My hair is thinner. Why is it suddenly such a big deal to me? Its been thin for about five years now, ever since I began to destroy my hair with products and constant pulling and tweaking in order to achieve what I THOUGHT was beautiful. I destroyed it with my eating disorder, my low self esteem, and my obsession to embody a girl who never existed. I wanted to be perfect, I wanted to achieve perfection so that no one else could bother me about my faults anymore. I wouldn’t have to go though days being prodded at by my mother and her friends about how chubby I was, or how I didn’t look beautiful because I wanted to wear black and mold myself in to a darker subculture. I wouldn’t have to go through fucking lectures about how I didn’t look pretty because of what I wore, and how I wasn’t pleasant to look at because I wasn’t Nancy-fucking-Ajram. So I slowly embarked a self-destructive route, because I felt like that was all I knew. Only now, do I realize that I was beautiful. I was so fucking beautiful. But, I suppose sometimes, beauty lies where others may not be able to find it. And now, I have to go to countless doctor appointments, take blood tests, put myself on medication, just so that I can be closer to being beautiful - the very thing that was used as a weapon against me to begin with.
It never stops. I finally grow out of my “neo-goth” phase, but I’m still subjected to what I’m supposed to look like.
I can’t pity myself over this anymore, I’m a fucking international development studies student. I study what poor people have to go through in third world countries - I live with my cousins, who have suffered so much while living in Iraq - and I still cry over the possibility of losing all of my hair.
At least I have good comfort:
Me: “Will you marry me if I lose most of my hair?”
Boy: “Only if I get to rub your bald head.”
That right there is why everything will be okay.
Sending my love in your direction. <3