Before I get ahead of myself, I should mention something else important that happened before my spiritual awakening.
At the end of 2015, I received a large bonus. I had qualified for a higher-level bonus scheme. I don’t remember the exact amount I received, but I think it was around R70,000.
This was it.
This was why I studied so hard in university, this was why I graduated top of my class, this was why I frequently work weekends. It was finally my time, a culmination of over 10 years of hard work and studies.
I’d finally made enough money to go for the hair transplant I’d waited and worked so hard for.
I did the research, found a place that I thought was good, and went for an appointment.
The people were nice enough and presented me with two options: one was the standard strip treatment, where they removed a strip of hair from the back and placed it in the front, and the other was a new, more expensive technique. Using this new technique, they placed hair follicles individually. They told me that this new technique was better and more effective. I decided to go for it as I thought more money equalled better quality.
With that decision, I unknowingly fucked myself.
After the treatment in April 2016, I arrived at work after taking three weeks off with basically a full head of hair, my head still red from the treatment. I still remember eating lunch with my friends, reeking of anxiety, and everyone knew, but no one said anything. I looked completely different. I was far too embarrassed to bring it up, and I had horrible feelings of inadequacy.
If you don’t know, after a hair transplant operation, the implanted hairs fall out, and then new ones grow back; but when they did, I realised that they had placed some extra thick hairs on my right side of my head (likely from the base of the head), at the point it meets the forehead. The result of this human error was that when it grew out, it had an unequal size compared to the other hairs and looked oddly thick.
This wouldn’t have happened with the standard treatment, but of course, I had taken the new one.
Pain.
My treatment had basically failed. I was sent into a huge shame spiral and isolated myself from everyone. I was even too ashamed to confront the hair transplant company. I had fantasised about this transplant for so many years, and now that I got it, it went wrong.
I can’t begin to explain how worthless and defeated I felt.
I stopped talking to my friends and family, started eating alone, stopped swiping on Tinder, and avoided people as much as I could; my life somehow became even more solitary.
Now, because of this surgical mistake, I was forced to experiment with growing out the hair or shaving it. I had to see which was better. I bit the bullet, but man, when I tell you it looked bad growing out, I mean it.
God, it looked awful.
But I had to see if it was better long (or short) and bore the brunt of the shame. I did this grow-then-shave thing a few times. I kept hoping it would change for the better. It didn’t.
Everyone spoke behind my back. I glimpsed the shifting eyes and heard the whispers, but thankfully, not much of it ever reached me. If it did, it probably would have ended me.
My crutch became marijuana.
I became heavily addicted to its reality-numbing effects. I had a small pipe that I would pack with just a little weed, and then would take one or two hits and carry on. I began smoking before work, during lunch, and immediately after. I would get home and smoke more until I fell asleep. Then rinse and repeat. I flew through packs of Mary Jane, and was high all day.
This was an incredibly painful period of my life. It was my absolute darkest hour, and I haven’t known agony like that since, but without the marijuana, I would have likely killed myself.
The deep pain continued until around May of 2017, at which point, the sun gave me a lifeline.
Michael's musings 