It hurts!

Dear Diary, Mon,Feb 16,2009
"Owwww", is my constant everyday reaction to what she does to me. What's remaining of my short-lived bristles are forced to endure the burns and struggles she most gladly chooses to put us through. How would she feel having the big, intimidating black hair-dryer penetrate deep onto her human skin. If she doesn't like it then why should I as old as I am tolerate having the burning heat melt away what's left of my bristles.
I have been tolerating and putting up with this treatment ever since her big mouth friends introduced her to "straightening with the hair-dryer". Why couldn't her parents just agree to get her the hair straightener. Oh yeah! It was too expensive for a really good one, as well as useless. Of course that's just my luck. Anyway that's when she turned to what she calls 'the comb. I am not a comb! I am a brush for God sakes, anyone in their right mind can tell you that. Not only does she treat me badly, but calls me by my long-time enemy's name. What does he think, just because he is used for the soft, silky,untangled hair without any pain or torture, he laughs at what I have to go through.
The only companions/friends that I have now are the other species; the hairs. I mean although some of them are long, tall, some are even short, I don't make fun of them, unlike the comb. My friends, who have been detached and abandoned by that girl are very attached to me now, they cling on to my bristles for dear life. At least I have them to love me. I guess the girl still kind of cares about me. Once in a while she takes time to clean me by taking the hairs off of me. But wait! Even when she shows that she cares about me, at the same time she is being mean. She's separating my friends who are so attached to me away from me! It pains me to have to watch the hairs being torn and pulled away from me, then being thrown into a garbage bag where they suffocate. Not only is she putting me through pain and torture, but she's taking away what really matters to me; my friends, the hairs. She is also separating me from what makes me, me; my bristles, which is essential for my survival just as skin is to a human. I don't know how much longer this will prolong for, but I'll say one thing; I don't think it can get worse than this.

Dear Diary, Tues, Feb 17,2009
OK, you know how I said that things can't possibly get worse for me? Well they just have. I have just been emotionally hurt and abused. Yup, you've guessed right, it was no one else but 'HER'.
So during the after school hours, as usual on the dresser I was just taking my beauty sleep to help energize my burnt out bristles. To my surprise, I was awoken by the loud chatter of 'her' and those encouraging friends of hers; Laura, Joanne and Eugene. As they all sat on the bed talking about the typical teenage stuff, I could not help but to eavesdrop closely to a certain conversation that suddenly aroused. So Laura says; "Oh, I like your hair today, no wonder Riehl was checking you out today, you look hot!" Eugene then puts in her comment by saying; "Yeah girl, what do you use? Your hair is burning hot!" I thought how ironic, you have no idea how 'burning hot' it gets in here, meaning me of course.
At that point there was a happy sensation running through my handle. I thought to myself, 'oh finally, some recognition and credit for all the hard work it takes brushing through her hair and not to mention the burns I have to endure. I could feel it in my bristles that Laura's and Eugene's comments was leading 'her' to say something nice like, 'Oh well it's all thanks to my brush, it does all the work for me.' But the shock of mt life, I was wrong and I mean dead wrong. 'She' replied to Laura's and Eugene's comment by saying; "Oh thanks guys. Actually I don't really do much in the morning to my hair. When I do though, I use this technique with my old brush to flip the ends, that's how it looks so great!" At that part my friends, the hairs on me stood up, I couldn't believe what i was hearing. I just couldn't get over the fact that she gave all the credit to herself for ho great her hair looks! It's all because of me and nothing else! This 'old brush' she refers to is the only one who makes sure her hair is untangled and is up to the job of flipping her hair. I am the one who has to put up with the burning, excruciating heat of the mean hair dryer. What did she mean when she said she doesn't really do anything in the morning to her hair? Every single morning she can be seen with a hair dryer and me in her hand. She spends at least 45 minutes on her hair and how great the results are is all due to me. How can she say something like that after all I've done for her to look amazing, well that's her hair at least, can't say I'd say the same for the rest of her. I'm so angry right now, I feel like just making her bald while going through her hair. I'm sure then she won't have anything to boast about!

