Dear Me.

Dear Little Me,

You with the long flowing golden locks. Without a care in the world but only to get to the beach as quickly as possible, and what the next book you read will be.

Now, but days later you’re afraid, you sit with a pile of hair in your hands. You’re questioning “What kind of monster rips out their own hair?” scared at first, then filled with hate.

Thoughts that fill your every fibrous being. Thoughts of hatred, thoughts of dismay, confidence basically none existence, thoughts of guilt, of shame.

Everyday you’ll wake and automatically reach for the tiny tuffs of hair a-top your head, instantly saddened, angered at what YOU, you’re own being has done. Feeling spikey short hair, feeling baldness, feeling everything but relief, until “pluck”.

With that rush of emotions, an ease, a release- the minute a hair, or several leave your scalp.

A release from the turmoil inside.

Turmoil that you’ve created.

Hating yourself, ashamed to even share with your  family what you can do, what you must do.

Little me, it does get better. There¬†will be days when you’re mind races so fast, when your life seems so out of control that you simply can’t leave your room. There will be those days when pulling is all you can do to help. Yet there will also be days, weeks even when you don’t pull at all.

You’ll learn to craft eye-brows, apply fake eyelashes and you’ll rock awesome braids in your hair- gaining compliments along the way. Life will be different little me, but it is your life.

Draw strength from your perseverance, from your ability to cope and to continue despite what you hide. Focus on the good, not on the bad- you are not a monster.

One day you’ll reach out and share your story, people who thank you will make it all worth while. The relationships formed, and the stories shared will keep you going, even on the toughest of days.

Hang in there little me,

-Me.

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