it’s real

There are piles of hair on various surfaces in my apartment. In my bed. On my bathroom counter. In the sink. On the floor. On the couch and desk chair. On my clothes. Literally all. over. me. Each pile feels like a loss of my life. The life I know and love so very much. It feels utterly ridiculous that this feels like such a giant loss. But it is.

I wake up with a jolt throughout the night from the nightmare that I’ll wake up and it’s just all gone. Like a thief in the night stole my hair and everything I believe I am to be. And how fucking vain that is? It’s like I don’t know who I am without hair. But, I’ve realized, that’s not it. This isn’t just hair, or the lack of it. It symbolizes everything I’m losing. Every fucking strand is a symbol of the life I thought I was rebuilding on my own again just gone the instant I was diagnosed. I am angry. I am so damn sad. I have cried more these days since my hair started shedding than I have in the last three weeks combined.

I’ve searched the internet for stories of what it was like with others when they lost their hair. And really I can’t find anything that is real. It’s a lot of “it sucks, it’s awful, but it grows back.” The reality is it comes out strand by strand. Not in clumps but it starts to add up to clumps. It appears as if this hair was never even attached to my head. The little strands just hold on to the hair that is still attached until I instinctively scratch a small itch or try to fix my hair during a zoom call and then suddenly I have a handful of hair.

When I wake up in the morning my pillow is covered. I haven’t washed my hair since Friday out of fear it will just all come out. I brush it once a day max and that leaves a fairly large pile.

I want MY hair. I know it grows back but I don’t want that hair. I don’t want thicker or curly hair. I want my hair that I fucking love so damn much. Just like I don’t want fake boobs. I want MY boobs. I want MY life as I know it. I don’t want to be a different person, or even stronger and more resilient. I want my easy and fun life back. And yea, hopefully in a year I’ll have it. A year really isn’t that long. But as my hair falls out, it feels like an eternity.

I’m taking control and buzzing it tomorrow. Although, it feels a little too late now as this entire week has been so heavy. But, I’m more than ready to just let it fucking go.

This is it. This is real. This isn’t some cruel joke. There’s no more pretending I’m normal. I have cancer. And you’re about to be able to see that with one glance.