Most people have days where they wake up and just want to walk out on their lives; hit the restart button. Some may even have this thought every single day. The most typical response to this is to sigh and move on with the day only to repeat the process again.
I used to be one of these people. I spent four unhappy years in an isolated college in the mountains of Massachusetts. My life wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. I would wake up every single day and let my finger hover over that restart button. In my mind, though, there was a steel cage surrounding that button. A cage made from expectation, both societal and personal.
That's what my life felt like; a cage. I previously said unhappy, but that doesn't seem to cover it. While in that place, I had a string of luck so horrible that I actually tried medication to remedy the resulting moods.
I desperately wanted a change. But nothing drastic, just something to make me feel a little bit better, even if it only lasted a week. A new hair style could do just that. It sounds silly, but it was highly recommended by the school's therapist. I doubt she thought it would do for me what it has.
I have had a fear of cutting my hair since the eight grade. I have very curl frizzy hair and I got made fun of a lot in middle school because of it. So I made a drastic change and cut it all off. I'm not talking about a buzz cut, but I can't say it was more than an inch, just long enough to realize it was curly. I liked it for a week, until the actress Keri Russel from Felicity cut her's off. I guess most thirteen year olds would like to be compared to a famous actress, but I was not one of them. I was traumatized. I still have nightmares about it.
When my hair finally came back three years later (curly hair takes a painfully long time to get to a length that doesn't resemble Bozo the Clown) I refused to cut it again. When I needed a trim, I did it myself (not recommended). So I had had the same hair style for five years. Five years where I had no confidence and I went through some of the worst things in my life (things that upon hearing have made many people realize their lives aren't that bad).
But, I was emotionally attached to my hair, and as it stood, emotionally attached to a life I hated. I went to a stylist. As the color changed and the locks fell, my confidence rose. Unlike my last major style change, this one was a winner.
Surprisingly it was more than superficial happiness. I actually found confidence. Little old me was turning heads. Once I realized that I didn't have something on my face, a spot on my blouse or tp trailing from my shoe, I actually started to feel good about myself. Three days later I started perfecting the feminine art of flirting to get what I want. This was at a convention that further changed my life.
This convention came at the perfect time. I had been beyond unhappy with school, trying out antidepressants to numb the disappointment of higher education; I was in a young relationship that had reached the point where I discovered my boyfriend didn't understand me at all, but he hadn't realized that yet; I was facing the point in time where I would have to become a productive member of society, but had no idea in what field that would be; most of my friends from school were graduated and gone, and with them my entire support system out in the Berkshires. But I had a new hair cut and a new found confidence. I decided I would have as much fun as humanly possible while staffing a convention where I worked upwards of 20 hours in a single day.
This is what happened.
The first day I ran around like the mad, finding things to set up and people to talk to. I played a game where I tried to get as much random crap from people as possible using just puppy-dog eyes and a smile. One of these items proved to be an instrument of fate.
I was hanging out in convention operations which was being co-occupied by the security staff. A security staffer walked in, who in normal circumstances I would never have talked to (someone completely out of my league), and he had a bicycle helmet. An item that remained in my possession for most of the weekend. Later, the helmet as well as its owner ended up in my hotel room on the last possible day of the convention.
The helmet owner has turned out to be the most amazing, caring, and brilliant person I've ever met. His involvement in my life has been pivotal and he is the reason why I am now, a month later, medication free. I am actually happy and he is the main reason for it.
I do have to thank my former boyfriend for our hook up as well. This convention was the end of my spring break, one where I didn't see the former bf at all because he lacked the motivation to come and visit (I was the one who always traveled to see him... while not at school we were eighty miles away from each other). Through a series of short cell conversations he tried to guilt me into leaving the convention (one that I agreed to work over a year ago and well before I had ever met former bf), and he accused me of cheating on him, something I would never have dreamed about doing. The former put me into a breakdown. I, someone who hates crying in front of anyone, cried in front of the entire night security staff. A couple of amazing people sat with me through the night and listened to me vent about my cursed life. Each person with whom I spoke basically said the same thing: if you are so unhappy with that school, with the boyfriend, with that life, try something else.
I heeded their advice and I hit that restart button. I made the decision to not go back to that school except to fill out withdrawal forms and collect my belongings. I also came to the realization that the bf would believe whatever he wanted to believe about my actions at the convention, and if he thought I would cheat regardless, I might as well. Bicycle helmet owner was an intense temptation as it stood, and at that time I was free of the inhibition of common relationship morals. It turned out to be the best decision I've made to date.
So there I was out of school and only 19 credits short of graduating. The only place I had to live was with my parents (and I disliked feeling like a burden on them) and the only job I had was working for Wal Mart (which will further be referred to as The Evil Empire or TEE). This situation was not something that would help my life improve. In my defense, however, I tried it. I tried it for two entire weeks.
The commute between the city in which my new boyfriend lived and TEE was long, draining on a small gas tank (especially where the gas prices are now over $3.50 a gallon), and tiring. I also wanted to be able to be near him for more than a day or so at a time. He was also introducing me to a city that offered so much more than the little rural/suburban-ish town in which my parents resided.
I still had my new hair style and new found confidence, so I attempted to find work in the city. I acquired in a very short period of time two part-time jobs (which will give me about 50-60 hours a week) and an apartment with three fantastic roommates.
Where I sit now, I begin these jobs officially 4/28 and 4/30 and move into the new apartment 5/3. I have a new boyfriend and I'm developing new friendships. My new life begins now... and it all started with a hair cut.
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