So I got a haircut. It’s been about three months, and I got an actual cut- where it had been about to my shoulders, I got it buzzed on the back and sides, scissor cut on the top. It’s not a particularly feminine cut, but I like it. It’s shorter, I use less shampoo, bedhead is far more manageable… and it’s cooler, both figuratively and literally.
As always, my mother felt that she had a right- no, a responsibility to tell me on no uncertain terms what she thought of my hair. I look like a boy, masculine, butch, hulking… most of which would have made me really happy, had they not been flung at me with barbs attached. Mocking me for not being feminine enough, and with a hateful look that could freeze hell.
I really do enjoy being masculine. It’s comfortable, it’s a place I know. But every time I do anything to fill that, my mother has to tear it down. I got a binder, I cut my hair off, I dress in a way that the person in the mirror is a person I’m okay with being. And then my mother sees me, and tears it away.
Fine. So I went out yesterday, and bought makeup. I spent about forty-five minutes to an hour trying out different ways to apply it, different eye shadow, learning to apply eyeliner. And I washed it off a few times, and tried again, and I acheived something I liked- lower lashline eyeliner and red lipstick. I went out into the family room again, and then it’s more comments about how shitty it looks- words like “ridiculous,” “ugly,” “gross.”
So I present to you, my readers, this dilemma. Reluctantly feminine, I wasn’t feminine enough. Actively masculine, I’m brutish, hulking, ugly. Actively feminine, and I’m ridiculous and ugly. And all that without the comments on my weight, which, even if I started on a doctor-approved 2lb./week weight loss program, she would continue to make comments about my weight for at least another two and a half years.
Nevermind how many times I ask her to speak to me like an adult if she has thoughts on my appearance, never mind how many times I have asked her to keep her opinions to herself, especially unhelpful, unasked-for, unwanted opinions, to no avail.
I live with the woman. I have at least another year and a few months to live with her, unless she dies suddently. And I don’t know how I’m going to survive, because being around her drains all the joy and will to live from my life.