humor the crazy bald lady, ok?

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.

6 thoughts on “humor the crazy bald lady, ok?

  1. Time heals. …and self awareness helps tremendously.

    …and as far as “creativity and crazy are degrees of the same thing”? Toss depression in there and you have my vote.

  2. the tongue, the tongue. owie. the pierced tongue. sorry. it’s the tongue you see, i imagine it pierced, and the pain wells up and i just can’t imagine or bear the thought of it. something i wouldn’t be able to do no matter how it might help my lips. you see i chew them, when worried or stressed. a little nibble here, a bite there and then there’s the pulling of dried skin when I am really frazzled. scabs too, do not escape my nervous twitches.

    i am not sure what makes us ocd, or not. i think it is a need to control. or maybe to keep fingers occupied so we won’t worry or fret.

    good to hear though, that you have found a way to keep from plucking. those hand must stay down, dear mcguver of mental illness, if I may call you that.

    ‘creativity and crazy are degrees of the same thing.’ truer words i have not heard.

  3. welllllll, i wouldn’t exactly say “keep from plucking”. i’m more aware and i’m doing it less but even when i’m thinking right at them, the hands have little minds of their own.

    i really wish the conscious part of my brain had a little more say in the matter, it’s doing its best but some things are … out of its hands i suppose.

    maybe i should get one of those lampshade looking things that they put on dogs that have had surgery? or hats! i could take to wearing cute hats? no, not hats.

    stupid crazy hands.

  4. What IS that compulsion shit, anyway? It’s sorta funny to talk about it in the abstract, but it is SO unfunny to experience it yourself! I mean, when I’m picking at my dry cuticles until they bleed or I’m worrying a blemish until it becomes an open wound … that’s just not right.

    I’m glad you’ve found the right ‘do to remedy your bald patch situation, Ms. Feckless, but I can’t seem to find a way to braid *my* hair that conceals the damage I’ve done to my body. If only the finger hair were just a smidge longer …. 😉

  5. i’ve done the face thing but never the cuticle thing — my cuticles fray on their own and hurt enough to deter me, otherwise i’m sure i would have done that too.

    i’m a lot better about scabs too, though they do tempt me. pick, pick, pick. sigh.

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