Magneto Hooked Me Up to His Machine

Sometimes I think a good 75% of my current job involves nothing more than the process of absorbing negativity, filtering it through my body, and releasing it as something useful and productive. I'm very good at this, but I'm also something of a delicate flower, and it's not uncommon for me to leave my office to sit in my car for fifteen minutes while I sob uncontrollably like a middle school drama queen.

For the past two months I've been thinking about how abnormal this is, and how it might even be bad for my health... but whatever, you know? Being an adult is hard, and I've been telling myself that my job isn't so bad, all things considered.

BUT THEN! Something so traumatic happened to me at work this week that a sizable strand of my hair turned bright white. I thought this only happened in comic books, but apparently not. It doesn't look as cool as I thought it would, and it doesn't even have an interesting explanation.

Is this permanent, I wonder. If it is, should I make up a better story?