What's Wrong With Me Today (hint, it's my hair)
There is A LOT wrong with me.
Cellulite, flabby tummy, and worst of all. My hair.
Warning: This blog post is all about me, my appearance, my low self-esteem. Turn back now.
Seriously. I thought I could handle this hair thing. By hair thing, I mean, no longer dyeing the white out of my hair. I've been prematurely grey since I was 16. I've been dyeing my hair since my 20's. In my 30's, I even bleached my hair blonde for many years.
Yes, you get much more attention from men with blonde hair.
Okay, so I thought I could do this. I really did. I've had people tell me it looks lovely, I've had men tell me how brave I am (ugh) for letting my hair go natural, and my mother is happy because she likes fucking white streaks in people's hair.
But I don't think I can do it. Every time I look in a mirror, I see an old woman that no one could love. I see nasty long and sometimes kinky (why does this happen?) white hairs ALL OVER THE PLACE. When it was just white streaks at my temples, I was cool, but I've suddenly discovered that the white hair is coming in all over my head and has for a while. It's EVERYWHERE.
I honestly feel like I'm in that Stephen King novella where the guy starts to grow moss all over himself. It's worse than that though because I'm not going to eventually die of this. I'm just going to look older and older and older.
And the worse part is that dyeing my hair now is not really an option. The white hair will not take the color as well and also I have so much hair that it's going to take hours upon hours upon hours to get it to take. I'm not going to cut my hair either because if I cut it, the white is going to be even more noticeable.
I've taken to avoiding looking in mirrors so I don't have to see it, and, for a narcissist like me, that is torture. I just want to hide my head underneath my blanket and sleep away the rest of my life. I definitely don't want to ever meet anyone ever again. As it is, I'm convinced everyone is just staring at my white hairs and thinking, "She must be about 50."
Sigh.
Alright, I'm done. Next blog post will talk about TV, I promise.
Cellulite, flabby tummy, and worst of all. My hair.
Warning: This blog post is all about me, my appearance, my low self-esteem. Turn back now.
Seriously. I thought I could handle this hair thing. By hair thing, I mean, no longer dyeing the white out of my hair. I've been prematurely grey since I was 16. I've been dyeing my hair since my 20's. In my 30's, I even bleached my hair blonde for many years.
Yes, you get much more attention from men with blonde hair.
Okay, so I thought I could do this. I really did. I've had people tell me it looks lovely, I've had men tell me how brave I am (ugh) for letting my hair go natural, and my mother is happy because she likes fucking white streaks in people's hair.
But I don't think I can do it. Every time I look in a mirror, I see an old woman that no one could love. I see nasty long and sometimes kinky (why does this happen?) white hairs ALL OVER THE PLACE. When it was just white streaks at my temples, I was cool, but I've suddenly discovered that the white hair is coming in all over my head and has for a while. It's EVERYWHERE.
I honestly feel like I'm in that Stephen King novella where the guy starts to grow moss all over himself. It's worse than that though because I'm not going to eventually die of this. I'm just going to look older and older and older.
And the worse part is that dyeing my hair now is not really an option. The white hair will not take the color as well and also I have so much hair that it's going to take hours upon hours upon hours to get it to take. I'm not going to cut my hair either because if I cut it, the white is going to be even more noticeable.
I've taken to avoiding looking in mirrors so I don't have to see it, and, for a narcissist like me, that is torture. I just want to hide my head underneath my blanket and sleep away the rest of my life. I definitely don't want to ever meet anyone ever again. As it is, I'm convinced everyone is just staring at my white hairs and thinking, "She must be about 50."
Sigh.
Alright, I'm done. Next blog post will talk about TV, I promise.
