I haven’t brushed my hair in 3 weeks and I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs. (Gross – I know!) Three of my fingers nails show the decaying flecks of red nail polish from my birthday in April and chips that would give Doritos a run for their money. I can’t remember the last time I even opened my make-up box. Sadly, this is a rinse and repeat cycle I’ve been on for 3 years now. Before depression, my hair was always styled and my face was painted to my sense of perfection every single day.
Now, I stand in the shower, with tears streaming down my face as I pull away the matted hair from my head and watch them glide down the body to the bottom of the bathtub.
I’m humiliated. My hair, which was once thick and full of glorious shine and colour, was once the envy of my friends, but now, it’s ruined. I feel like I need to shave it all off but that just peeks at past self loathing, that I can’t afford to go down again.
I have to fight everyday for the smallest things, things that I once took for granted. Showering.. Walking outside, glaring at the sun too much so your vision was filled with white specks of light. Small things are all I praise now. Before, I’d beam at promotions, academic achievements and new cars. Now, I feel like I’ve conquered the whole world when I’ve gotten out of bed and I can somewhat run my fingers through my hair.
I feel like the world is moving forward whilst I’ve gone back to learning how to walk and not poop myself.
I wish I could tell past Claire how great she had it, but..
Today I brushed my hair.
Therantsofninjapants 