introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Breaking Delilah 14:14:11 - 2001-01-17 Too much time to think and finally breaking down. I'm going to get help this weekend. My mother comes tomorrow to take me away from this three stoplight town (i exaggerate, but its strangling me here). She's taking me home for some mac n cheese and a head doctor appointment. Home. Anyway, in all of this maddness, I've come up with something new...something not about boys, not about mushy love, not about regrets...something about ME....and although it feels a little selfish, I think thats how I need to be now. Before I can sort out the others, I've got to sort out myself. *hugs to all cuz i could fucking use one* Be well, cats... *Breaking Delilah* it never made sense to me before, why i felt the need to yank and pull and cut my hair... tresses soft and sort of curly, in varying shades, depending on the season, depending on the bottles of colour that met with hues given me by genes... battling for strength, the chemicals always winning out over the unsuspecting dusty blonde i was granted at birth. it never made any sense, but it always seemed like the right thing to do, you know? orange saftey scissors clasped in white knuckled hands, pulling strands so tight in my fingers, hair entwined with fingertips, pulling til it hurt. always did it the same way, every time... starting on the left, my reflection's right side.... her face wincing back at me, scowling, sometimes, occasionally swearing at me and calling me names... that bitch in the mirror never has any idea what's going on in my head... she never understands, she is so assuming and judgemental, sometimes. and once half of my head was stubby cut, uneven mountains and valleys, a landscape of jagged edges and peaks.... it only seemed right to start on the other side.... but i'd always glance at her in the glass, a sick smile on her face, half laughing at how ridiculous i looked, at how ridiculous she looked... as strands that varied in length every time i did it fell to the floor in strange hairy piles that you'd never expect in your bathroom or bedroom, piles that the hairdresser at BoRics sweep into dustpans and put to rest with the other fallen folicles... sometimes, i'd even save the locks i cut. there's something so fucking intriguing about hair... and sometimes, i think he was right: "hair is power". my mane giving me the power to rise in spirit, weighing me down when i felt like i could explode... removing it the release from the ebbing pain inside... and i like to think of my hair as something like rings on trees.... sometimes, they're long and beautiful when i shear them, slicing and cutting into them ruthlessly.... and sometimes, they have barely grown back an inch when they meet the blade or the clippers. rummage through my bag of hair... and count the inches between mind bending crisis, between the heartbreaks and the heartaches.... count the lengths between complete and utter destruction, and new beginnings that bring some hope... and there's always the same old jokes and i always laugh afterwards... and so does the girl in the mirror... because honestly, i think she understands why when its all over, when its all shaved down to stubble. And the professor of psychology mentioned that I've made real the first stages of psychosis... but I think he's got it all wrong... cuz its more than that, its release, its fresh, its close cut and clean.... and its as silly as punching holes in walls or crying for hours.... its just some release. but something has changed..... something wants to let it all grow in again, to let it keep gaining length.... cuz there's something in me now that wants to think of my hair as a war trophy or a monument rather than growth rings on an aspen. look at these strands growing in, getting longer every day.... and i'm breaking down, breaking up.... but i don't need to get rid of the memory... maybe it was in my hair all along. maybe i need to keep it with me to remember how i got through it all the last time. trying something new, now. the girl in the mirror has been looking back at me, a bit of clarity in her eyes, even though I know she knows its not at all easy.... a bit of triumph in her smile... I'm going to beat this, this time. I understand. I need to wash my hair. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .what came before. - .what happened next. a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017 |
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