From my other journal, dated July 16, 2002

I was just visiting another journal, in which a girl describes a very difficult home life full of tension and stress. It makes me very sad for her because I think she is really a great person (even though I only know her by internet), and doesn't deserve to be mistreated. Most of it seems to stem from the way she dresses. She's gothic and her mother doesn't like it. She also hears a fair amount of shit from other people because she's a witch. It's amazing to me that she hasn't gone insane by now. She has more strength of character than she gets credit for, I believe.
It made me think about my punk phase, when I had a different color in my hair every few weeks and wore smudge makeup, which was pretty popular at the time. I'd blend my eyeshadow up in a line toward my temples then put a matching streak of color in my hair. I loved that. Of course, my parents were completely unthrilled. There was constant tension in our house anyway because my dad drank constantly and my parents always fought, but my appearance became the source of much more. Sometimes the only thing my folks could agree on was that they hated the way I looked. Once they went out and bought a kit of black hair color and forced me to dye my hair, which has just been colored a sort of blondish color. Since it was so porous from repeated colorings it turned pitch black. I have creamy pale skin by nature, in true celtic fashion and the contrast was frightening. I looked like the walking dead. I asked them to not make me do that but they insisted that I dye it again because they didn't like the blonding. I didn't have time to give it the intense conditioning I liked to have between colorings and it was so coarse and fried I could barely comb it. My hair became brittle and broke off. I cried on and off for days, not just because of how it looked, but because I was terrified that I was going to lose it. The worst part was the feeling of helplessness, as if there was nothing available to help me assert my right to look the way I wanted.
Now my son is getting into heavy metal music and goth styles and I'm really okay with it. My parents used to say that I would understand why they did what they did as I got older, but I still disagree with it. John's hair is getting really long because he's trying to grow it out to emulate Ozzy Osbourne. As long as he keeps it clean I'm okay with that. I mean really, what does it hurt? When my brother grew his hair out my dad was all over him about how gay he thought it looked and was constantly making remarks about him needing a haircut. I dare anyone to say something like that to John. He screws off in school a bit but he's a good person and doesn't cause any trouble. He isn't a disciplinary problem and he doesn't cause chaos in our home any more since he started seeing the therapist, so why not let him experiment a little? Shit, I encourage it. He's having fun, he feels comfortable with us and he is far happier because of it.
If the kid isn't doing anything to harm themselves or anyone else, leave them alone about it.
It's not so easy to get people to lay off about the religion though. We're dealing with collective brainwashing caused by 2000 years of christian societal influence and it isn't going to change over night. The fact that the bible didn't even mention witches in it's original text but was changed around the time the Crusades began means very little to these people. So we deal with their misconceptions and hope that one day enlightenment will spontaneously occur.
Both of the forms of family nitpicking I just mentioned bother me because I feel that they are both a hinderance to free thought. A person needs to be able to flex the decision muscle during childhood so that it is well toned for adulthood. Besides, crushing a child's creativity and self expression is simply cruel and wrong.
So no, I still don't agree with the parental units on that one. Oddly though my mother has since changed her mind, way too late to benefit me while I was in my teens.
I finally got my bangs cut but I think I may have done it in a way that makes both Larry and I happy. I've been agonizing over it because I'm still old fashioned enough to care whether or not he likes the way I look but I hat having my hair in my face. What I opted for was a little spray of bangs across my forehead and the rest the way he likes it. It worked wonders for my mood and my look. The bangs make my face look slimmer and make me look younger in general. I'm much happier with it now.
I wasn't going to mention the friend dream again but I had it again last night. Lots of holding and kissing and it felt really good. I remember being very secure and feeling loved and excited to be with him. He smelled nice (like he had used a drop or two of Drakkar Noir somewhere on his body, but I couldn't tell exactly where because I didn't want to move to investigate), and felt very warm. He spoke in soft tones and touched my hair. We just stayed in bed all night, dressed and enjoying each others' company. The room wasn't familiar and looked like a hotel room, what little I could see by the TV.
I wonder what it means that I had it again? I wonder what it means that I liked it?