Buzz

Buzz...Buzz...Buzzzzzz...

I buzzed my head today.

Will it help? It’s been weighing me down, hasn’t it?

I watched the golden brown lengths that fell past my shoulders…

falling…

past…

my shoulders…And into the sink.

I’ve been trying so hard to grow my hair out for so long.

And now I’ve just buzzed it right off!

My daughter cried. Looked at me like a monster. Well, that was a mistake.

I was amazed as I looked into the sink, at how glossy it all was. It had been so annoying and brittle-feeling when it was still attached to my head. I dug my fingers into the silken masses of it. Scooping it up and out and straight into the bin, purposefully not letting my touch linger too long on the softness that I now couldn’t get back.

At least not for a while…

It’s gone.

Gone like the water down the drain.

Gone like my happiness.

Gone like…my sanity?

It’s funny how so many more people are attached to your hair than you realise. When I first tried to do this a full year ago, the barber I went to (who had never met me before in this lifetime, I’m sure!) flat out refused. “No one will recognise you, you’ll look like a totally different person.” As if that wasn’t the point. We agreed - well actually I had no choice but to agree - that he would cut a bob for me, and if I still wanted to shave it afterwards, only then he would allow it. Only then would he allow me to go through with the decision to cut my own hair. I was infuriated. Then, after he cut the bob, on seeing I was sulking and clearly still unhappy, he urged me to “go home and show my boyfriend first”. So I did. My boyfriend assured me it looked good. My friends told me I’d made a lucky escape not going through with it. So I didn’t go back.

Fast forward to today: “I don’t think I want to support you in this decision.” My sister-in-law told me, when I asked to borrow the clippers she uses on her dog. No point going to a barber, obviously. “I’m more than just hair, aren’t I?” I asked smiled, weakly. “Agreed.” she told me, begrudgingly.

Convince myself.

I videoed the first buzzes and uploaded it to Facebook with Billie Eilish’s “Bury a Friend” as the soundtrack:

I wanna end me.

I wanna end me.

I wanna end me.

She sang. And I do. I need to. Not in the obituary put-myself-in-the-ground way. I can’t do that…unfortunately.

Gosh, no, not “unfortunately”. Gotta be grateful, right? Gotta look on the bright side, right? Right?

Gotta get rid of my hair.

Gotta get rid of my hair.

I wanna end me.

New me.

So I buzzed it all off. Then I bleached it. Or rather, I used this “colour” that promised to take my natural dark brown to a golden blonde without bleach - which fantastically enough, was what it did.

Anyway, there’s no moral to this story…apart from that I’m nuts, I’m sad, and I just buzzed all my hair off in an attempt to ease some of the pain. Spoiler alert: it did ease it, actually, sort of. Now my sad outside kinda reflects my sad inside; there’s a bit of peace in that.

No wait, that’s not a moral.

The End.

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