Whumpee just wanted to go back to normal. That was all they wanted. After months in a stranger's basement, months of beatings and torture, months of the most horrific things, they just wanted to be, to feel normal.
They started small. They asked for a takeout meal at the hospital, and Caretaker provided. They hadn't had takeout since the day of their kidnapping, and while the food was greasy and gross, it was the best meal they'd ever had.
Then they asked for their own clothes, from their home. They switched out the hospital gown for — at first — sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, on their release day, they went a little more adventurous, with clothes that let them pass as a normal person when they stepped out the door.
The only thing that was still a telltale sign, a flashing neon light above their head that they'd been severely neglected, was their matted hair. The nurses didn't even want to touch it. Honestly? Whumpee kind of didn't want them to touch it either. With how kinky and curly their hair was, they would've just torn it all out with a comb. But now that they were home…
"Caretaker?"
"Yes?"
"Would it be okay — you can say no, you can always say no — would it be okay if I asked… I mean… My— my hair…"
Caretaker lit up. "You want me to do your hair for you?"
The reaction didn't make sense. It was going to be a tedious process, if not entirely impossible. "If that's okay."
"It's more than okay! I'll bring a chair into the bathroom and you can sit down. I have anti-tangle conditioner somewhere in my box, we can use that. It's supposed to make the hair slippery enough that a comb can go through it. Or a detangling brush! I think I have one of those as well, somewhere…"
Whumpee wanted to cry. Here they were, beat-up and worn down, neglected, disgusting… And Caretaker was excited. They were excited to help. "Are you sure?"
Caretaker stopped. "Sure of what?"
"That you want to do this. It's going to take hours. Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it'd be better to… to…" They couldn't say it. Their hair was their pride and joy, to think of cutting it all off was much too painful.
Their friend grabbed them by the shoulders, looking into their eyes all serious. "Whumpee. We'll save your hair."
Still teary, Whumpee nodded. "Okay."
"I'll bring that chair."
So Whumpee sat down in the bathroom, hair wet and conditioned, and Caretaker started the agonisingly slow process of detangling from ends to roots. One lock at a time. Chatting away joyfully, like they weren't about to work until their hands cramped up. Like it wasn't a bother. Like Whumpee was worth it.
And Whumpee sat there, in front of the mirror, and slowly, they started to see their natural curls again. Inch by inch, lock by lock, they were getting their life back. They weren't erasing the trauma they'd gone through, but they were healing it.
"Did that all come from my head?" they asked, horrified, when they saw Caretaker holding a handful of dead hair.
"Don't freak out," they said with a smile. "It only seems like a lot because you haven't had the chance to brush your hair in ages. It accumulated. There's hardly any real breakage."
"Oh," they breathed. "Okay."
Hours later, Whumpee's hair was almost back to normal. They just had to wash it to get all the blood and debris out, which they could finally do on their own, without Caretaker in the room with them. When they'd first been rescued, the nurses had to help them bathe, and it was some of the most humiliating stuff they'd endured.
Once done, they stepped out of the shower and looked in the foggy mirror. They swiped their hand across it to reveal their reflection; their hair was… normal. In need of a trim, maybe, but not matted. Not bloody. Not dusty. Normal. Beautiful. They were beautiful again.
The sight made them break down in tears.
"Whumpee?" came a concerned voice from the other side of the door. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," they sniffled. "Yeah. Sorry. I— These are happy tears, I promise." They opened the door and smiled at their friend. "Thank you for taking care of my hair. It means the absolute world."
Caretaker smiled back. "You're gonna be okay, Whumpee. You're strong. You'll be fine."
There are fewer noticeable memory gaps than there used to be, but this still happens from time to time when life is rough.
It's not a total gap when this happens. It's more like a thick layer of haze and difficulty recalling that block of time without asking for inside help. Sometimes it's better to leave it be.
“I’m not a very good writer,” I say, and radishes grow out of my ears.
“I can’t sing,” I confess. The next time I open my mouth, I pluck a bright green lettuce leaf off the tip of my tongue.
“It’s a terrible drawing, really.” I try to cover my work with my hands, and before I know it, I’m crying apple slices.
As a child, I became convinced I had to bring vegetables wherever I went, otherwise I’d disappoint people. I never questioned my self-deprecating habits until my friends pointed out that my skin was forming corn grains and flaking off, leaving gaps behind my back and in my chest. I have to stop telling myself what I can’t do, especially when I actually can do it, but it’s difficult to remember how.
“I make an excellent salad,” I whisper to myself at last. Growth is a great place to start, and one day I may be whole once more.
—
[Image description: Photo of a salad on a white plate. The salad contains lettuce, tomatoes, radishes, corn, and apple slices.]
What are your strengths? Look at yourself and be honest. If there is something that you're good at, then consider it to be one of your strengths. See, sometimes we may put ourselves down and disregard and devalue our strengths in an effort to show ourselves as humble. However, there is nothing wrong with knowing what your strengths are and being proud of what you are capable of.
When we downplay our strengths like that and tell ourselves and others that we "aren't good at something" even though we may be extremely good at it, two things happen. One of those things is that we begin to lose sight of who we are and of what we are actually capable. The second thing that happens is that we prevent ourselves from growing and from getting better at that particular thing, or at other things that we also may be good at but don't believe ourselves to be.
Never be afraid just to give a simple "thank you" when you receive compliments on your abilities or on your good qualities. It is very likely that you have worked or are working hard to maintain those skills. You deserve credit for that.
I’ve been thinking about the thing I’ve heard said, about how you shouldn’t put down your skills not only because of yourself but also because you don’t know who will hear you. And you know what?
They’re right.
I’ve been talking to someone at least two or three times in the last few weeks, someone I value a lot, and they were impressed by my prowess at something, like “wow you’re so good”. And I was like “no I’m not, it’s not really that complicated, I’m just dabbling, I’m not very good at all, yadda yadda yadda”. And like? That’s not very nice of me. I am pretty good at that stuff. And I did put in effort to get there. And it benefits none of us for me to pretend that isn’t the case. Because is the other person going to hear “no no I’m not bragging or self important” like my anxiety was saying with those words? Or are they going to hear “wow maybe if you were just better at stuff you could do this too”? It’s probably the second one. And I never, ever want to say that to anyone, especially the people I care about.
So I’ll try to be nice to myself. It’ll probably make me happier too.
