Hi guys. I’m Emily. I’m fifteen years old. What happened over the past year
makes me really sad, but I’m going to tell you
everything honestly. I hope people can learn
from my experience, and not have regrets like me. Until two years ago, I had the definition of the perfect life. I had all the advantages of being
an only child. I was the princess of my family. My parents were trying
to give me everything I wanted. Where do I begin? I got my first phone when I was eight. We moved to a new house
just because I wanted a bigger room. My dad got a really good job
offer in another city, which meant we had to move. I didn’t want to change schools,
so my dad turned down the offer. Like I said, I was a little princess. Everything revolved around me. And that’s how I liked it. Unfortunately, I had to learn that
all good things come to an end. One day, when I was doing homework, my mom and my dad came
into my room. My dad said, “We need to talk to you. We’ve made an important decision.” First, I thought it was another job offer. I was just about to start whining, when my mom said, “Emily, your dad
won’t be living with us for a while.” I still thought it had something
to do with his job. “For how long?” I asked. My mom looked at my dad. He looked away and said, “I think for a very long time.
We’ve decided to get divorced.” Divorced? My parents are getting divorced? But they always got along so well. When I looked at my mom anxiously, the first thing I saw were tears
rolling down her cheeks, and falling to the floor. Were they really getting divorced? Was my dad really not going
to live with us anymore? Was he not going to wake me up
by caressing my hair? Was he not going to solve the most
difficult math problems in my homework? Was I not going to run to the door
when he came home from work? No way! This must have been a bad dream,
and it was time to wake up. My dad saw the shock on my face,
and came closer. He held up my face, and
kissed my forehead. As I felt his warm kiss on my forehead, I realized that all this was real. I was now the child of divorced parents. At first, my dad and I saw
each other every Sunday. Those few hours we spent together
were enough for me. He’d pick me up at 10 am. First, we’d go for a nice breakfast, and then do whatever I wanted. We’d talk non-stop. I would tell him everything
that was on my mind. And he would listen to me
with such interest. We’d always go shopping afterwards, even when I didn’t feel like it. In the evening, he would drop me off
with all the shopping bags. Unfortunately, this all changed
with another job offer. This time he wouldn’t be going
to another city but to another country! My dad was going to be a director
at a big foreign company. He said, “We’ll spend the
whole summer together”, and kissed me on my forehead. This time I didn’t whine one bit. After all, he no longer lived with us. I was his little princess
who lived in another home. That’s why I no longer expected
him to make decisions about his life according to me. You might wonder, “How were things
with your mom at the time?” Well, she has always
been a hard worker. But after the divorce, she went
a step further, and became a workaholic. At least a few times a week, she would come home long
after I went to bed. We only communicated
through little notes, We’d leave around the house,
and text messages. ”Don’t forget to start the washing
machine. I love you" “I saw your yearbook photo on the counter.
You look beautiful. I love you.” “I’ll be working late tonight.
Order pizza if you like. I love you.” Countless notes and messages
like these. She was working a lot,
and I knew that it was her way of dealing
with the pain of the divorce. What was my way of dealing
with the pain? I didn’t have one. At least not yet. Unfortunately, when I did find a way
to deal with the pain, it turned my life upside down. At first, everything seemed normal. My daily routine hadn’t changed. I had always been a good student. I was still getting up to go to school, and focusing on my classes during the day. During breaks, I was hanging out
with my best friend Zoe. I thought my life was back to normal,
but I couldn’t be more wrong. I was now spending a lot of time on something
without even being aware of it. Like all my friends at school,
I had social media accounts, but I rarely shared anything online. I would check Instagram at least
once a day and that was it. TikTok wasn’t even a part of my life. But somehow I started using
Instagram much more often. I was constantly checking
what people were posting, and which posts were getting more likes. At some point, I started posting
at least 4-5 times a day. In the evenings, I would think about
what I could post the next day, take notes, and sometimes even prepare. For example, I would convince Zoe to walk around the city
with me after school to find nice graffiti to pose with. Or I would visit vintage stores
that I found online. I would try on dozens of outfits,
and take selfies. Of course I would post all of this
on Instagram later. This may not sound odd to you because there are so many people
trying to become popular on social media. But the problem was that I was extremely
concerned about my likes. I’m not exaggerating when I say extremely. I really really cared about them. Let’s say I posted a photo or a video
that I felt good about. If it got only five likes,
I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. I would toss and turn in bed
with all kinds of thoughts in my head. I would feel like this was all so unfair. “I spend so much effort on this, and these fools won’t even give me a like,”
I’d say to myself. I’d think, “They didn’t give me a like
because they’re just jealous.” I would even look through
my list of followers, and try to guess why each person
didn’t give me a like. Yes, I was totally obsessed
with Instagram, but it all felt entirely normal at the time. I wish that’s where it ended. One day at school, Zoe looked
at my face carefully and said, “Emily, your eyebrows are thinning. I noticed it the other day,
but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to upset you. Why are they falling out?
