by: kaylatyler19@gmail.com
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Date: Fri, 9 Apr 2010 Time: 6:22 PM -
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We’ve all had our fair share of losses. People, possessions, personal memories just vanished from our lives and have left us overwhelmed with shock, anger, guilt and above all, grief. Grief is a natural response to loss. Given this, the more significant the loss the more intense the grief.
Article Source: DirectoryArticles.com
Mine is a story of grief that takes “overnight sensation” to a whole new level. You can only imagine how it’s like waking up one morning to find your perfect head of hair, well, nowhere. Where once used to be smooth, manageable locks now lay frizzy, tangled it-couldn’t-possibly-be-hair. It was as though the godforsaken strands atop my head had a wild party all night whilst I was asleep and what I saw upon my awakening was the celebrated morning after.
Right then and there my grieving cycle commenced. The sudden loss took away with it my confidence, my self-esteem, and my sense of self even. Shortly after the incident, I was rudely introduced to all five stages of grief.
Denial
“You’ll get over it”, “it’s okay”, “everything will be fine” from friends didn’t exactly register, or at least I pretended that nothing wrong was happening to me. I made it a point to dodge all the pregnant stares people sent to my direction as I walked past them. I tried to act oblivious of the fact that there were neon signs pointing to my hideous head as if to say “look at me”. But at the end of the day, no amount of lying can stop me from thinking this can’t possibly be happening.
Anger
I grew a profound hatred for sales people. I couldn’t make it past beauty stores without some good for nothing clerk shouting “buy natural hair products!” Never have I entered a mall, boutique or parlor without any of them offering me human hair wigs for African Americans. I’m not even of color or bi-racial No offense to women of color who are into clip-in hair extension styles and who hoard many a human hair lace front wig.
Bargaining
I considered pulling a Faust – selling my soul to the devil in exchange for decent hair.
Depression
It came to a point when I didn’t even want to get up from. It was as though my head, in dire need of shampoo for ethnic hair, was weighing me down. And this I say with no pun intended. I was overcome with that much sadness that instead of lathering the shampoo on my dry, course, kinky as hell hair, I would just down it, froth at the mouth and die.
Acceptance
After all has been said and done – comforting words from friends, sales talks from pesky clerks, deals with the devil – I’ve come to terms with my hairy situation. After all, I could just shave it all off and wish on my lucky stars that decent strands would grow back.
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