Skip to main content

Brunette, Good. Blonde, Bad.

Yesterday I couldn't decide between writing about anal leakage or about becoming a buxom blonde. 

On October 16th, 2014 I decided to dye my glorious mane. (I am naturally a brunette, just a shade or two up from black.) My whole life I wanted to know what I would look like with golden locks, would my life suddenly become more fun and filled with stunningly handsome Olympians named Thor or Hansel? I craved to look like another half-Lebanese beauty, Shakira. I truly desired to be almost anyone else at that time. 

When I was released from the hospital in April, 2014 after my surgery and complications, finally off iv nutrition after 6 weeks. Still only on a full liquid diet, I went to see a new doctor that I was referred to (because I was threatening to murder the doctor I previously saw). I told her my symptoms and what I was currently experiencing. After I humorously mentioned my new blog, she ripped out the unknown invisible rug I was standing on and blankly said that I probably didn't even have Crohn's. Blackness and white noise followed. 

I left her office feeling broken and unclear on who I was. How could I write a blog called The Crohnicles if I didn't have the fucking disease in the title? Honesty, that's the real reason why I gave up writing for years. I felt like a phony,  like an impostor, a fraud, a fucking ass clown. I was quite literally a lying sack of shit. I used to look in the mirror and sob, I felt insane. Like the Joker had left Gotham City and leapt inside my soul.

I believed that I was making myself sick. I truly thought that all my pain was in my head, my joint pain, my stomach pain, my migraines. Nothing was real, I had forced my body into this state by believing my Crohns' prognosis. The moment I left that doctor's office I was done. 

I was done with the medicines, with the follow-ups, especially with the scopes (people have snaked enough cameras up my ass and down my throat for a lifetime. I was starting to feel like a clogged drain, no one could fix). Unfortunately, even my stubbornness couldn't stop my body from being in constant pain every second of it's life with no one seeing it or understanding. Which I believe is the hardest part of having a chronic illness, not the surgeries or the side effects from the disease(s) or the prescribed medicines. The intangible, the shit you can't comprehend. 

In order to combat the unfathomable shit, some people turn to God, others a therapist, some to yoga, I turned to my hair stylist. It took 3 months, 12 hours numbing my ass in a salon chair, and almost $1,000 to make me blonde. (Picture Below). The whole process left me with one true and honest feeling about my life...disappointed. 

Leave comments below...you don't have to be a nice, I have eyes.

It turns out that the color of my hair shockingly didn't change my life. Instead it made me poorer and far less attractive (even Jesse hated this hair). Every time I looked in the mirror, there was a stranger staring back with a demonic look in her eyes begging me to color her hair back to brown. I had put so much hope (and dollar bills) into this color reversal, I thought that it would be the first of many changes that happened. Dreamed of it being the bridge to a different life filled with remission, marijuana, dachshunds, and dreamy date-able doctors that wanted to touch my body for pleasure, not checking for pain and swelling.

I yearned for the unending torment in my mind, body, and soul to be extracted and lifted out. I desired to have a normal life and so many people that I saw with non-magical or fairy tale lives, had fake blonde hair. Half my high school had fucking box blonde hair and even if their lives weren't perfect, they hadn't spent their entire adult lives trying not to unleash a literal shit-storm on their partners during sex. 

It was a hard pill to swallow, (shockingly harder than the toddler-sized pre-camera pill that lodged itself in my rectum a few years later) not only was I a terrible blonde, but I was never going to be normal. No matter my hair, skin, or nail color, abnormal was my new standard. 

Thankfully it wasn't a complete loss, I had started wearing lip stick because blonde washed my complexion out so terribly...or maybe it was some of the residual energy leftover from the Joker inhabiting my soul. Either way, I am now addicted and pretty much every shade and color looks fucking amazing on my abnormally gorgeous mouth (as shown below). 
That is a purple-black lip color. It got mixed reviews by the family. I LOVE IT(and Jesse,the handsome dude in this photo)!



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I'm back

I've lost so many months. I know that sounds odd. How can someone lose months? Easily, time flies when you are chronically ill. I know that sounds odd.
Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, on and on until one day you realize it's March and you have been hospital sick since October. What the actual flying fuck? I missed winter again. That's twice in 3 years. I lost summer before that...5 years ago.
5 years ago I had to give up my dreams, quit my job, and start contemplating Plan B. I didn't know what the hell Plan B was (my plan, not the pill...phew, what a lifesaver in college). Now, I'm sitting here trying to figure out what Plan F could possibly entail and I can't believe how many seasons I've lost.
I've been sick since I was 10. For years I was wrapped in a blanket in the basement watching Charmed and Sabrina (I thought I was a witch for awhile, not Wiccan, a real magical witch who could control waves. It was a rough time.) At 16 came the blee…

Failure is not an Option

Friday afternoon- sitting in the passenger side of mom's red infiniti sports car on the way to Wegman's. We had just left my 2 1/2 hour long allergy appointment, I called my GI doctor's nurse.

"Hello. This is Gabrielle Rosenfeld. I am returning your call"

"Hi, Ms. Rosenfeld. We got your blood work back and I can't really say anything until a doctor looks at them, but, well..."

(5 minute conversation about my GI doctor's upcoming wedding and then back to business)

"I can't say anything right now. but the Humira levels and antibodies. It's nothing bad. Don't concern yourself. I will tell you on Monday or Tuesday, once they have a chance to read them."

"Great. Thanks."

(After 14 years, you know where this is heading...your body struck again. You know that all the hope and positive thinking in the fucking verse won't change your body. You know that whenever you try to get healthy your body goes on the defensive. {In…

Humorless

On Thursday I went numb. On Friday I went crazy. They stole my humor.  24 hours without a word from a doctor, the last one I saw told me that he didn't think I was having a stroke, but he'll go talk to his attendings and be back in a couple hours. 24 hours nurses and techs tried to get ahold of a doctor and each time they were dismissed and ignored. 24 hours I sat in a hospital bed wondering what I had done to deserve this, what I had done to be treated like a divorcee begging for her husband to come home and explain why. All I wanted was to talk and ask them a question, all I wanted was to be treated like an equal. They may have spent half their life in medical school, but I spent half my life fighting this disease. We are both experts in the field of Crohns.

My last hospitalization in November and December was two parts I've broken down into parts A and B. I agreed to be admitted to the hospital, begrudgingly, because I had no appetite or thirst. I was in excruciating pai…