I realize that I haven’t posted on this blog since June, even though I promised to document the whole journey. Here’s the issue: This part of the journey sucks. It’s not good news and exciting changes. It’s struggle. It’s depression. And it’s hard to write, which is a guarantee it will be hard to read. But I’m finally ready. I won’t sugar coat it, and I won’t censor my thoughts. Hopefully that won’t offend anyone, but in my opinion, the raw and ragged truth of it is what makes it worth sharing.
I was on a high after buzzing my head, for like, 3 weeks. I was proud, my head felt soft and fuzzy, and I literally didn’t even have to towel my head dry after a shower. It was ahhhmazing.
|Don’t these look so happy?? This is one and two weeks after the buzz, that’s why.|
Then–no big surprise–the regrowth started. And it didn’t hurry.
Pretty soon I looked like a full-blown baby gorilla. You know what I’m talking about. 2 inches of straight up fuzzy helmet hair. I couldn’t style it. I couldn’t make it behave with product, I couldn’t even comb it. It was funny for a minute, but then my demons emerged.
Last fall when I started this hair thing my motivations were two-fold. One, I wanted to try all the hair styles. Fun, scary, exciting. That sounded like a recipe for empowerment. And two, I wanted to challenge my looks. My eating disorder was ruling my life and my body image issues had become unmanageable. If I changed my hair and eventually buzzed my head I’d be forced to face down all the shallow parts of myself. I pictured myself laughing at them. I pictured myself cleaning out these closets in my soul and when I found the brutal abusive boyfriend people refer to as ED (Eating Disorder), I’d laugh at him and kick him out. Like a boss.
What I found instead was more like that creepy little girl from The Ring, staring me down and leering from a haunted corner of my mind. Every time I tried to tell her I was strong she smiled her disturbing, crooked smile and whispered her little lies in my head. I believed them.
Dammit, you guys, I believed them.
|I don’t have many pictures of this time, for obvious reasons. But here’s one where you can practically feel the insecurity oozing off of me.|
I can’t get into all the details, but what followed was a summer of defeat. A summer of complete undoing. I’d been convinced that I didn’t have good looks anymore, so I had nothing. I was nothing. By the end of July, I realized something. Maybe people that took their own lives hadn’t necessarily quit. Maybe they didn’t do it because they were selfish. Maybe, just maybe, they had taken their lives because they’d tried everything else. Maybe they knew their load was so heavy they wouldn’t make it into their golden years still carrying it. Maybe they were out of ideas, and tries, and couldn’t stand to watch the people around them try to help, knowing it wasn’t helping, but their loved ones still had to deal with them everyday.
I began to empathize with suicide. And it scared the hell out of me.
Nathan, of course, had noticed this drastic darkening. He’d seen me retreat into myself and become a bitter, snippish version of the girl I once was, and he was scared, too. And when I finally confided the depth of it he stepped in. He was strong enough to do what I couldn’t. He didn’t suggest professional help. He demanded it.
I can see now that my hair journey did exactly what it was supposed to. It took me to the shallow parts of myself and I faced them. I just didn’t picture that enemy being so out-of-my-league. I really thought I was strong enough on my own to let the illness go, guys. But I wasn’t. And so began the chapter of my life I call the hell of therapy. It started with intensive work at the Center for Change eating disorder clinic. I’ll tell you all about my tyrant dietician, and the Hallmark-movie group sessions, and my excruciating one on one sessions. But I’m not gonna lie. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I’m not done. So, if you want the truth, stay tuned. I’ve been promised it will be worth it in the end.
|This is me at the end of September. One cool thing about baby gorilla hair is the amazing bed head.|
P.S. Comments on and sharing this blog is greatly encouraged. I love to feel connection, especially with those that are suffering these things along with me, and also with those that love and care. Please feel free to share the blog posts with others, and comment away.