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)!|