Bleach broken blondes and the need to be right

Hi, so like, if you couldn't tell, I'm not the best at blogging nor do I even understand HOW to really blog, but I'm going to attempt because I'd feel like a loser if I tried keeping a diary. 

So, for the last 4ish years I've had black hair. Box, semi-permanent, expensive bullshit that made me smell like essential oils and despair, the point it, I've been dying my hair black for years because I was REALLY committed to the look. When you think of EMO's you don't imagine a mop of unkempt curly ashy brown hair, you think of straight black hair that's been a victim of razors and hair spray. But... you know, the joke that Gay men dye their hair blonde while going through a crisis... maybe it's a bit true... and maybe, maybe it totally hit me like a kiss from a fucking brick. I did two bleach sessions on my long hair around the beginning of May, right in time for prom, and, if you would've guessed, it did NOT go well. I hadn't dyed my hair black in roughly three (?) and a half month, so my roots had grown out significantly and I'd been filled with enough cockiness to fuel a troop of frat boys. I had not realized that my poor hair was about to be significantly nuked by said bleaching, and that I'd have to cut off like 5inches of my fucking hair, something that delt a major blow to my unproportionate ego. Did I freak out? Yes. Did I swear off bleaching my hair ever again? Yes. Do I plan on bleaching my hair again? Also, yes. I love blonde hair, and apparently the bleach must've rotted my brain out of my scull, because I've decided the blonde life is meant for me! Maybe if people drilled it into me harder that I'd look rancid with blonde hair, maybe I would've stayed looking 'traditionally' emo, but as per usual, I hated being told what I should do, and now I'm cursed to have damaged hair and an only slightly bruised ego.