Below the surface

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I started writing again for therapeutic purposes. Good for me. No big deal. This is not the problem. The problem is that I have some sort of OCD about needing things in their proper place and like anything else in my life, I had to be sure that I could import everything, everywhere I have blogged for the last decade, here.

Of course this wasn’t enough. I wanted to be sure that the formatting was correct and before I knew what I had done, I found myself in the dark, murky waters of my past.

Its 4am and Im sitting on my bathroom floor … sobbing.

As it turns out, looking into the past, however briefly, can open old wounds and maybe even twist the blade. I certainly had forgotten how deep I had buried this in the back of my closet. I underestimated the potential it has to completely unhinge my psyche. That’s what happens when you don’t deal with emotional trauma, but that was a luxury I did not have at the time.

Truth be told, I still haven’t got time for this pain. I still cannot afford the mental breakdown this trauma rightfully deserves. I can act like a survivor but the truth … the truth is that I have stuffed this agonizing weight so deep inside me for the sake of my children that this sobbing is still only a by product of scratching a superficial surface. And that’s all I can allow.

Even if I cannot see this raw scar with my eyes or graze it by touch to inquire if it is getting any better or still hurts, it is there. Although it has been cosmetically altered at the surface to be aesthetically pleasing, it runs deep, it is ugly and what’s out of sight, I hope, stays out of mind.

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The thing about my purple hair

When you sit in a doctor’s office and are told that the vision loss you have been struggling with is not likely to be resolved, EVER and you realize, no, accept that you are going to have a disability that will greatly impact the rest of your life, you start to think.

My thoughts went to what I could no longer do. Im not gonna drive. Im no longer going to be able to work, at least in the capacity that I am passionate about.

And then my thoughts started to wander to ‘What If’. What if this gets worse. What if I lose my vision completely. What if I don’t get to see my kids grow up. What if I cannot watch my kids get married. What if I never get to see my grandchildren’s faces.

I started to spiral. I could feel the darkness setting in. I had to shut it off. I started to search for any positive, glimmering, golden, small strand of good in this pile of poo.

And then it came to me: What about all the things I couldn’t do when I had a job? The things I missed with the kids. Like at school. Field trips. Days off & winter/spring break.

Ok. This was helping. I was feeling a little better.

Then, as my Mom and I were walking to the car, I saw this girl with this perfectly, dip-dyed teal hair and I smiled. A good, deep down in your soul smile.

Working at a law firm, I could have never done something like that to my hair, although I had always envied and loved it. I decided to pick a fun color and go for it.

I went for purple. And I love it.

My girlfriend who is my hairdresser immediately announced: “Im not fixing that!!!” upon seeing it which annoyed me. I don’t want it fixed, theres nothing to fix.

My Mom asked me if I was having a mid-life crisis.

Ive gotten looks, rolled eyes …

For what?

Well guess what fuckers? You don’t know me or my story and your pretentious bullshit can suck it! (smile)

Purple hair, don’t care!

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