Freedom Beyond These Lips

Chapter 25: Pulling The Stress Out

There was a chapter in my life that I hate discussing. Surprisingly enough, I can discuss my mother, I can discuss my mental disorder, but taking the trip down memory lane about just how bad my self-hatred, and compulsive anxiety goes is a story in itself.

At the time, I blamed myself for everything. For some reason, I couldn't wrap my head around why I couldn't blame her, and with every raging hormone childhood, I had crappy boyfriends. I stopped dating the ones I knew personally for two reasons. They caused drama around my life at school, with people approaching me (which resulted in a mass anxiety attack due to the lack of social aspect of my life) and, two - they didn't actually have feelings for me. 9/10 chances, the boys I dated wanted to date me out of pity, or to make a joke.

Of course I was shattered, heartbroken and all of that, but I had to manage my academic life as well. So, teacher walks in - and immediately tells me that we have a test. A test, that I was not mentally prepared for. With everything going on, my mind drew a blank. I felt myself hyperventilating, screaming on the inside - and then one small tug resulted in another. Until, I saw a piece of my hair fall onto the desk.

It's just one.

I told myself trying to focus on the words in front of me, but the words started to blur, and shift out of focus. Next thing I know, there's a pile - a clump of the hair i'd been compulsively pulling at. After the bell rang, I ran to the bathroom, and stared at the bald spot i'd created. I froze, and I cried.

When I came home, I tried to hide it. I did everything I could but it was still very obvious. I walked through those doors, fiddling with my hair. Running back and forth to the bathroom, wetting it - forcing the hair behind it, dragging it to the front to no avail. I tried to play it off, but my mother knew right away.

"What on earth did you do?!"

I can recall feeling the pure immense regret washing over me. So, I thought about it - but I couldn't have a proper response for that either.

"I-I don't know."

Moments before all of this I was playing it off so well, but the instant I saw the horror on her face, she seemed so concerned for the first time in her life. The truth behind it all was that my hair was the only thing that made me in any way resemble my biological father. His Native hair, draping past his shoulders constantly without knots. I can remember him constantly throwing it over his shoulder. I hated doing the same thing, I hated staring in the mirror, representing someone who she lost years ago, and theorized that, that was the reason I'd subconsciously done this.

My mother had forced me to grow out bangs, to cover up the hairline damage, and when shit truly hit the fan after I got out of the hospital, I cut it all off. My hair no longer touched my shoulders. I refused. It felt like a breath of relief, until it got too expensive to afford hair cuts. I can't really explain why it's long once more, or when i'll cut it again. I can't really understand as to why my hair represents so much, or if I should allow my biological father to haunt me like he did. I hated the idea of being a spitting image, but Alex continued to tell me that I am not him. I might share his blood, but that doesn't make me anything like him.