Haircuts

August 23, 2011

I think its all about jealousy, resentment, displaying domination and control,

and little else. Its hostile, malicious, and sick behavior on the part of a

parent toward her own child.

Seems to me that the bpd/npd/Cluster B " Queen " mother wants to use/control her

child's hair to gain attention for herself, in which case, her daughter is

turned into an object and cast in the role of a prize show dog that gets groomed

excessively, decked out and displayed for the purpose of competition. A " trophy

daughter " instead of a " trophy wife " for nada.

.... OR...

the bpd " Witch " mother views her daughter as a rival sibling or a rival adult

female intruding into *her* territory, instead of viewing her own daughter in a

normal, protective, nurturing, motherly way, and so bpd mom feels wildly jealous

of her daughter's beautiful hair, the newly-minted sexual attractiveness her

daughter is showing and the admiring attention she is beginning to garner. So

nada does what she can to destroy her competition, just short of murder or

banishment. Sexual jealousy rears its ugly head, folks. Its close to the " Snow

White " fairy tale in real life.

Or perhaps its like my nada who saw no boundaries between herself and me, and

considered me as her mini-me, her clone. I had to mirror her in order to be

allowed to exist.

I will repeat until my tongue stiffens (as Heathcliff pronounces) that such

individuals have no business raising children alone and unsupervised. They're

too mentally ill to understand or care about the emotional damage they're doing.

-Annie

> >

> > " Hair Abuse " !! OMG!!! That's another part of it!

> >

> > I absolutely hated when my mother touched my hair, because she pulled,

twisted, yanked, all the while screaming at me like the crazy woman that she is.

When I was 10 she pulled out several chunks of hair. One of those never grew

back and I've had a bald spot the size of a quarter for 50 years now.

> >

> > When I was 12 she took _pinking_ shears to my hair!! That, too, was a

dreadful year. Everybody made fun of me.

> >

> > The final time- I was 18, but still living at home (remember, we weren't

adults until 21) working full time (50 hours actually) and going to college 3

days a week.

> >

> > I worked in fast food and for the holiday party they closed early one night

and the boss and his wife took the crew bowling. All the other kids got picked

up, and of course, I was to walk home (about 2.5 miles). Up until then nobody at

work knew I was walking home at 10 pm every night- but anyway, my boss gave me a

ride home.

> >

> > It was 11:10 instead of the usual 10:45, so I was " late. " My mother was

waiting inside our back door, scissors in hand, cornered me and started

chopping. I had long hair that I braided for work; she chopped off the braids.

> >

> > I was so scared - I thought she was going to stab me to death, as she kept

stabbing my neck as she cut my hair - she was screaming and ranting and wailing

about me " being with a man " -- awful!!

> >

> > Then I had to figure out what to do with what was left of my hair for work-

I could have just died. I was afraid nobody would believe me that she did it,

because nobody believed me when I was younger, but this time they did. My boss's

wife helped me find an apartment and encouraged me to move, which I did about 10

days later.

> >

> > wow. yeah, hair abuse.

> >

>

August 23, 2011

Cool! I will definitely check that out, thanks for the head's up!

-Annie

> > > > > >

> > > > > > " Hair Abuse " !! OMG!!! That's another part of it!

> > > > > >

> > > > > > I absolutely hated when my mother touched my hair, because she

pulled, twisted, yanked, all the while screaming at me like the crazy woman that

she is. When I was 10 she pulled out several chunks of hair. One of those never

grew back and I've had a bald spot the size of a quarter for 50 years now.

> > > > > >

> > > > > > When I was 12 she took _pinking_ shears to my hair!! That, too, was

a dreadful year. Everybody made fun of me.

> > > > > >

> > > > > > The final time- I was 18, but still living at home (remember, we

weren't adults until 21) working full time (50 hours actually) and going to

college 3 days a week.

