Sunday, September 19, 2010

Seriously. Screw "Normal".

Well, after all my ramblings about how I wouldn't care what people thought about me, here I sit with color on my hair. All so I can get a job working at fucking Radio Shack or something.

I think it's so sad that, in 2010, people are still so offended by unnatural haircolors that companies have policies against it. My green hair wouldn't have had a thing to do with how I did my job. And I'm worried about what's going to happen to my hair, because it's so weak, but I'm having to bleach out the green before I can color over it (I have black dye but I'll be damned if I have monotone hair that isn't a real color) or at least tone it- which hopefully this red-pink toner is going to save me the trouble of doing.

I realise that it's kind of ridiculous to tie my identity up in my hair so much, but you have to understand- the color was the only thing I liked about it. I hate the cut (too damn short), I hate the damage, I hate all of it. Except that wonderful blue-green. And the fact that I'm having to hide part of who I am in order to find work is sickening.

I tried to cover it with a black semi-permanent, but it always turned a dark bluish-gray and then rinsed out in three days. So I'm having to use permanent dye, which I am allergic to now (why do you hate me so, Universe?), in order to cover it.

On top of that, I probably won't be able to at least comfort myself by using my more bright and/or dramatic eyeshadows because that frightens the punters as well. It's not like I'm asking them to wear it, it's just something that makes me happy. Is that so wrong?

I've never been what others would consider "normal". Every since I formed my own personality (sometime around the fifth grade), I started getting treated like a freak. And that was before all the haircolors and the makeup. That didn't start until my senior year of high school.

Last week, my mom and I got into an argument. I was trying to get out of the house to talk to some people about a job, and she started bringing up everything I've ever done wrong in my life. Things I still feel terribly about. And she mentioned my first job, at Publix, and I said I'd rather kill myself than put myself in that situation again. That she probably didn't remember or care about how much that job really messed with my head and killed what little confidence I'd had. Then, out of nowhere, she made a very cutting remark about how I've "always refused to fit in" and that, basically, it's all my fault when people look at me differently.

Now, I'll admit that bright colors catch people's attention. But that's not why I wear them. They make me happy when absolutely everything else is killing me inside. So do my piercings and my tattoo. They make me feel like myself. My natural haircolor is so ugly, like dirty dishwater. And my eyes are blue and gray, and I'm pale. I look muted, almost faded without something to cut down all the boring. God forbid I shouldn't want to look at a 50% gray image.

If blonde highlights and an Orange Julius-colored fake tan make you happy, great, but that's not me. Never has been, never will be. And I shouldn't have to apologise for that.

UPDATE! Some of the black dye bled onto my little blonde streaks in front, giving them a sort of grayish-purple tone. Damn it.

No comments:

Post a Comment