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February 19, 2016

Great, Now I'm a Bald Super Model

Hair Growing Out
after Being Shaved Bald
It's difficult being a little girl when your parents are emotionally and mentally ill.  There are so many rules that seem to change as easily as their moods.

Walking in on mother and seeing her talk to a chair or to empty space became part of the norm.  I never questioned who she was talking to because when I listened to her talking, she was always talking about our father and what a horrible evil man he was.

I also never bothered her during these times because she always cried and looked sad.  I knew it was best to leave her alone.

The only way I knew to escape mother's strange behavior was to play pretend.  In addition to pretending to be a world famous singer, I used to like going in the bathroom and pretend I was a world famous model.  Since my hair was so long, almost to my knees, I had a lot of options in trying to pin my hair up and look glamorous.

It was a day I was home alone with mother and she was ironing and talking to her favorite chair.  I went to take a bath and afterwards stood in front of the mirror playing with my hair pretending to be a model.

Mother had to use the bathroom so she came in as I was holding all my hair on top of my head and making my best model face.  She demanded to know what I was doing.  When I told her I was just playing pretend model she screamed that I was a whore.

She stormed out of the bathroom and within seconds came back with my father's electric hair trimmer.  She grabbed my arm and pushed me onto the toilet seat.  She grabbed a fistful of my hair and began shaving.

She was furious and I knew better than to say anything.  I sat on the toilet crying as I watched my hair falling to the floor.  Through my sobs I heard mother ranting about what a whore I was and that this would teach me to never act like a whore in her house again.

After she finished shaving me bald she went to the kitchen and came back with a garbage bag, a pale and a brush and told me to clean and scrub the floor clean.  If she came back and found one single strand of hair she would make me regret it.

When Peter and Grace came home, Grace saw me and laughed while Peter gave me a hug and asked what happened.  After I told him he went to his room and came back with a black beanie hat for me to wear.  He did his best to make me feel better by telling me that my hair would grow out and I would have a cute short hairstyle in a couple of weeks.

I never played pretend model again, and grew to hate having long hair when it grew back out.  Especially since she would make me bald again a few years later when I caught lice at school.  She said she didn’t have time for medicine and combing my thick long hair.

It's my earliest memory of feeling that I hated my mother for what she had done to me. 

After shaving me bald for a second time, mother didn’t bother telling me anymore that only whores cut their hair and she began cutting my hair, not too short, but short enough where she didn’t have to help wash my hair anymore. 

Maybe she was getting older and tired, or maybe she figured since I was the devil’s whore it didn’t matter if my hair was cut or not.

I always felt confused as a child.  I thought I was basically a good kid.  I always did as I was told, basically because I was too terrified of both my mother and father to ever disobey them.  As a small child, I couldn’t figure out why she was always doing horrible things to me.  It had to be because I was a mistake and mistakes couldn’t be loved.

For a long time I hated my hair.  It was too thick and wavy.  As I grew older, for myself and to spite my mother, I would cut my hair short, I would get different styles every few months, often dying it different colors.  I never let my hair grow past the middle of back again.  My hair became a means for me to express my pain without anyone knowing.