> > > > > >

> > > > > > I worked in fast food and for the holiday party they closed early

one night and the boss and his wife took the crew bowling. All the other kids

got picked up, and of course, I was to walk home (about 2.5 miles). Up until

then nobody at work knew I was walking home at 10 pm every night- but anyway, my

boss gave me a ride home.

> > > > > >

> > > > > > It was 11:10 instead of the usual 10:45, so I was " late. " My mother

was waiting inside our back door, scissors in hand, cornered me and started

chopping. I had long hair that I braided for work; she chopped off the braids.

> > > > > >

> > > > > > I was so scared - I thought she was going to stab me to death, as

she kept stabbing my neck as she cut my hair - she was screaming and ranting and

wailing about me " being with a man " -- awful!!

> > > > > >

> > > > > > Then I had to figure out what to do with what was left of my hair

for work- I could have just died. I was afraid nobody would believe me that she

did it, because nobody believed me when I was younger, but this time they did.

My boss's wife helped me find an apartment and encouraged me to move, which I

did about 10 days later.

> > > > > >

> > > > > > wow. yeah, hair abuse.

> > > > > >

> > > > >

> > > >

August 23, 2011

Stuff like this helps explain for me the reason I'm so sensitive about getting

my hair cut. When I was younger (like middle-high school age) I would be so

stressed about getting my hair cut that I would just tie it up and leave it up

for days without brushing it, trying to make it seem short so I wouldn't have to

deal with it. When I did get it cut, if it didn't turn out perfectly like the

magazines I would just about cry in the hairdressers shop. Then I'd feel guilty

'cause I thought the stylist's feeling were hurt (a message propagated by Nada,

of course). I just couldn't win.

I've grown out of that a lot, though. It doesn't stress me out immensely to cut

it anymore. I do what *I* want with it and it's wonderful!

Subject: Re: Haircuts

To: WTOAdultChildren1

Date: Tuesday, August 23, 2011, 6:58 AM

My nada wanted me to be a clone of herself as much as possible, which

meant she wanted to cut off my ponytail that I loved when I was about 10 years

old. All the girls my age had ponytails then, it was the fashion. I didn't

want to lose my ponytail. So nada told me that I had big, ugly ears that stuck

out and needed to be covered up, and that my hair was too thin and fine to wear

in a ponytail, in an effort to convince me to change hairstyles. Calling me

*ugly* was one of her best weapons. I really had no choice in the matter, and

it was done.

So... a trip to the hairdressers, and chop went the scissors. Then, surprise:

nada made me get a permanent which made me look like a chrysanthemum, and then

made me style my hair the way she wore hers. That meant sleeping in curlers. I

HATED IT. The last thing I wanted was to look like my mother. I loved my

ponytail, and it made me feel girly. I felt, well, castrated with short hair;

at 9, it was the only feminine thing about me, I felt. So, I felt de-sexed, and

shamed by my appearance. I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror. My nada

cut me off from my sense of my own self when she cut my ponytail.

Then, the cherry on top. Nada took me and my little Sister to get our formal

photo-portraits made for our dad's office, and I just could not smile. I look

like I am on the verge of tears in that photo, and nada kept it out on display

in our home for, like, years and years after dad brought it home from his

office.

I guess she liked me looking sad, defeated, shamed, and completely under her

control. Or maybe she just thought it was a great shot of herself. That's

probably it; she didn't really care about how I looked in that picture, it was

about how she looked.

-Annie

August 24, 2011

I'll try to make this as short as possible, but I admit, since I'm a writer,

that is a difficult task.

My parents were married for eight years, and my dad wanted my hair kept long,

which was fine with me, but when my parents divorced because my dad came out of

the closet and my mom and another woman moved in together and long story short,

they became a couple, so I had two sets of gay/lesbian parents. The woman, we'll

call her " the dictator, " was just that...like Hitler or Stalin, only she hated

men. They were the enemy, but for someone who hated men, she certainly wanted to

be one. And she stole my identity by taking away my ruffled dresses, patent

leather shoes and lace socks and gloves and hats and by cutting my hair.

