I sit in a trance, screaming in my head. Stop! Stop! But I am no longer in control. I opened the cage many summers ago. Now I sit, screaming for you to stop. Watching as I destroy myself with my own hands, the hands that no longer belong to me.
Though you only emerged a few summers ago, I know you have always been there. The signs were there, though I did not recognize them. The signs were there as I sat and played with my hair in preschool. Now you tear it out with my own two hands. I was born with you inside, a monster trapped inside an origami cage, chained in string. Clawing at the paper cage, a cage with walls, so paper thin, only restrained by string thread thin. Thin as a golden strand of hair. And that one night many summers ago, a memory still vivid. Most vivid, for you like to torture me, remind me of my own fault. That one summer night, while I sat on the cool bathroom tile, you coaxed me to the cage. Your voice smooth and entrancing. You told me to pull one thread, just one. Your words bittersweet as poison, the poison words I drank. I was under your spell. I reached up, holding a dark golden strand in my fingertips. I pulled, feeling tension and release as the strand was plucked. Your smile grew, for I had opened the cage. The golden string once binding you wrapped around our fingertips, you had bound me with the very same string which once bound you. The golden string became like spider silk, iridescent. Thin, almost see through, as if the smallest tension would cause fracture. That thought was never farther from the truth. So thin I would have thought it gone, until you raised your hand. The thread glinted with broken light, and my hand followed yours as if by magic. I watch in awe as you guide me hand to the crown, and pull another strand. Tension and release. The string binding surged with poison. The pleasure, the repetitiveness. I could not stop, nor could I will myself to want to. At first, you made me believe you were my friend. Told me you were the only one who cared. The ecstacy filled me with every pull, the peacefulness of being in a trance, bound me tighter. You were my addiction, I couldn't live without you. You told me I was normal. With every sip of your poisonous lies, I fell deeper into the spiral, deeper into the dream masked abyss. Then you began to show your true colors. You told me I was a freak. You reminded me time after time of my fault. With every hit of stone hard words, you grew more powerful. Then you showed me your true face. Red bloodshot eyes with slits for pupils that glowed fiery hot. Razor sharp teeth and six inch nails. With a black widow's marking on your chest, wearing a tattered robe. I stare in terror at your hideous image. "Who are you?" I ask in horror. Your smile broadened, and felt an eerie realization. It was as if looking into a mirror. "You know who I am..." You drawled, running your forked tongue along the dagger like fingernail. A chill ran up my spine. It was as if looking into a mirror. But even so, In that moment I knew. As I pulled the first golden thread I knew. As you pushed me into the origami cage, kicking and screaming I knew. As you gagged me with spider silk so I could only scream in my head I knew.
"You are Trichotillomania," I breathed "the puppeteer..."
You laughed a cold, hard laugh. "And you are nothing, nothing but my little puppet", you said before placing your mouth on mine, drowning me in your poison.