A Sign of the Times

A friend messaged me that he had gray hair. So I responded that I’ve had gray hair since I was 15. You know, it’s just the way I roll. There’s no sympathy for gray hair. I would call my gray hair pepper gray hair. That awkward stage between a gray head with white specks and a black head with white specks. My hair being black with white specks.

When I first discovered my gray hair I was upset though. And sometimes I forget that. I forget what it’s like to be upset about something for the first time. Or sad about something for the first time. It’s been a real long time since I experienced those types of feelings because I live day to day in a constant state of urgency to get to the next day.

And that’s been tough. What I’m feeling is like PTSD except it’s not because I can’t embrace that I have PTSD. I have such a sour opinion of myself still that I cannot let myself honor my feelings. These feelings that are mine, I’ve just always hid them like a child hides when they break something.

I’m like a child in that regard. If I feel joy, I hide it. If I feel pain, I hide it. When I hurt, I pretend I don’t. When I suffer, I smile more boldly because I don’t give my suffering a chance to know itself. But we need both. I need both. I need to nurture these feelings, FEEL them, and let them heal and grow into strength. Like the jalapeno who becomes spicier when faced against the elements. I too, must harvest the suffering, the joy, the pain, and everything in between to be me.


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