Hair

My, I have been particularly chatty today. Intriguing. Probably because I have so many strange things happening all at once. Something compelled me to clean out the boxes on my dresser. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. I got those when I was still with my longest boyfriend, who I am still calling Bob for the sake of my privacy (and, hell, even his privacy), so they have quite a few nick-knacks in them that are, in a sense, artifacts of that relationship. Some spikes he had on some of his clothes. Two guitar picks he gave me the first time I ever went to his house. A decorative bit of jewelry he gave me from the Edgar Allan Poe museum. And my hair.

As you know if you have stalked my previous posts, Bob had a huge influence on my life and the person I am. For the entire time I was with him, my hair was very long. Dark, straight, very long hair. Not so different, really, from how it has been lately. Well, before I felt compelled to have my wonderful mother cut it a bit. Anyway, I somehow felt like my hair length was keeping me bound to him, in a way. Granted I was playing Final Fantasy IX at the time, and anyone who has played that game knows that Dagger uses (ha. ha.) a dagger to cut off her hair to a short length in an effort to move past the person she was when she had longer hair, if only temporarily. I decided to give that a try after I had rebounded from Bob with two different relationships.

I cleared the idea with my mom, and I went into the bathroom, put my hair up into a high ponytail, and chopped almost all of it off (in a similar fashion to Dagger in Final Fantasy IX, like a bob (oh the irony of my fake name choice) not a pixie cut). It took a good five minutes because my hair is so thick. That was one of the ways I let that relationship go, and an effort to move past it. I tied up the hair I had cut off, and I kept it for sentimental purposes. I felt like I was starting an entirely new section of my life, but I think I know differently now.

In keeping the hair I chopped off, I was holding on. I don't think I did it on purpose. And I don't think I did it because I still wanted him back. At the time, I knew I was done, that he had changed into something else, something that I couldn't see myself loving anymore. But I think I was scared to let go, and I think I've always been scared of ever opening myself up to someone as much as I did to him. He ripped my heart out, tore it to shreds, dropped those on the floor, and smashed them with one of his steel-toed boots. Then he put it back in, mended it, for about an hour. Then he ripped it out again, and gave it the same nasty treatment as before. And then, for some stupid reason, he made it worse by coming to live with me for who knows how long.

By keeping my hair, and the guitar picks, and the spikes, and some of the other things he gave me, I haven't let go. I wanted it to be sentimental, but it has somehow served as a reminder that I placed my heart into another human being's hands, giving him complete power over its fate, and he destroyed it. I'm damaged. My heart mended itself, but now its careful. It put up a huge, brick wall around itself and it won't let anyone in. And that isn't what I want anymore. I don't remember what it feels like to be able to put the trust in them that I put into Bob, and I'm done trying to protect myself from the possibility that it will happen again.

I'm going to try and let go. I think I am going to take all of these things either outside, or to Virginia Tech, or something, and get rid of them. I'm going to wait for a windy day, and I'm going to let go of my hair. I mean, seriously. I took my hair out of that box, and I got the curious idea to sniff it. I wanted to see what it smelled like. And the only thing I could smell was Bob. And it bothers me that I've been too afraid to get rid of it. To just let it go, and fly away in the wind. I mean, if I am going to take a lesson from Dagger, I need to do it right. She didn't keep her hair. She let it go. And that is exactly what I plan on doing.