Why It's Been 18 Months Since I Got My Hair Cut

I hate getting my hair cut. Okay ... I don't really hate getting my hair cut ... I hate going to a salon to get my hair cut.

Being hypersensitive to so many things, I am often simply in a state of OVERWHELMED. Generally, I feel a whole lot of things at one time, and am often unable to distinguish what those things are, let alone what caused them in the first place.

I began to realize that I hated going to the salon to get my hair cut when Mike and I moved. I had a hairdresser in Podunk - she had a "station" in her home - it was comfortable. 

When we moved to NOT PODUNK, I became aware that I was putting off going to the salon. I knew that I needed a haircut – my hair was getting more and more unmanageable as it grew longer, and I really wanted to get it cut, but the thought of finding someone new to cut it was beyond daunting.

I gave in and made an appointment at a salon less than a mile a way. The stylist was "acceptable" (too much small talk, but manageable) and the salon wasn't overwhelming ... until THE DAY.

THE DAY was a Saturday (first mistake). I made an appointment for a cut and color. My stylist cut my hair, sent me to the "color station" for my color (she mixed the color, but someone else applied it - STRANGER DANGER) and then?? Yet another person rinsed out the color and said, "Do you know where to go now?"

I assumed I was going back to my stylist's station to get my hair dried/styled, so responded, "Yes!"

... and then I went back to my stylist's station

... and waited

... and waited

... and waited

Thirty-ish minutes later, someone else stopped by my stylist's station to let me know that I could dry my own hair and/or use any of her products.The implication was that I needed to go.

I immediately got up and went to the front desk to pay.

I was in a full blown anxiety attack

Logically, there didn’t seem any reason for anxiety - a haircut at the salon is supposed to be a nice thing – a treat - a pampering. 

What I've realized since this visit is that going to the salon HURTS. Not in a physical way, but rather in an emotional way. 

The smells - the noise - the societal expectations - they are painful. I cannot go back to that salon, and now? I cannot force myself to find a new salon.

What will the expectations be there?

I just can't ...

Worry Is Like A Rocking Chair

~*~*~

It's nothing major.

I haven't had to visit the local food pantry since November.

My rent, utilities and student loan payments are current.

I have a job.

Cam and I are both healthy.

In the grand scheme of things, I have no room to complain. None. I know that, and knowing that evokes waves of guilt.

I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread.

One paycheck. Hell, two unpaid sick days, and it will all collapse. A minor car repair will send me into financial crisis. Summer camp registration is looming and resources are slim.

I am tired. Tired of living life this way - the threat of ONE.MORE.THING crumbling the house of cards. The anxiety - the constant worry - I'm not as good at hiding it as I once was.

Cam said to me the other night, "Mom, you always think of the absolute worst outcome, even when there is no probability it will happen!" He's right. I do.

I do this because I've convinced myself that somehow, if I can just predict the worse possible outcome, and then it should happen, it won't catch me off guard. I'll be able to handle it because the element of surprise will be eliminated.

If it doesn't happen? Well? Then I'll be pleasantly surprised and even if the outcome is undesirable, it won't be as bad as it could have been. Viola! It's a win either way.

Of course, spending all of this time "preparing" myself for Cam's cab to crash on the way to school, for my employer to fire me for one too many mistakes, for a direct deposit not to hit my account on time ... all of this "preparing"? It keeps my brain from doing what it needs to do. I am constantly distracted - when driving, when working, when walking through the grocery store.

"Just stop it" doesn't work. I cannot (if you prefer, will not, since everything is under my control, right?) just stop. Trying to stop gets me right back to that place that evokes those waves of guilt.

I should be strong.

I should be grateful.

I shouldn't worry.

I think I'm ready to admit that maybe this is bigger than me and the fifth of vodka that has become my constant companion.

~*~*~

Sunday Secret

I suffer a great deal of anxiety over everyday tasks. Things as simple as making a phone call to order pizza, or going to the market to pick up a few items, take a great deal of emotional energy as I have an extreme, consistent, and sometimes, nearly debilitating fear, of being judged or embarrassed by my actions, words or appearance - especially by strangers. I know how unreasonable and illogical this is, making the situation even more difficult to confront rationally. The internet, and blogging, have made it much easier to interact with "real" people.