I inadvertently began a trend with my blog titles. The pattern was long title, one-word title. Forgive me for breaking that pattern. Then again, don't. You probably didn't notice it anyway. Upon scrolling through the archives this morning, I came across this little number.
Aside from being more slim, less thick, and having a full head of shrunken curls, apparently I had some semblance of self-esteem that I lost along the way (about November of that same year) and found again in like March.
I've had two major haircuts since this photo was taken (and gotten a real nose piercing). The loss of hair isn't what's making me feel a type of way right now. Scrolling through all these old photos this morning, I realized I lost a lot more about myself than a few inches of ombré hair. I didn't give myself credit last summer, but I was really putting effort into my life. I was drinking lots of water, taking amazing care of my hair, and working twelve hour shifts at Checkers like it was nothing. I was dating again. (Dreadhead) I was experimenting and finding my own style, and I wrote part of my novella and even the pilot for a show last summer. It's safe to say I was really on my sh*t. I don't know at what point I decided this person wasn't worth being around, but with every major change in my life, my hair is the first thing I attack. I got an undercut (that I loved by the way. Thanks to Hot Shots in Brookhaven, MS), then later dyed my hair red. Once that color faded and I was overall just sick of everything, one night I asked my roommate to part my hair off for me. Next thing I knew, the scissors were snatching off over a year and a half's worth of growth.
In that moment, I didn't care about how long I had spent fretting over my hair growth or how much money I'd spent on oils and conditioners. I didn't care how fluffy my hair was when I slept on it in class or that I finally had the versatility I wanted. All I cared about was that I was in control of something. That after all the unsolicited opinions and actions that had been bestowed upon me in the past eighteen years, I got to decide what I wanted. Chop, chop, chop. Problem solved, right? Wrong.
I was just repeating the same cycle I always do when I'm fed up: make an outward change to display supposed inward growth, feel better for a month or two, and then it's right back to needing something different. The issue is I can never determine what exactly it is that I need. Sure, the haircuts have been liberating and have taught me to enjoy my facial structure for what it is, but now I'm back to square one: growing my hair out and figuring out what exactly it is I want from life. I have a more solid idea about both these things due to past experiences. More than anything, I need to learn contentment. Gather a little patience. Learn to rejoice in what life is teaching me and be grateful for all my encounters and relationships with other people. Something is wrong with being around someone you've been close to since second grade and not knowing how to love him anymore. Something is wrong with resenting people with families that they actually look forward to seeing. Something is wrong with wanting an apology from a world that can't begin to fathom how long I've been angry at it.
There's just a lot...wrong that needs to be under some form of control. I want to find a peace that seems to constantly evade me. And as far as my hair, well it was still growing through the most undesirable conditions in my life. Apparently it can fend for itself. I've always been able to call myself on my own bullsh*t, but not so much on my good attributes. That's the main reason I'm always trying to change. It'll feel bizarre at first, giving myself a barrage of compliments, but it is necessary if I ever want to be okay with now. I'll let whatever's next come to me instead of me rapidly (and quite destructively) seeking it.
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