Hair Cut

It has been in the back of my mind that Native Americans  cut their hair as a symbol of mourning. I've been wanting to cut my hair for a while, but for the last few days the need has been pressing. My fingers have been itching to grab a pair of scissors and to hack away at the ends of my hair. So I did it. After twenty minutes, the deed was done. It is somewhat sloppy and uneven, but because it curls it isn't noticeable.

My hair tends to bear the brunt of my emotions. I change it when I'm happy, I change it when I'm sad and so on. It helps. The tiniest change can make such a difference. I felt like there was one less thing I needed to worry about after my hair was cut tonight.

My brain is so fuzzy. I can't remember anything to save my life. Someone can tell me something clearly and I'll have forgotten it by the time they finish talking. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. That's mild compared to the panic though. I keep having panic spells where I can't breathe, feel completely overwhelmed and I can't stop crying.

Everything is making me cry. Tonight I turned on Tangled and the scene with her parents releasing the lanterns, the one where her dad is crying, made me cry. That part has always made my heart hurt, but it was intense tonight. I know it isn't real, but I always want to hug him. I've always sympathized with the father figures in Disney movies. Even when I was little, the end of The Little Mermaid always left me feeling a little sad because she was leaving her daddy. The idea of cutting myself off from my father the way she did killed me. I've always assumed it connected to the close relationship I had with my dad.

The imaginings I had of the pain I would feel after watching that movie were nothing compared to the reality.