Dear Diary, Wed, Feb 18,2009
How much is too much? I ask myself daily as I am forced to continue enduring more torture,pain,burns and emotional hurt. Right now I have a terrible cold and it's all because of a certain someone. Now she has this new thing of using me when she finishes washing her hair. Before she used to use, you know him... oh it even makes me angry to say his name, The Comb. Just last night I had no other choice than to brush through her wet, soaked tresses. I could feel the water penetrating and soaking deep beyond my bristles and into me. But, that wasn't even the worst part, this proves just how much she really hates me and the extent she would go to.
After doing my part of untangling her tresses, guess where she puts me in my soaking, wet condition? Get this, right on the ledge of the window which was frozen shut to the extent where icicles were beginning to form. As she laid me down on the ledge, she walked across her room to the mean hair dryer. As it loudly turned on, I was hoping with everything that was still intact in me that the hair dryer would try to sympathize with me by blowing some heat onto me. But being the big meanie he is, he conveniently came up with the excuse that he was malfunctioning and couldn't blow anything but cold air. I could tell from her face expression and body language that she was frustrated that the hair dryer was "malfunctioning" (yeah right) by not blowing out heat in order for her hair to dry properly and not feel cold and damp. Therefore, she had to use the hair dryer for a while longer in order to have her hair completely dried.
I never thought in my life-span that things would get worse for me, but in my case there is always room for 'worse'. As i laid on the ledge of the frozen window, as if I wasn't cold enough, I could feel the cold air across the room from the hair dryer she was still using. With coldness coming from both directions, eventually I was at the point where I could not feel anything inside of me. Not even the bristles that were deeply instilled in me, which by the way was always a constant pain. I was so cold I couldn't feel the soaring of the burns she caused me. When the hair dryer was shut off, I was a bit relieved, knowing that I would now only be faced with one direction of coldness; the window.
She took the lights off and quickly crawled into her bed. I, of course had no other choice than to endure an entire night, eight hours to be precise, of my sides touching against the frozen window and who could forget the approximate -20 degree draft. I couldn't sleep of course. I tried staring out the window but it was all frosted up.
When I was awoken in the morning by the sound of her getting out of bed, I could feel that the water droplets inside of me from last night, were completely frozen to my insides. The hollowness inside me was literally replaced overnight with ice. I know my time is quickly drawing to an end and there was nothing could do about it. I try looking on the bright side of when I pass. Maybe the Gods will see how much pain I've gone through and decide to reincarnate me into something where I'll lead a much happier and comfortable life, say a comb.

Dear Diary, Thurs, feb 19, 2009
I'm still sick. Today when she woke up, she reached for me. She was standing in front of the mirror, ready to use me once again. I was so angry at her, like I usually was. I decided not to untangle the knots in her hair. Too bad for her, if she can't treat me with at least some respect, then i refuse to do what she wants me to do. As she was staring into the mirror, examining her hair she realized it was in the same messy, tangled condition. In fact when I glanced over into the mirror, I noticed that her hair was at it's worse. Perhaps the heat wasn't only getting to me, it was perhaps burning out her hair as well which was why it probably looked so frizzy and dry. To herself, in a voice of frustration, she said;"Oh, this useless, old brush, I think it's time I got a new one." Hearing this I was glad. I would longer have to endure burns at my bristles from the hair dryer, nor would I have to be put through pain of untangling her hair. At the worse, I would just probably be put aside with the rest of the old brushes, or maybe be used for the Mother's soft, silky conditioned hair. Finally things were looking up for me. My bristles told me that good times were ahead.
When she came home after school, she marched into her room and laid next to me a 'Wal-Mart' bag onto her desk. Out of curiosity, I wondered what was in the bag. Was it what I thought it was?
After taking a quick shower and changing , she came into her room. She walked towards the desk I laid on. Just then I saw her hands reaching into the 'Wal Mart' bag that laid right next to me. At that point, my bristles raised higher, I was curious to know what she would pull out of the bag. Suddenly,her hand reached out of the bag. When I saw what was in her hand, I could feel the frozen bits in me beginning to melt. The burns to my bristles didn't seem to hurt anymore. I was feeling great just at the sight of the new silver beautiful brush that laid in her hand.
She took the tag off of the brush's handle. She laid the beautiful brush with shining bristles right next to me. I felt for some reason, small butterflies and a tingling sensation run through my damaged bristles and it felt good. The beautiful brush next to me introduced herself as Salon. We began conversing even more, I enjoyed it and I could tell she was as well. She inquired about my beat-up, not-so -good condition. I told her the entire story, leaving out no negative details of 'her'. I could tell that she was scared for her bristles also being burnt and damaged. With the rub of her handle onto mine, she tried comforting me and it worked.
I think I am falling in love with the beautiful Salon. Now that I won't be used and tortured by her, I wasn't going to let 'her' also put Salon through the burns, pain and torture of her hair and be faced with the heat of the mean hair dryer. Now, I figured that the rest of my short time was to go towards protecting the love of my life, the beautiful brush, Salon. By forgetting to live for myself, I will now remember to live for her.