so i’m wearing my hair parted to the side and across the front a small braid tied with a twist tie. it’s adorable, but more importantly, it hides the bald spots. yes. bald. spots.
i tolerate trauma far too well. i’ve been aware of this yet strangely content with it as it got worse, it’s been fairly obvious for a month at least (it’s been going on since january, right around time the career crazies started). i was parting it in different places, but i’d about run out; still i made no attempt to stop. but today i got a good look at the extent of it, it’s not even spots anymore, more of a … swath. a total of at least a square inch, bare, scalp, front and center. and finally i’m making the effort to keep my damn hands out of my hair, to stop pulling at strand after strand in search of the nappy ones. the best of them, the thick ones with the best texture, i would pull out, play with, toss aside, and go back for more. occasionally i’d find one so exceptionally kinky, i’d save it behind my keyboard to play with later, pulling it between fingers pressed together, oh my fingers loved this feeling.
as i write this out, it sounds just deranged, and yet whole time i was doing it, the hand felt it belonged there, the hair was willing, and the part about disfiguring myself? no idea how i overlooked that aspect of it. there was no rational interference whatsoever. the fact that at any given time i could go under my computer table and collect a medium sized hamster worth of hair, phased me not a bit. the hands continued their deliberate work, and i was fine with this. obsessive? compulsive? oh.
right. so it took piercing my tongue to get me to stop licking my cracked chapped lips, but all i have is willpower against these hands. it requires effort right now as i pause between phrases, to keep the hands down. down, the hands stay down now.
and so i consider the matter of my brain: damaged? defective? special? whatever. with its disorderly circuitry and imbalanced chemistry and the impressive variety of its various lapses (this isn’t the only one, by any means), still there’s a fine little mind in there, i’m quite fond of it. i’m not even very upset about the hair, as aberrant behaviors go, there are far worse things than temporary ocd baldness.
and when it comes to how upset i’m not there is another aspect of this and that would be the perverse part of me that embraces tangible evidence of ill mental health. (does this mean i bring it on myself? i would lean towards a ‘no’ but anything’s possible.) in any case, i believe that creativity and crazy are degrees of the same thing, and i have more use for inspiration than i do sanity; i know that further along on the continuum the muse is an overwhelming thing that consumes lives, but mine is a benign and flighty creature, in fact i suspect she still lives with her parents, even though she’s older than you and me both. and i am digressing, and this has me grinning, and it’s one in the morning.
the hands? they’re behaving. and the braid is quite fetching, i will adorn it with shiny things and learn to toss it a little, expressively, especially when i’m digressing. how’s that for resourceful? i’m like the mcguyver of mild mental illness, i can take what it leaves me and make cute out of it.
i would pat myself on my fuzzy little head and say oh what a clever girl, ’tis just the sort of thing i tend to do at odd moments, but the hands, the hands are staying down.