Cutting Off My Hair / Letting Go of My Burden
long-haired Lilo is gone! I killed them!
I measure time with my hair. It grows 6 inches per year, half an inch per month. I can predict exactly when I will need a trim, because I measure it with a ruler.
Before this, the shortest I've ever cut my hair was a bob. I almost buzzed it, but the hairdresser convinced me to do something close to a buzz instead, so it'll grow out into something I really like.
My hair was 24 inches from the top of my head. That's 4 years of memory that my hair was holding. 4 years of bullshit that was dragging on my scalp. It's gone. It's all gone. I wanted it all gone.
December 2020 was a long time ago. What was I doing then? I was homeless, couch-crashing, and miserable, but the Spring that followed was better. But of course, more things happened after that. Time doesn't stop and time is not kind when you have no foundation.
I've got a foundation now. It's been hard work to get here, and it's been lonely.
I'm coming to understand, and maybe eventually accept, that I simply cannot relate to most people my age. And most of them can't relate to me. I've had to change what I prioritize and how I carry myself in order to get through these tough years.
When you have parents that let you live with them into adulthood, you can wait to develop the skills that a person who was abandoned as a teenager needs to. You don't have to manage outrageous costs on your own, or roommates who are strangers, and if you stray from your budget or have an emergency, you have your parents to help you. You don't have to be as disciplined. If you have a healthy, able body, and generous, stable connections, you can live in ignorant bliss of your limits.
I was forced to face mine. When you have a disability, you are forced to look at life differently. For me, I am faced with how temporary and fragile my time is. It could end unexpectedly, and instantly. I think less about what will bring me joy in the moment, and more about what I will feel joy to have done when my time being alive is over. I want to feel proud when I die and I need my time to count.
I stopped drinking. I stopped people-pleasing. I practice self-defense. I stopped fucking around with my health. I quit social media. I'm gearing myself towards stable joy rather than short-term pleasure. I don't think there's anything wrong with seeking short-term pleasure, but it's not what I need now to feel okay.
I considered dying my long hair pink instead of cutting it off. My hair was bleached and colored from the end of middle school to the beginning of college. It used to be an important part of my identity, but I decided it was too much management, too much upkeep.
Cutting my hair so close to the scalp is simple, effective, and surprisingly efficient. I don't have to move my hair out of my face, or pull my hair out of my shirts, or tuck it behind my ears. There's so many hand and arm movements that I took for granted, and I'm hoping this will free up my energy to do other things.
I've been trying to feel more control over my life. I've experienced devastating loss and I don't think it's over. I get bad feelings. Call it intuition, but I know I have to make myself stronger to prepare for what is to come. My hair is one thing that I won't have to manage when shit hits the fan.
There's something prickly in me that desires change. I overplucked my eyebrows yesterday. I exfoliate my skin too often. I scrub too hard. I fast sometimes. I want to be clean. I want the dead things to be gone, the old things to be gone, washed away. I want to be new. I want to be fresh, and I want to be seen.
I want to be seen? I want to be seen again, and that is so scary and so good.
There's something growing in my stomach - some kind of certainty of who I am and what I am capable of. I know where my values drive me. I know I can own my decisions, and my actions. Reading memoir and horror has helped. It takes a certain kind of intensity to put your story in your own words on paper and believe in it enough to publish it. There's another type of power - emotional power - that I find in horror, that is intensely translated into impact and action.
I'm coming to accept my anger as a necessary tool for me to express myself.
I think I've lost people for good reasons. I don't like to think of connections as "not serving me anymore" because I think that phrasing comes from capitalism, and a scarcity mindset. There is no shortage of love. I still see value in staying in touch with people I love, even if it doesn't benefit me. The sharing of love itself should be benefit enough. But I can't convince other people to feel the same.
Our media is too strong a force in influencing how people think relationships should be. I grieve for the impact therapy-speak has had on my generation's ability to connect with others in an upfront and genuine way. We've learned to describe how we feel more, but everything must fit into pathologized boxes now.
Our choice of language still limits us, and it can create a layer of inauthenticity. If things are complex, or uncomfortable, or challenging, it's too easy to write it off as "toxic" and give up. This might be better than the alternative, which is pretending there's no problem at all and doing nothing, but people wonder why they feel so lonely. It's become easier to cut people out of our life and seek validation for that decision elsewhere, than to find an understanding so we can keep knowing people that we love.
I've been surprised at how quickly some people have separated themselves from me as I've been healing. My therapist avoids pathologizing language, and it's helped me express myself in an honest way. Maybe I have become too honest? Gone too far in erasing my self-doubt? They miss when I kept my feelings to myself, but I don't want to do that anymore. So I lose people. That's okay. I don't want to be around people who prefer that I be dishonest to keep peace.
I've become "no fun" to a lot of people, and I'm okay with that too. I don't find the same things satisfying or meaningful anymore that I did when I was a teenager, or in college. (Or at least during this stage in my life. I will hold the possibility for change.)
I was always called "mature for my age" growing up and I felt so proud over it. It made me puff out my chest and feel like a beacon of light. I don't wear this as a badge of honor anymore. I was an eldest daughter in a chaotic household - there really was no other option except to "be mature for my age." I wasn't allowed to act like a child because I was expected to be a good example for other children, even at school.
I was taught to carry myself with an overwhelming amount of responsibility. I think the way I was conditioned, at home and in school, attracted less mature people to me - they were seeking guidance, and I don't hold that against them. I know I got pleasure out of helping them too, because I was taught that was what I was good at, and that it was the right thing to do.
Now I just want peace.
I don't care as much about being "good" anymore as much as I care about being kind, and honest. And to live by those values, I can't afford to parent people my age anymore. "Parent" sounds harsh but I am done with my value being reduced to the role of caretaker. When I became disabled it was impossible to take care of anyone else before I got treatment, but people still held me to the same expectations. That's when I lost most of my friends. Good riddance. Love me as I am or don't love me at all.
I haven't lost everyone, and the people who have stayed, and the new friends, accept me as I am. They don't ask too much of me. They know my limits and they respect them. They check in on how I'm doing. They leave it to me to offer help if I'm well enough, and they offer me help too when they are well. I love them so much.
I still care. I still want to act on my care. I'm just more strung-out now than I used to be. Unlike many old friends, the people left don't judge me for being unwell, or assume it's my fault. I'm learning to stop judging myself too. It just takes time, and I have to deconstruct what I was told in the past.
I'm letting go of a lot of things. Not just my hair, and not just people. I'm letting go of my mask. I'm letting go of perfectionism and reflexive doubt. I want to let go of beauty, and the performance of gender too.
There's a part of me that still wants to be an example for others. I won't deny it. I know where it comes from, and I know how it limits me, and yet I haven't let go yet. Maybe that's next. Maybe like everything, I'll write my way out. I want to be free.
I want to be free.
I want to be free, so I will make myself free.