corner joints do."

And Marian will nod and smile self deprecatingly, acknowledging the hairdresser's unspoken chastisement of her foolishness in entrusting such a precious commodity as her hair to such amateurs.

She rarely sticks with the same salon for more than a few visits. The "burned" scalp would heal eventually and new hair would appear, if the "perm fiasco" had really happened. But, in Marian's case, the patch remains hairless. In fact, it gets bigger; more and more difficult to conceal with carefully arranged strands and lots of hairspray.

One kindly hairdresser didn't ask the usual question. Instead, he said, sympathetically, "Are you on chemo?" and was especially solicitious over cups of coffee and magazines and making sure Marian was comfortable. He tried to reassure her, mentioning a number of clients who'd lost hair during cancer treatment and who were all now totally cured, enjoying a new lease of life and a full head of hair.

Marian is troubled by her deception, but cancer victims always get a solicitous response, whereas admitting the truth would evoke disgust and disdain, which she dreads, at the same time feeling both appalled by, and ashamed of, herself.

Chemicals aren't responsible for her baldness: she is. She pulls out her own hair. Sometimes a few strands, sometimes whole handfuls in the course of a particularly bad episode, whenever she feels the familiar panic arising. The horrible sense of dread that something awful is about to happen sends unpleasant thoughts buzzing around her head like particularly persistent mosquitoes and she feels compelled to pull out her hair because, somehow, the repetitive action seems to have a calming effect, especially when she concentrates her attention on staring at the strands she's removed, carefully checking the thickness and texture of each one, desperately trying to chase away the worrying thoughts which constantly bubble in her mind.

Marian suffers from trichotillomania, a form of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD).

She pulls out hairs in response to constant anxious thoughts. Other OCD sufferers may have different "rituals", repetitive actions which they perform in order to ward off the perpetual fears from which they suffer on a daily, hourly basis. Some wash obsessively. Others repeat phrases, count backwards, have strict routines of behaviour, the slightest diversion from which is utterly impossible. Some spend their lives obsessively checking and rechecking, desperate to ward off the disasters which they are convinced are constantly lying in wait for them if the rituals aren't adhered to.

Marian knows what she does is "wrong" and she feels depressed about her inability to control her behaviour. She fears she is "going mad" because of her obsessive thoughts and her compulsion to pull out her hair. She feels lost, stranded in a dangerous place full of obscure terrors and guilt and shame.

She would have remained there, had it not been for a fortunate encounter with a stylist who, it turned out, had also experienced obsessive compulsive disorder.

Marian had noticed the new salon which had appeared in her neighbourhood. It looked bright and welcoming and the hairdresser was a middle-aged woman who looked smart, but not frighteningly glamorous or trendy, so Marian made an appointment for a cut and blow-dry. As usual, she had put off having a haircut for as long as possible, because it was always so embarrassing, but her nephew's wedding was taking place that weekend and she was conscious of how unkempt she'd been looking lately.

Nervous, she sat waiting for the inevitable questions. As she was feeling so anxious, she began to raise her hand to her head again and again, tugging out hair, not really aware of doing it. The stylist noticed.

To Marian's complete surprise, she made absolutely no mention of the bald patch. At first, Marian was constantly on edge, anticipating the moment when she'd have to lie yet again.

Gradually, though, her own heightened tension disappeared and she began to really tune in to what the other woman was talking about: her own experience of anxiety and compulsive disorders, which had made life a misery for her until finally she had discovered the various methods of coping with anxiety after a visit to her doctor and a referral to a specialist trained in cognitive behavioural therapy.

"The thing is," she said, "Apparently I'd developed these repetitive actions - or "rituals", as they're sometimes called - as an attempt to control my anxious thoughts and the unpleasant feelings that came with them. However, the compulsions were actually making my anxiety worse, rather than better, and what I really needed to do was to rethink my responses to anxiety and work on finding more effective ways of reducing it. The therapist was really great. She talked to me about the situations that worried me and taught me some really good techniques for physical relaxation. At first, I was sceptical, but it's amazing how effectively actual physical "loosening-up" reduces all those fears and worries I'd been keeping pent up for so long. Of course, the talking with the therapist helped, too. We did this thing called Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, which helped me know how to deal with situations where I became anxious and stop being so afraid of what might happen. You know, getting that help has made my life so much better. I remember how I used to worry so much about my anxiety that I actually thought I might be going mad. Now, instead of worrying about it, or trying to ward it off by using riuals, I actually accept it and deal with it."

As Marian listened, she recognised herself and began to think that maybe, like her hairdresser, she, too could get help to cope with her anxiety and compulsions. She resolved to visit her GP right away, to talk openly about her problems for the first time ever.

Several months later, Marian's still going to the same hairdresser, Amanda, who has been pleased to see, but careful never to mention, that the bald patch is getting much smaller and Marian is much more relaxed. "Thank goodness, I don't feel stranded any more," she told her therapist on her last visit.