A Second Glance

Appearance was the perfect distraction.

It shaped who other people thought I was. It was more malleable than anything else Logan. I couldn’t easily change my personality, mannerisms or voice. Altering those bits of Logan, even for a short time, required intense concentration and effort. There was no such effort necessary when it came to appearance. Appearance allowed me to change the reality of me. And I did.

At first, I used it to convince you I was different. From my clothes, you could plainly see I was a TOTAL BADASS because of my love for Metallica and JNCO jeans. You ignored the fact that I was in middle school because only a BADASS could dress that way.

Next, I used it to hide from you. You couldn’t see anything but the Abercrombie shirts and jeans that everyone else was wearing. You didn’t care to see, and that was fine by me.

Then I switched to hair because it was easier to change. I used it to push you into a reality where I felt more comfortable. You saw a teenager with a curly, blond mess of hair and you thought he was weird, goofy, funny, interesting and confident. You never thought his nerves were off the charts whenever he was around people.

The hair grew. I used it to distract from my new solution to the living-in-my-skin problem: More of everything that would alter my state of mind. You looked at my hair first. I didn’t have to worry about you noticing the glassy, bloodshot eyes hiding underneath.

A hat came next. I used it to make you think I wasn’t the typical college kid. What does Borla even mean? You didn’t know, and I didn’t care to tell you. If I did, you just thought I was a car-obsessed hick with a Camaro. You never found out about the true obsession, the all-consuming need for More.

The hair came back, bigger than before. I used it again, because it was all I had. You saw it before anything else. I made sure. You asked me about it during a job interview. I told you people would look past the hair to see the real me. I desperately hoped that wouldn’t happen.

The hair went away for a television commercial. You told me I would be in it. You lied.

I fought the More issue. I lost. I fought again. I lost. I fought many more times. I lost, again and again.

Then, I won.

I found out the truth. You never cared about my appearance. Like almost everything else that came with the More problem, it was all in my head.

I got a tattoo. I did it for me.

I kept my hair short. I did it for me.

Now, I’m growing my hair out. I’m doing it for kids with cancer.

Appearance is sometimes a distraction.