Originally posted 10/24/09 on a different blog.
So, I’m sitting here with a fairly large amount of chemicals on my head, burning in some parts, itching in others, and this is the pre-dying part. I’m not even sure what all chemicals I’ve put on my head, which may be a bad thing. The fact that I have approximately 57 minutes left of it sitting on my head also disturbs me.
All of which is a weird segue to my point. I am not the world’s most confident person, I just play one on t.v. and fake it really, really well most days. There are cracks there if you know where to look for them and how to look at them. Take the hair dying and the fact that the majority of people I know have never seen my real hair color. It’s possible my own little sister has never seen my real hair color. It’s not so much that I hate it or dislike it, as it is it’s boring. It’s not exciting. It’s this shade between dark blonde and light brown that just is. If you’ve ever had the term dishwater applied to you hair you’d probably understand my complex just a little bit.
The first time I died my hair it was a disaster. I was 14 and it was supposed to come out strawberry blonde. Instead it came out a shade that was closer to piss yellow. It was awkward. Then again, I kind of remember most aspects of 14 being awkward. Even more awkward than all the resulting 16 years have been. I didn’t give up though and I’ve gotten better at it. I’ve gone from black to red to pink to green (not a good shade on me I might add) to bleached blonde to dark purple and (in recent years) back to blacks and reds. What do they all have in common? They’re dramatic. They’re in your face. They’re obviously not natural. And they are miles away from “dishwater”.
I honestly believe on some level that my hair could be a metaphor for most aspects of my life. I’m not a terribly interesting person really. A little kooky, perhaps, but not exciting. There isn’t much pizzazz in me. I’ve spent years trying to fake it though. I think I even convinced a few people along the line that I was. I’ve put myself through mental rungs just like I’ve put my hair through chemical rungs. At the end of the day, I’m still not comfortable with being as boring as I am. Maybe someday I’ll come to terms with it and it’ll be the same day I’m comfortable with not having vibrant hair either. I don’t see it any time in the near future though and I wonder if true happiness eluding me is part of that.
coffee & ink 