I dyed my hair black. No seriously, it’s so black that I looked like Elvira or Morticia Adams! What’s more disappointing is that I didn’t even dye it because I wanted to, necessarily. I dyed it because I momentarily lost a hold of myself. I did the thing that I promised myself I wouldn’t do (again); I let another man hold my reflection for a while. Save your judgment, because I’ve already judged myself enough for three people!
I knew better, I knew this relationship wasn’t going to go far after dating him for only a couple of months. He’d begin to show signs similar to that of my ex. There were too many parallels in personalities, and right then I should have left. However, I’m the kind of girl that sees flashing red lights and red flags all over the field and instead of yielding or ceasing, I keep going like they’re welcome banners calling me home. Yep, that’s me, hardheaded as no other!
So, while I recognized his behavior I was still captivated by his charm. He had this jokester way about himself that remained attractive through the arguments. He had this smile that reeled me in through the warning signs. I continued to date him despite my past-self, screaming hysterically at me to stop, drop, and roll out!
It was something about the unattainability. In my mind, although he was there, I was convinced that I would never really “have” him. That kept me wanting to explore more. It was the beginning of the end of it, less than a year under our belts and we were already having the petty arguments and mindless bickering over stuff that I can’t even remember now. Which further proves the point that none of it really mattered. We were wrestling around and he’d stolen my phone from me; playing keep away, he would not let me have it back. Despite my best efforts to take him out, it was not happening. So naturally, I did the only thing that came next. I lunged forward, grabbing his phone from the dresser and holding it for ransom; my phone’s safe return. He didn’t put much concerted effort into getting it back. He merely laughed at me that was until I upped the anti, by unlocking his password. He didn’t know I knew it…and to be fair I didn’t intentionally try to. He’d entered it so many times in front of me that my mind just kind of naturally absorbed it. Once he heard the click signifying that his phone was now open for the taking, he quickly flung mine onto the bed as if to say truce, but when I didn’t relent, his face turned from a wild boyish smile to a look of concern.
I’m not the type to go through people’s phones. You can save your judgment again, because that wasn’t some fake disclaimer. I don’t do it. Nevertheless, I respect the next man’s privacy as much as I like my own, but there was something about the way his face changed once he saw that I’d unlocked it. It was as if I’d walked in on him going down on another woman. He was hiding something. My past-self was waving a flashing sign and screaming, that I’d found myself in a Deja vu type situation, I’d been here before.
His fight became stronger and quite a bit more urgent to retrieve his phone. I gave it up without much static, as my heart sunk. A while later, he decided to go shower before we started about our day. This was my opportunity. Unoriginal as it was, it was effective. I broke back into his phone (and by broke, I mean punched in the same code as before) and begin to purge myself on all the juicy details I expected to discover. Unfortunately, I found not a lot, but there was one thing that was open for interpretation. He’d been talking with this local actress prior to our relationship. She wasn’t over the top beautiful or anything stunning for that matter. But she had a certain something about herself, an independent style, an alluring face and jet-black hair. She pulled it off well. As I studied her face and their conversations, I realized that I recognized her. This was the same face that was posing with my boyfriend on one of the nights I’d asked him to hang out, and he was busy “marketing”. Later that same night, a picture of her posed next to him (with no personal space between them, I might add) surfaced. They were in his room, at a party he apparently threw, you know, for 'marketing purposes'. I remember when I saw the picture, daggers torpedoed through my heart and rage set in. I should have dropped him then. I said that sentence to myself a lot over the course of our tiny fraction of time spent together. Like when he missed my birthday, or when I dressed up real sexy and showed up to our date only to find him entertaining clients at his house, or the way his new female client would always be around at the most random of hours. I mean again, I get it; there were so many signs and opportunities to let it go. I guess the self-abuse gave me a weird sense of comfort, at least, for a brief period of time. So after seeing this conversation and these pictures and this bond they apparently had, I hit the one of the lowest points that a woman can. The point when she alters herself to fit into a mold that isn’t meant for her, for the sake of someone else’s approval. For shame! I dyed my hair black. The box actually said Cold Stone Midnight. It was so black, I looked ridiculous and I damaged the hell out of my hair. I dyed my hair black and we broke up the following weekend…Clearly no amount of dye or insecurity masked as a makeover was going to win this situation over.
I let him hold my reflection and dictate the way that I saw myself, for a while. And even thought it was a short while, the fact of the matter is, it happened. By the way, have I mentioned that I make a horrible dark-haired raven?
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