Fair warning; this one's gonna be pretty shallow, so if you're looking to read anything over-emotional, incredibly existencial, or even poetic, you may want to look elsewhere today. Just sayin'.
My friends, this epic journey began waaaaay back during Christmas break last year. I decided to put some bleach on my hair. My goal was initially to have hair so blonde it was practically white. It took around a year, but that goal was attained in January. My hair was white, and it fucking rocked!!
Alas, after three short weeks, I was forced to dye my hair back to a darkish brown for a school production, and that was fun for a while, but all the time I wished for my white hair again.
In early June, I decided to become blonde once again, bleaching my hair twice in one day, resulting in a considerably lighter, though slightly yellow hue. After this latest round of bleachings, I decided to give my hair a rest from the chemical shenanigans due to it's heightened level of damage and fragile-ness. Through constant toning, I have managed to get the color to a very pale, though still yellowy, sort of color. And I like it.
However, it is not white. And my roots are starting to show. The sad truth is that I must once again assault my already mightily abused hair with bleach! I'm afraid that it won't survive. But that unique, silvery white color was so fantastic to have. It's not fair that it was only mine for three weeks! I want it back!
And so, some time this week, I will have to put my faith in the hair Gods and pray that my hair won't fall out if I bleach it again. Godspeed, hair, Godspeed.
I'm a bleach addict!
Julia
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