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I redact everything I said about two weeks ago about using my hair as a restorative and healing process—that was bullshit. I’m too impatient and couldn’t handle the blonde anymore (I cringed every time I stepped into the sun because it shined so bright it brought so much attention to me) so I decided to go back to my natural hair color… or so I thought I was.
See, the thing is that I over analyze everything and do so way too often, so when I found myself in the aisle going back and forth for about 40 minutes between two very close but very different shades of brown dye I knew I was going to fuck up monumentally. And that I did.
Instead of going for the dark brown like I should’ve, I chose dark intense brown, which more or less translated into black after the dye sat and I washed it out. But here’s the doozy: My apartment lighting made it look like it blended in pretty okay until my wonderful, wonderful colleagues (fuck you guys, now I’m insecure) pointed out that I basically had two stark colors of brown in my hair.
So here we are folks, back to square one, where I don’t hate or love my hair, although I like it much better than the blonde. Granted, my hair is practically fried at this point and the best decision I can make is to just leave my hair alone and let it fade out (for real this time).
I’m sure none of you actually care about what I’m doing, let alone with my hair, but if there’s any lesson or moral I can give it’s really just leave your hair alone and if you’re going to fuck up let it be the most monumental fuck up possible. For me, this is easier said than done, so I’m telling myself that it’s just hair and that I’m being dramatic per usual, because in a couple months to a year from now, my hair will be back to normal and I will never ever touch it again.