Hello from the dark place.
My poor hair has finally met its dying limit (according to the “esteemed” consultant at Shampoo Avenue B) so I decided to take things in a different and more permanent direction. I got pierced. Not once. Not twice.
Three times.
It’s a trail of cute little diamond studs, in size order, largest on the bottom, then medium, then tiny. And they are symbolic of just pain in general masked behind a sparkly distraction. Pain that hurts much less than electively poking three sharp needles through an un-numbed, plain old ear.
Think about that for a second. What I must look like on the inside to have enjoyed that process. What torturous thoughts I must be thinking or heartwrenching feelings I must be feeling to distract myself in a way that caused physical harm.
Well I’ll give you a sneak peak – it’s not pretty. It rains all the time. Not one of those pretty sunshowers that you can take a leisurely stroll in. One of those terrifying storms that produces black clouds and thunder that will make you run and hide under the covers. The only thing that really changes with me is the filter. As much as possible, I have heavy duty blackout curtains drawn so it doesn’t leak through. But sometimes they fail, and all the madness that’s going on screams out loud and clear for the world to see.
But that’s no real surprise. I’ve always had a stupid (bodily) pain tolerance because of all of the medical treatments I’ve endured in my lifetime. It’s the emotional pain I’ve never been able to handle. I feel deeply and think hard. It’s a tragic combination because it can be truly paralyzing. One minute your heart is breaking, and then your brain is beating you up for being affected by bullshit. You’re constantly getting hit from both angles.
If I’m not even nice to me, how can I expect someone else to be?
The Four Eleven 