(Looking back, I'm 100% CERTAIN that the dictator had BPD. She was definitely

the queen and the witch all rolled into one, never the other two, never at all.

By the time I reached high school, I looked like I could be part of, " Future

Lesbians of America, " if there was such a group. I was totally brain washed into

this man hating, gun toting, self sufficient, never depend on a man type with an

eat s*** and die attitude to be completely honest. And that's how I was until I

got away...

e

> >

> > Ok, this may seem like an odd topic, but when I first started researching

BPD I read a few stories about some people's Nadas chopping off their hair when

they were young. Did this happen to any of you? This happened to me a few times

that I can remember. When I was little, I had fine, straight hair that was nice

and thick. Nada would rip the hairbrush through my hair every morning until I

was crying from the pain. Nada would curse my hair and scream at me. She dragged

me to the hairdresser a couple of times, and cut my hair all off, once into a

" Dorthy Hamill " and then a couple years later into a " shag " . Suffice it to say,

I looked terrible. Just terrible. The thing is, My hair was not " out of

control " . She just wouldn't brush it correctly. She would start at the roots and

drag the brush hard down my head. In a way, I think she didn't want me to even

look nice. I begged her to make me look like the other little girls in

elementary school, but she refused to listen to me. What I was trying to say,

was I wanted to look taken care of, like someone cared. The other little kids

picked on me too for the way I looked, I can clearly remember telling a girl

about my birthday presents and she said, " You are a liar. You don't have

anything nice. Just look at you, you are POOR. " But at the time, I wasn't poor,

I just wasn't looked after properly.

> >

> > Anyways, thanks for listening. It's kind of embarrassing to tell these

stories, but I think you all understand on some level or another.

> >

> > Natalia

> >

>

August 24, 2011

So glad for you - I bet your hair looks mmmmaaarrrvvvelous!!!

>

> Subject: Re: Haircuts

> To: WTOAdultChildren1

> Date: Tuesday, August 23, 2011, 6:58 AM

>

> My nada wanted me to be a clone of herself as much as possible, which

meant she wanted to cut off my ponytail that I loved when I was about 10 years

old. All the girls my age had ponytails then, it was the fashion. I didn't

want to lose my ponytail. So nada told me that I had big, ugly ears that stuck

out and needed to be covered up, and that my hair was too thin and fine to wear

in a ponytail, in an effort to convince me to change hairstyles. Calling me

*ugly* was one of her best weapons. I really had no choice in the matter, and

it was done.

>

> So... a trip to the hairdressers, and chop went the scissors. Then,

surprise: nada made me get a permanent which made me look like a chrysanthemum,

and then made me style my hair the way she wore hers. That meant sleeping in

curlers. I HATED IT. The last thing I wanted was to look like my mother. I

loved my ponytail, and it made me feel girly. I felt, well, castrated with

short hair; at 9, it was the only feminine thing about me, I felt. So, I felt

de-sexed, and shamed by my appearance. I didn't even recognize myself in the

mirror. My nada cut me off from my sense of my own self when she cut my

ponytail.

>

> Then, the cherry on top. Nada took me and my little Sister to get our formal

photo-portraits made for our dad's office, and I just could not smile. I look

like I am on the verge of tears in that photo, and nada kept it out on display

in our home for, like, years and years after dad brought it home from his

office.

>

> I guess she liked me looking sad, defeated, shamed, and completely under her

control. Or maybe she just thought it was a great shot of herself. That's

probably it; she didn't really care about how I looked in that picture, it was

about how she looked.

>

> -Annie

>

August 24, 2011

It sounds like you have been through some pretty intense life experiences and

grown a tremendous amount. Thank you for sharing.

K

> > >

> > > Ok, this may seem like an odd topic, but when I first started researching