A silent mantra of the hands. The strands of my hair creating a lovely rhythm of   over,   over,   over. I crave the relaxation brought upon by the feel of conditioned hair on my soft skin. Pressing the hairbrush against my scalp, it grounds me in a way   I had never   thought possible. When I feel the world crowding in on me and I don’t know how else   to escape,   I find myself entwining my hair in a satisfying melody of   over,   over,   over. I pray for peace   and calmness;   that they will enter my soul and never   leave. I watch the chaos of my hair slowly   and surely   weave into organized beauty. A hint of control returns to me as I slide the colorful elastic band onto the end of my hair just to be   torn off   once again so I can   restart   and   replay the serene chorus of   over,   over,   over. I will be   okay.