Feeling Ugly

Every day I am losing more hair.

At least I am getting used to it,
and am not crying the way I was
at first.

I guess I have become resigned.
Even if it doesn't all fall out, it
is beyond all hope at this point.

I realized that it was a vanity
thing, this losing my hair.  Even
though others have tried to tell
me it is not.

But what I didn't realize is how
much it would tap into the
insecurities of my younger self.

I was never the "popular" kid.
I didn't have a boyfriend as a
teenager.  I had a complex about
my weight.  My weight actually
probably wasn't "that" bad, but
my grandmother made some
comment when I was a kid
about shopping in the "chubby
department," that I never forgot.

Looking back at a picture of my
12 year old self, I would say I
was just fine.

Given that I wasn't popular, and
didn't ever have a boyfriend, I
figured it was because I was
likely fat and unattractive.  That
had to be the reason...right?

Of course, hindsight makes us
a bit wiser, and I see things
differently now, at least logically.
But the scars of the past still
remain.

I know I am not ugly.  Ironically,
though, some in recent years
have called me stunning, and
other words that are a disconnect
from that part of me that has
thought otherwise.  I get it.
And yet, I don't.

I suppose this is an opportunity
for me to truly get something
about my appearance.  Even
if it doesn't help me finally face
and heal the wounds of the past,
I suspect it will have me look
at what is "beautiful."  It is
forcing me to look at things
that I haven't yet taken the
opportunity to do without some
impetuous.

Of course, it sucks.  I obviously
wasn't ready to go there on my
own.  But now I don't have a
choice.

Some women, I understand,
cut and shave before nature
takes its course.  It wasn't how
I was going to do it.  Somehow
the hair loss happening more
slowly is helping me to
acclimate to the change.  The
front isn't as obvious as
everywhere else, and when
it is put up, I can almost pretend
like everything is just as it was.

I miss my hair, though.  I miss
seeing it cascade down my
shoulders.  I keep telling myself
it will come back better than
before.  I try to tell myself that
wigs can be interesting, and
maybe even more fun and
versatile than my own hair.

I played with a scarf last night,
but I don't think I will be doing
much with that.  To me a scarf
on my head says "cancer."  I 
think I want to have things as 
seemingly normal as possible, 
and wigs will bring  me the closest 
to that version of reality.

I imagine everyone does their
experience differently.  Right
now, as strange as it may sound,
I have a baggie with the hair that
I have lost so far.  I have no idea
what I will do with it, but somehow
it is helping me cope with the
change.

This blog is called "a new me,"
and I guess I wasn't kidding.
I wonder how much more I am
going to find myself facing. As
much as I know it probably
doesn't help, I am nervous.

I think I am a lot more nervous
than I am even letting on to myself.
In the last few days I have felt
very restless and anxious and
unsettled.  I haven't slept well.

So much on my mind.

So little on my head.