^{Sometimes I really really hate my hair. Nothing is more disheartening than having this brillo pad on your head and  it has become an every hour process to maintain. If you don’t brush it often, its gets knotted up. If you don’t oil it, it might as well become a tumbleweed. You try vitamins to help growth only for it to fall out at the slightest bit of stress to it. You flat out it out only to go outside and the little bit of moisture that is left in the air causes it to shrink right back up into itself and put you back at square one. Sun exposure fries it. Moisture shrinks it. Heat can damage it. Overwashing it is stripping it. I am so sick of my hair. My hair breaks combs. It breaks brushes. It used to physically slice my mother’s fingers whenever she braided it. I can’t dye it without putting it under twenty-four hour watch to make sure it doesn’t die on me and finding a hair care profession that SPECIALIZES in my type of hair has to be the most tiring search in the world. I’d rather search for waldo. So now I sit, trying to run my fingers through this dry brush of shit on my head only for it to get snagged at the very root. The physical pain I feel just trying to get my finger out gives me headaches. So, I write this in saying, if you can’t get your hair to sit right, or you think your hair is flat and you can’t do shit with it, I ENVY YOU because nothing is worse than having a tumblweed on your head and nothing you do to it can combat everything around it.}