Should you see a doctor?” I was about to say,
“No, I just pluck my eyebrows” but I couldn’t help myself,
and started crying. Zoe was shocked. “If I knew you were going to get so upset, I wouldn’t have said anything. It’s not a big deal,” she said. That’s when I lowered my head,
and parted my hair to show her the big bald spot on my head. “Wow! Emily, this is not normal.
Call your mom right now. Tell her to make an appointment
with a doctor. Where is your phone?” I tried to say something but I couldn’t
because I was crying. She took me to the bathroom,
and washed my face. I calmed down a little. I said, “Zoe, my hair and my eyebrows
aren’t falling out. I’m pulling them out.” “What? Dude, are you crazy? Are you telling me that
you’re pulling out your hair?” It’s hard to believe but
that’s exactly what I was doing. Zoe kept insisting that I call
my mom so I did. When she picked up the phone,
I just started crying. Of course she got scared,
and came to pick me up right away. For the first time after a very long time, we talked for hours,
and we cried together. In the middle of the night, we went out
with swollen eyes to get some food. I felt like a weight had been
lifted off my shoulders. I don’t know if what I needed
was to talk to my mom, or just to share this with someone, or to cry my eyes out, but I was feeling much better. For the first time in months,
I didn’t feel nervous. My mom’s friend
recommended a psychiatrist, and we were at her office
the next morning. I met Dr. Jennifer Williams that day. I started going to see her
every Friday after school at 4pm. My disorder has a very cool Latin name, but I’ll tell you what it is in English: hair-pulling disorder. The main reason is stress. It’s most common among teenage girls. You pull out your hair on your head,
and other parts of your body, at first without even noticing it,
and then you can’t stop. I was pulling out my hair
and my eyebrows, but some people even pull out
their armpit hair. Thankfully it can be treated. I have to admit that I went through
a really difficult time. At some point, I even had to cut
my hair really short, and wear a really tight hat
for 24 hours a day. Some people even have to wear
special finger grips, so they can’t pull their hair. Thankfully, I didn’t have to use those. The most important part of my therapy
was the sessions I had with my psychiatrist. That’s how everything became clear. Here’s what I figured out
about the causes of my condition: After my parents got divorced, I was no longer treated like a princess, I fell into a void. I couldn’t admit it but I wanted
to be the center of attention again. This yearning led me
to use Instagram more. Every like I received made me happy because I felt like I was getting attention
like I used to. I was a princess again. When the opposite happened,
I didn’t get the likes… Well you know… Stress, stress, stress It all led to a mental breakdown, and a weird disorder that
I’ve never heard of before. Unfortunately, I went through
all of this in just one year. I don’t want to blame my parents, but I wish they had supported me more
during this period. They kind of forgot about me because they were dealing
with the trauma of the divorce. Of course I love them so much, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a little hurt. Do you think I could have been stronger? Is it me or my parents who are
more responsible for all of this? Please share your thoughts
in the comments. Thanks for listening to me, and being there for me. You can share your own experiences by sending an email to the address
in the Info section.
