my infinite struggle with the color red

6:44 PM

8.1.2017
"You and I are like that red wall.  It's a good idea in theory, but somehow it doesn't quite work."

The color Red and I have never gotten along. Growing up, I'd deemed it my favorite color, truly embracing it around the age of 14. I incorporated it into my wardrobe, it was my Sharpie of choice given an appropriate circumstance, every potential candy I could eat had to be read (this still rings true). Now, as a grown-up, I finally have faced the fact that Red is a terrible color choice for me. It does nothing for my complexion, bringing out its likeness in my skin tone, and it has a negative connotation with things I once entertained: red wine, red nail polish, red lipstick, red hair. I've never been able to get up enough guts to cut the ties completely, but I've distanced myself enough that Red only surfaces if I feel there is a significant reason for it to make an appearance.

I have very pale skin meaning I sunburn on the walk to the mailbox. My teeth will never be white, so the aforementioned lipstick is definitely out. A deep, blood red is a bit of a cheat, but even then, I struggle with it on or around me the entire time. I think, possibly because at one time it meant the world to me, I'll never fully be able to break up with the color red. No matter how bad it is for me and how abundantly I know that; I keep hanging on in hopes that one day it will simply work. I have this idea that I'm hanging onto, by threads, really, that the epiphany will come that Red could be my color. Maybe someday, years and years down the road when I'm barely thinking of it, Red will surface out of nowhere and immediately compliment my life. It will fit in where I've always wanted it to and I'll be able to finally get over the fact of getting over a color....but Red is not just a color. Red is so much more than a color. Red was my identity during a time in my life that I needed one. I was associated with Red by almost everyone I knew. I got the Red cup, give Jordan the Red beach towel, I like the Red dress. My wedding shoes were Red. I wore a red flower, had all the red nails and lips (again, I won't learn) and carried around a Tab can as a bouquet which yes is an off-Red, but I maintain that Red was a theme. Our colors were Red and sea foam. I had a Red velvet cake. Later in life, far after the divorce, I tried to go blond. I'm a natural ginger but have been going dark for years. They said I couldn't. They said that my hair would fall out. Before I learned that they were right, after the bleach had set and nothing had come of it, they said they could return me to my brunette state or try out some Red.

Well, obviously.

It was Red for a week and then became a copper color, and not like a penny, but more like the rim of my great-aunt's glassware that is so faded and half-peeling. It was a bitch to keep and finally, I went back to black. I should have known and trusted my gut but it took losing about six-inches of damaged hair to finally making me understand that I'd made the wrong choice. It was so difficult because I'd spent FOUR YEARS getting my hair to that length and I traded it all to become my natural Red self again. Hair dye exists for a reason and for me, that reason is that Red is a toxic fuck, and I don't really need that situation in my life.

I feel like I truly need to break up with the color Red. When I say this, I mean truly. I can't have expectations that Red and I will ever see eye to eye. That part will take a bit, and I'll still fantasize about the fact that maybe one day Red will make room for me, or I'll make room for Red, but I can't go on with this same feeling that I need to have it. At the very least, we need a break and I need to focus on the colors that do compliment me.

There is a reason Doxey calls my closet 50 shades of Grey.

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