Kristell's Commonplace


Gray

Tags:
| Blog | | Life |

There’s a lot of anti-aging stuff around the internet, from people saying to put on lotion, to people who are showing you how to redirect your own expressions of basic emotions so you don’t smile. I have my own opinions on the ways that people are trying to avoid the signs of aging, but we won’t go too deep into those. I’d just recommend looking into why, and realizing that once you hit 60 you’re not going to look 20, no matter how little you’ve smiled.

There is very much a wider societal issue that causes this to happen at the scale it does, and I do feel like we should address it as a society.

What I want to do is celebrate my own signs of aging, and explain the why. Some pretty heavy topics will be brought up. I’ll list all of the ones I know of here, and if there are any others I’ve missed don’t be afraid to reach out.

Content warnings:

All of these will be explicit, though not graphic. I feel no strong need to censor any part of my experience, much less this one.

With that being said, let’s continue!

One

Just to emphasize this point: I’d never been okay, not until pretty recently. It’s only in the past few years that I’ve been in a fully stable situation and I’ve been able to heal from the past. It’s not really until now, near the beginning of the third decade of my life, that I’ve been able to substantially heal from the more deep-seeded parts of my past.

But, looking back, none of the situations I was in before I turned 22 were good for me. Honestly, until about 28 very few of them were. But the worst were the reasons why I cried when I saw my first grays come up on my head.

I’d never expected to make it past 25. Let me rephrase: I’d expected to not make it past 21. The dates are engrained in my memory, and the days leading up will forever haunt me. Staring down a bottle of whisky I’d stolen, sat alongside a bottle of acetaminophen.

I’d never tried, but I’d planned it. Down to the minute, even. If I couldn’t get out of the situation I’d been in before I turn 22, then I wouldn’t turn 22. This instance is probably the one that affects me the most, because it was the one caused by the abuse someone else put me through.

During this point I’d had a lot of things stripped of me. My hair, who I wanted to be, and who I was. All by someone who was, by all metrics, supposed to be on my side, and who claimed at every turn to have my best interests at heart. And I don’t doubt that she did. She just didn’t actually know what my best interests were, and didn’t know how to handle who I was at the time.

I did get out before I turned 22. I had someone help me out, and give me a place to stay while I was getting off my feet.

I have a charm bracelet, with a charm for certain people. The first person to get a key charm was the one who got me out of that situation. I don’t wear it much anymore, but I do still have it, and I do still add to it.

Two

The second time was related to gender-affirming care. I decided that if I wasn’t on gender-affirming care by the time I turned 25, I wouldn’t be turning 25. This one didn’t have the fanfare, I just had what I needed in a cabinet. My preferred: A bottle of whiskey with acetaminophen chaser.

No staring it down every day this time, just a thought at the back of my mind. Eventually I did find a way to get on, since the only advice I’d gotten before that point was to go to the local free clinic, which wouldn’t take me because I made too much money.

I did eventually get on hormones, which has helped tremendously in a lot of ways. I’ve had stints where I couldn’t afford it, but largely I’ve been consistent with it for nearly the past 6 years.

In that time I’ve definitely had other thoughts of suicide, but that’s to be expected when so much of your early life has been so involved with the thought of killing yourself.

I still wasn’t happy, but I was definitely better than I’d ever been. I’d found love, several times in fact, with people who are still in my life. I’d found a family, and started building a community. While I still wasn’t fully there socially, I was a far cry from the near Nazi that I was back when I was 21.

Three

Near the beginning of COVID I’d hit a low I hadn’t felt in a while. I felt completely alone for the first time in years, and it was harrowing. It left me in a particularly bad space, bad enough that someone slipped their way into my life who I shouldn’t have allowed. They kept me away from everyone I’d grown to love, and convinced me they were all trying to hurt me, or drain me for all I was worth.

I’d lost a lot thanks to her. I’m rebuilding it, and thankfully some people who I was involved with were willing to rebuild. I lost some people in the escape, and those haven’t returned, and likely never will. I don’t fault them, and I don’t particularly want to reconnect with most of them either.

But I’ve gotten better since. This is likely the best I’ve been in my life. While I may be skeptical of “What doesn’t kill will make you stronger”, it definitely gives you the experience needed to handle future situations. I’m much better equipped to stand up for myself, and now know better than to bend my own standards out of desperation.

Four

Thus far the fourth decade of my life is off to a good start. I’ve found a couple of gray hairs, and I cried. I know full well if I went back and showed them to 18 year old me he’d be in shock at the fact that we made it.

He would, admittedly, have many other less pleasant things to say. I remember how he was, and I’m very thankful he’s not here anymore, even if he did get me where I am now.

Here’s to seeing myself go gray. Here’s to the crows feet I can see coming in. To the forehead wrinkles, to the baggy skin, and to all the signs of aging I never thought I’d get to see.

I have a story, and I want my body to tell it.