what are the words that are important now, today, when i have finally decided to cut the mop from my head? the matted mop. the rats' nest. can't even get fingers in, it is just a bramble. briar patch.
i finally gave up the idea of the mud ritual video. then i thought we'd get a picture. i thought i could "go there" in the backyard, if not in the wilderness.
but then the world exploded. again and again and again. george floyd and the protests. covid denial and reopening while deaths skyrocket. everything is looking absurd out there as we've always known it to be. more and more. it just won't quit.
meanwhile, trauma anniversaries. physical anxiety and near panic attacks without warning. visits from unwanted images. too much too much too much.
and realizing -- it's actually been FOUR fucking years since my hair has been cut. and the last person to cut it was chris. right after wickerman? or before? right before i started my new job? the end of the first phase, the "vacation." the first time i felt threatened, even though i don't think he said anything specific. he stalked off in the woods alone and i followed. it was the day after the festival had ended. shark week stuck around, just binge drinking and not wanting to return to reality. i remember standing at a drop on the mountain, thinking "he could kill me and no one would even know. he could end me with one push." then brushing the thought aside as crazy, pushing down instinct like i would do again and again.
four fucking years. the length of fucking high school. how is it possible i've worn this story for so long? i'm so ready to release it. maybe memories hiding in my hair will mean my body will also let go of some of these anniversaries. i know i can't heal it all in one chop.
but i am ready to release a portion of that harm, and that fear. i am ready to release some of my wildness, the electricity and fire that have been in hiding. maybe i can come back to some other parts of myself. maybe i can start writing again. maybe this is the start. maybe every night i should play this lovely sitar music and just float and sing with myself.
i talked with rex today a little bit. he's sorting his papers and thinking of making a zine with old notes and half finished words. i want that so much. i want that so much. how can i remind myself that i want that? it is WORK to really want it. it is work to be able to make the work. it is work to be awake and alive and conscious at all right now. it is work to hold space for others, especially poc, and in particular of course ellie, my honey, my light, my sweetness. we have been putting our insecurities on each other. trading back and forth. it is a bad habit. we need other kinds of release. i need to work on my codependent tendencies. i need to clean my desk.
honey don't overwhelm yourself with what you should do right now. you are doing exactly what you need to do right now. you are writing this down. you are gonna take the scissors and make new life.
(an abortion is like a haircut. if you can do that, you can do this too. choose yourself. make the cut and make new life. you can live again. you can be new.)
should i buzz it or should i try to shape something? i don't know. what do i need to say?
i think buzz is not what i ultimately want. but maybe it will be fun to grow fresh and see what happens and then i'll be able to truly topiary myself. but yes. ultimately i think i want to have hair that flops silly and messy and fun. i don't know. i guess i just have to start.
now i fell into the stream, the scroll. help help help. i don't want you all in my damn head. i gotta get outta here. maybe i should erase facebook for a while? fuck. is this really who i want to be???
who: at least half feral. writing. inked. loud. dancing. unapologetically other. listener. holding space. less booze. less screens. cmon honey. baby steps.
10:26pm
It was a little weird. I cracked a beer and we were silly, sawing off the main part of the beehive aka hornets nest. Then I just stayed silly, do whatever you want Ellie! It's just hair!!!! I kept saying. except the last four years have said it's NOT just hair. It's not JUST hair. But now it's nasty trash in a bag and how can you not make fun of that?
Living in the contradiction. I tried but I ended up getting worry wort and then making Ellie self conscious and then apologizing and going into story mode and goddamn Chris and I guess it makes sense but spit I should spit when I think of him. BEGONE.
Anyway I have a cute weird little Bob and it's great the end.
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