Instability

I recently asked my friends what they thought about my hair. Should I cut it? Should I continue to let it grow out? The vast majority told me to let it keep growing, which was fine by me. However, my bangs were starting to fall into my eyes, and the entire ear area was getting out of control, so I decided to go get a minor trim today.

I went to my usual Hair Cuttery, and clearly and slowly expressed my wishes to the woman cutting my hair. I told her I'm letting it grow out, so I don't want anything drastic, just a little tidying up. I even pointed to a picture as an example of what I'm going for. She said okay.

Now, when I get my hair cut, I try to avoid looking in the mirror during the process. If I do look, I usually get paranoid and tense up, expecting the worst. I've learned to just not pay attention during the cutting, then just look at the results afterward.

When she was done, she had cut off at least an inch, and my bangs, while shorter, looked AWFUL. However, this is how I usually feel as soon as I get my hair cut. I then just go home, let it sit for a while, and I quickly get used to it.

I wasn't so lucky today. I hadn't even gotten to my car by the time I felt the tears welling up behind my eyes.

By the time I was sitting in my car, I was all-out crying. This is not normal. Okay, so my hair was just ruined and looks pathetic, but is that really something to cry over, much less to the extent that I was crying? This isn't healthy.

I sobbed the entire way home, repeating to myself that I'm almost 22 years old, and to knock it the fuck off.

I got home, went to my bathroom, and looked in the mirror. Before I even got a chance to tell myself it wasn't that bad, I was crying again. I'm really starting to worry that something is truly wrong with me. In December, the day I left New York to come home for the winter, I couldn't find my radar detector. I knew I'd put it on my bed while packing the night before, but could not for the life of me remember what I did with it after that. I searched through every suitcase, bag, and box in my car, all to no avail. There I was, sitting in my car in the early morning, with a wind chill of 17 degrees below zero, frustrated that I couldn't find the fucking radar detector. In no time, my frustration turned into something more, and I started crying. A lot.

It's not healthy to burst into tears over a missing radar detector or a bad hair cut. Isn't that something menopausal women do? I'm a 21 year old man, certainly not the same thing as a middle-aged woman.

Sitting on the stairs, still crying about my fucking hair, I wondered if I should go see another doctor. I'm well aware of the reasons why I should, but I just can't bring myself to go through all of that again. Throughout my early college years, I saw numerous psychiatrists and psychologists, none of whom were able to help me. I tried several different medications, all of which did nothing for me. I even had a doctor or two refuse to see me again after our initial meeting. What the fuck is that? Am I really that hopeless?

Fortunately, this will soon pass, as it always does, and I'll be able to go on with my life as though it never happened. I'll act shocked and surprised in the next month or two when it happens again, wait a few days, and put my blinders back on.

Unfortunately, I'm really tired of living this way.

I'm Listening To:
One Thing I Did Today: