Dr. Google

Sometimes when I am bored, I google “Alopecia Areata Information.”  Just to see what comes up.  Although my smart computer has changed the colour of the webpages on the search list that I have previously visited, it is still amusing to try a new website once and a while.  Except that the most accurate websites are the ones I can’t understand.  I can read the intro paragraph, and a few sentences, but sooner or later I am lost.  The page has so much information on it, but it’s empty to me.  None of that info will help me.  It doesn’t make my day better knowing that the T cells in my skin are confused.  It only makes my mind more confused.  How does a cell become confused in the first place?  And why don’t any of the websites simplify the information?  It makes me feel dumb, not being able to explain my own condition.  As far as treatment goes, it’s less than satisfactory.  There is no “curative treatment available”.  Basically each alopecia areata victim becomes a science experiment.  Currently I am getting steroid needles in my head.  Shots in my head.  About thirty or forty needles a visit, every couple months.  It needs to be more frequent than that but that is all I can do right now.  They hurt.  The steroid shots I get in my head are supposed to get rid of the confused T cells, so that the hair can grow normally.  Except that the hair doesn’t really grow normally. And also, the hair might fall out if I ever stop doing the steroid injections. Oh, and one more thing.  I can’t do the injections for the rest of my life.  As an aside, I want to take a moment to talk about intuition.  When it comes to health, I believe in intuition a lot.  Sometimes its hard to technically know whats up, but usually you can feel it somehow.  In the fall I went to a health clinic when my hair was just starting to fall out.  The doctor wrote me a prescription for the medicine that is used in the steroid injections I am getting.  So I went out and got the medicine and returned a week later.  I showed him the medecine, and he proceeded to tell me that he did steroid injections for alopecia when he was in med school.  And by the looks of this guy, I think the textbooks have changed quite a bit since his med school days.  And so, trusting my intuition, I didn’t let him inject me.  But holy crap.  Just knowing that if I said yes, he probably would have done it, scares me so much.  We put so much trust in doctors.  I know they go through so much training, and learning, but still, I find it scary that I had to put up my guard.  And scary that he thought he had enough training to do it.  And maybe the shots would have been fine, I have no idea knowing how hard they are to do, or how much one needs to know in order to administer them.  All I know, is that whoever is going to be sticking needles in my head must have done it for more than just a few days back in med school.  Why?  Well you don’t need to go to med school to understand why.  Your noggin is important!  Ugh, I apologize for my conventional medicine bashing, just lately I have been a bit let down by the "system". Back to the hair growth.  While on an alopecia website scavenger hunt this morning, I found out that alopecia does not attack the little white hairs on your body.  This is confusing because, some of the hair that grows back on my head is white and fuzzy.  Whatever! So, the hair that’s growing back on my head is a mixture of peach fuzzy white hair and jet black, straight hair.  Okay it’s straight because it’s not long enough to be curly even if it wanted to be.  However, in good news, my hair sometimes flattens a bit to my head.  This means it is longer! How so? Well, because short buzz cuts don’t have enough length to flatten at all.  In bad news, my hair line is still non-existent.  Sounds like a weather report!  From the east we have small patches of white fuzz… haha :)

Feeling Like A Beauty Queen

Jimmy got an amazing bath today! I went with my mum and best friend to Continental Hair in Toronto, the birthplace of Jimmy.  Well not actually Jimmy’s birthplace.  Apparently Jimmy is from Europe. How exotic?  And also, the other day I saw a braid of hair from my friend’s older sister.  The braid was nine inches long, and was relatively thick, but I just knew that it wasn’t enough to make one wig.  A wig takes a lot of hair. So my whole perception of where Jimmy came from changed completely.  Now I wonder, how many women or men (would a guy donate his hair?) are part of Jimmy?  And what are they doing now? So while I waited for Jimmy to have his luxurious bath, I got to try on a whole bunch of wigs.  I tried on about ten of them! One was short, and straight, a cute little bob with straight across bangs… I looked like a cross between Cleopatra and Posh Spice (I guess Victoria Beckham, but really she is always going to be Posh in my mind).  The next one was longer, still straight and really red, which made me look like Anne of green gables.  Freakishly like Anne of Green Gables.  I always pictured myself as more the Diana type, but now, I don’t know!  Next came the soccer mom wig.  A medium brown, almost shoulder length cut with a mixture of caramel and blonde highlights, and sort of side swept bangs and layers, I felt like I needed to go get the keys to my minivan and drive junior to practice, and not forget to get the groceries!  Hair really is an identifier!  I don’t think "hair" can help it though.  But, while I was trying on those wigs, I couldn’t help but feel like I was embodying a bunch of different personalities from Posh Spice to soccer mom.  The most exciting wig was a really long, luscious dark brown in colour, with loose curls, and very high cut bangs.  It was so chic, cool, and elegant, I fell in love with it completely.  The cool part is that that very wig I tried on is going to be featured, FEATURED in Elle Magazine.  ELLE MAGAZINE!!! I tried on that wig!  How cool is that?  Okay, so in that moment when I was wearing the wig, and I found out that it just was in a photo shoot and is going to be part of the April issue of Elle, I felt over the moon.  I felt sincerely happy.  I had magazine-worthy hair on my head.  I felt indescribable.  Like, that somebody finally is trying to show people that wigs are different now.  They are beautiful, they look exactly like normal hair, they are easy to use, and they aren’t for weirdos.  And, more specifically, the article (I think from what I heard) is going to show pictures of models on the runway, and then show wigs that have the exact same hairstyles!  This proves that wigs are just as good.  And this thought is important to me.  Because, in my heart I don’t believe that they are just as good.  I don’t.  And the fact that somebody is putting something that I deal with everyday in the face of thousands of girls who read Elle Magazine, just makes me want to give the person who thought of this idea the biggest hug in the world! 

            Another big leap forward in happiness, and loveliness has to do with this very blog.  On the Continental Hair website, I am going to get a link for my blog! On a real website, a link! All those people who go to that website, looking for hair solutions, will not only find that option, but they will also see that there is some support out there.  Somebody who is writing about their experience so that maybe one little thing they write will help somebody out there.  I hope that people can learn to not be ashamed for their quirks.  I haven’t learned this lesson yet.  But I hope that one day, even if I have beautiful hair that grows back on my head, or even if I am bald, I hope that my inner beauty will find its way completely out, because nobody should ever feel that their happiness has to do with their hair, or anything physical like that.  I want one day, to embrace the weird looks I get, take them as compliments, and slowly through meeting one person at a time, educate people about inner and outer beauty, acceptance, body image, and all those hard topics that everybody to some degree struggles with.  Although I know there are very happy people out there, I am no mind reader and I don’t know their secrets.  So I try to write in order to find my secret.  Exciting? I think so.  My condition has no concrete answers, I could have hair growing everywhere by the end of this month.  I could lose my eyebrows next month, or start growing hair that never falls out again.  I could lose one eyebrow and not the other.  This is my biggest fear.  Odd fear I know, but really, alopecia has a tendency to not consider symmetry when the hair decides to fall out.  Just because your right eyebrow starts to thin, doesn’t mean the little hair guys on the left will get the memo to peace out.  At any rate, I cannot wait to purchase the April issue of Elle Magazine. 

A Bad Case of the Exercise Blues

I don’t know why but exercise seems to be on my mind lately.  Maybe it’s because Valentine’s Day just happened and I have consumed a greater amount of sugar than normal, so I feel the urge to work it off.  Anyhow, if I state what I am thinking plainly, it would go as follows.  Going to the gym sucks.  I also am a fan of point form right now, so here are the reasons why.

1.     Assumptions.  People assume I am sick.  At least that’s how I feel when I see their faces look at me.  I mean what do we associate bald heads with?  Well, for one, chemotherapy patients, men, and those body builder grotesquely muscle-y men, I don’t think I have ever seen one of them with a full head of hair.  Anyways, I hate the assumptions.  So much.

2.     Pity Looks.  That’s right.  Pity looks.  So normally, or at least, when I had hair, people didn’t immediately step out of my way if we were both walking towards the water fountain at the same time.  Or people didn’t immediately look to the floor when I walked by them. People have a hard time looking each other in the eye.  Especially when you’re different. 

3.     Seeing people who know me, but don’t know about my hair situation.  So I exercise bald, because it would be nasty for Jimmy to get sweaty, and it just preserves him.  So when I see people who I have met who don’t know about my hair situation it is probably one of the most awkward things in the world.  People don’t really assume that the hair on someone else’s head is not really attached to that person’s head.  People don’t usually give the benefit of the doubt for that type of thing.  Heck I don’t and I am bald! So when a situation like this arises there are a few ways to deal with it.  One.  If the person is far away in the gym, avoid them at all costs.  This is sometimes hard because you have to watching what they are doing, and plan what you are going to do in order to stay at a good distance from them. Unless they are just chilling on a cardio machine, then it’s quite feasible.  Two.  Go big or go home they say.  Approach them with a smile on your face, the smile is key or else they will think your hair flew off in the night, or just something horrible is wrong.  So, approach them with a smile and say hello! Quickly, and nonchalantly (also very important) mention that you have a hair condition so you wear a wig.  (I like the term hair condition.  It seems almost trendy in a way).  Also because nobody knows about alopecia, and I don’t always feel like spreading the word.  Then maintain the smile so the other person is at ease. 

This is the other thing that gets me.  Not only am I the victim but I am such a mediator for the rest of the people I encounter.  It’s hard.  I can’t blow up in everyone’s face about it because then that’s all they are going to associate me with.  So I have to play it cool, calm and collected.  Some days I am great at it, and it doesn’t get on my nerves, but some days, it’s just crap. 

Ya so I am feeling rather resigned from the whole situation that is living on my head right now. 

Food for thought… some people have really hair hands.  Who would of noticed? 

High Five For Jimmy!

Today I was thinking about all of the pros to having a wig.  Well, not just having a wig, but having a Jimmy in particular.  So here’s a list!

1.     Jimmy needs to be washed only once a month!

      And he goes through a little bit of a progression, after he has just been washed he looks great down for about four (ish) days.  Then, he goes into the half up half down with a cute clip stage.  This stage can last a very long time depending on how often Jimmy gets drenched by the everyday sunshine of Victoria…and by sunshine I mean rain!  Jimmy gets dry (as in feels dry) a lot quicker than normal hair because he doesn’t absorb the oils from my head, so I have some hair products for that as well.  But, I need to be careful of putting too much product in Jimmy because then it lingers there, and looks nasty.  To be specific, I have a spray bottle and I spray him till he is soaking about twice a week, and then he’s good to go!  He dries overnight while he sits on Lola (the Styrofoam head).  I have contemplated painting Lola, giving her a really nice face, but for some reason I just don’t do it.  I have taken a red sharpie to her lips and made them bright red! That at least makes her feel more like a lady!  Sometimes I make inappropriate remarks about Jimmy and Lola as if they are in a relationship..  It’s make believe, but giving both of them personalities and characters is way more interesting than thinking of them as a human hair wig and a Styrofoam head. 

2.     I don’t have to deal with bed head.   

      When you sleep bald, it’s slightly impossible to wake up with great bed head.  That being said, is it weird that I miss the feeling of waking up and laughing at myself in the mirror because my hair went crazy?  Probably.  It’s the little things I miss.  Like when I was at the gym the other day on the treadmill, there were two girls in front of me on the elliptical machines.  One of them had beautiful blonde hair.  Enough to donate.  That’s another thing.  Obviously I see hair in a very different light now, but also I really am very, very aware of other people’s hair.  And if I see someone with beautiful, long hair I cannot help but think how great it would be for them to donate it.  It would grow back.  And they have enough for two people.  It’s like people really don’t now how much their dead cells can improve someone else’s life! 

3.     My hair doesn’t get greasy.  And, would I take greasy hair for the rest of my life, or baldness?  Well I guess it would depend if I could wash the greasy hair.  Uh it’s a hard decision. 

4.     I can do my hair in 2 seconds.   

      Okay, so I really understand most guys, and why they don’t really understand girls and our hair.  It’s because, they literally just run a towel through their head a couple times, and they don’t think about their hair until they shower next and run that towel through their hair again. It’s that simple.  Now, what would the world be like if nobody had hair on their head? As if it never existed.  Would people focus on other hair, like eyebrows and eyelashes?  Would people still shave their legs?  Would anything really be different?  So many wonders I have in my mind.  They just linger for awhile, unless I really am determined to form an opinion on them.  I think so many thoughts in one day, some are really fleeting, others not so much.  And, also.. have you ever noticed how people often first describe someone with their hair colour?  Like if you say, oh I don’t know who that is...  How many times has someone said, oh she’s the girl with the curly blonde hair, or something along those lines.  All the time.  And I wonder, why has hair become such an indicator of personality, of our identity?

5.     If I do decide to dye Jimmy, he never will get roots.   

      This is actually such a plus!  Except that it isn’t good to dye hair too often, but still, I don’t have to worry about roots, which I know bug a lot of people.  I never really dyed my old hair that much.  Hah, my old hair.  It’s sad, I don’t remember that much about it.  Interesting though, how something that was a part of me for nineteen years can be partially forgotten already.  Back to those girls on the elliptical machines at the gym, so one of them had beautiful long blonde hair.  And she kept redoing her ponytail.  I miss being able to run my fingers through my hair, and feel the tugging from my head.  Feel that sensation of it being attached to my head.  Jimmy feels like a hat.  If someone were to careful place an object on the top of my head while I was wearing Jimmy, I would not be able to feel them do it at all.  And I can’t wear Jimmy up in a high bun or ponytail either.  I miss that.   I see girls with these cute high buns and I want to compliment them and tell them to enjoy those hairdos!  Random, I miss the hair that grows right above your ears.  I feel so self conscious whenever I tuck Jimmy behind my ears because I have no hair there, and I think it looks really weird! I know in all reality, nobody is zeroing in on what’s growing above my ears, but I can’t help but feel odd.  I also miss my ears in general.  Jimmy is curly and thick but often, since I have to wear him low, he covers my ears!  But I have these great sunflower earring that make a good statement, and remind me that I have ears when I need that reminder.  

What I Have Posted So Far!

Hello wonderful people! Just so you know,  I have posted all of the journal entries I have written since the beginning of October (the beginning of my hair loss journey).  And today I decided to make a blog about it all! So from here on in will be new experiences that I am excited to share, and write about!  Thank you for all of your support, and take care.

Jimmy (my wig)

Jimmy lost a few hairs today.  And I cried.  Am I an emotional rollercoaster?  I think yes!  Am I crazy?  I think maybe.  My brain knows that Jimmy can’t have alopecia.  But it freaks me right out when I see a falling hair.  It’s so weird.  To logically know something, but still be upset by something that can’t happen.  I can’t explain it but you get it. 

             I just went to the gym, had a shower and when I walked in my room I looked in the mirror.  When I saw my reflection I was drawn to my right eyebrow.  It looks like it is thinning.  I don’t know if I’m crazy, but to me it looks thinner than my left one.  And so I called my roommate Julia into my room to make sure I was not insane.  All she said was oh no! In a cheerfulish voice, and then I just kind of turned around and pretended to look like it didn’t bother me, and so she just went back to her room.  I’m sick of pretending.  I’m sick of being strong.  I just put on mascara, now it will probably run down my face.  Here it goes.  I have to go write an exam now.  I hope I can pull it together. 

            I did pull it together, and everything went fine.  Both exams, theory and Italian were easy breezy.  I haven’t really revealed the experience I had when I got my new hair.  I went to Continental Hair in Toronto, in the beginning of November, 2010 to get my new wig.  I walked into the store and was confronted with white stryofoam heads with wigs on them everywhere.  But they weren’t too overwhelming, just different.  I met a guy named Michael and his friend, whose name I forget.  His friend styled and cut my wig, and just helped me choose which one was going to work the best for me.  I got my wig cut, permed, died, and yea that’s it.  And I got a stryofoam head and loads of products to use on it (the hair, not the styrofoam!!).  When I was sitting in the chair getting my new wig I had a moment of calmness and this huge sense of relief.  Wigs have improved so much.  My wig is hardly very itchy, and is fairly lightweight it has yet to ever fall off my head, and every one loves it.  Best of all his name is Jimmy.  Anyhow he’s awesome, and totally worthwhile.  Although I get very sad, depressed, and mopey, I really do love him very much.  You know my totally 180 mood shift is because I’m sitting in the back room of my house with four people I love so much.  Chris, Spencer, Dad, Stella, my dog.  And my mum whom I love so much too, is in the kitchen baking.  I am so happy to be home for Christmas.

Alana

Oh Alana.  Talking with Alana because I need counseling. And she happens to be the classic therapist, not that I really know what the classic therapist is like. But she says the stereotypical comments like, “How does that make you feel?”  And so, it makes me giggle a bit.  Although she has no answers for me, she helps me because I can just vent to her.  Vent about my baldness!  Vent that I have this issue that makes me feel different from everyone, gives me unwanted attention while at the same time makes me feel more lonely than I have ever felt before in my life.  I have yet to write a journal about my wig yet.  His name is Jimmy.  I know, please laugh, it’s a reaction that I want from people.  I want people to laugh, to see the bright side, and not just think of him as a wig.  I hate the word wig.  Mostly because if you say it it just sounds ugly.  And no nineteen year old girl strives to be ugly.  Jimmy looks a lot like my old hair.  But he isn’t my old hair.  Jimmy curls a lot like my old hair, but those curls are Jimmy's, not my real hair.  And although Jimmy is real, he isn’t real in my mind.  Sometimes I wonder this question.. Am I harder to love now?  Am I harder to love and like because I have no hair?  Does that change me?  Why?  So now I have an automatic screening test to see if the guy I want to date is good enough.  I hate that.  Especially when people say, “You’re so lucky you have like a way to make sure the guys you date are good people!”  Okay sure, but it’s not lucky.  I might end up with a blind person at the rate this is all going.  Wow why am I so depressed! In more ironic news, I have started knitting and it is really therapeutic and relaxing for me.  But the ironic part is that I am knitting headbands for people for Christmas.  Headbands.. why?  Well because they don’t take long, and they are kind of trendy and cute.  I am so excited to go home for Christmas and surround myself with love from my family who matters the most to me.  I just hate that despite hair growing back on my head I still am upset.  I know the problem cannot be fixed over night but it still eats away at me every day.  This sounds a lot worse than it is.  I am really happy and doing okay, but I mean it is a constant struggle in a way.  When I was watching a movie with a guy the other day I laid down to rest my head, and then I realized I really should not lie down with Jimmy on.  And so I said to him, “ I just have to take my hair off.”  Okay, he knew about the situation with the hair loss before hand!  Anyways, he said “Oh ya okay!” And I got up to do it and I started to cry.  No girl should have to feel so vulnerable in front of somebody that you hope to impress.  No girl should feel the way that I felt right then.  Ashamed that I felt less beautiful, ashamed that I have to take Jimmy off when ever I want to just lie down.  And ashamed that all of it made me cry in front of someone who doesn’t know me very well.  I have to heal from within.  But a new perspective has started to dawn on me in the past couple of days.  With great suffering, comes great understanding.  Having endured hardships, you learn more about yourself, and other people.  The feelings of loss, shame, and grieving, are the feelings that bring out the most growth in a person.  This experience has changed me.  I will always remember it.  And through it all, I still got my A plus in music history.  The only thing that might hinder my A plus is if I suddenly went blind.  And if somebody up there is planning my fate, could you please leave me be for a little while?  The past couple years have not been my healthiest, that’s for sure.  Having battled the start of alopecia, swine flu, strep throat, mono and strep throat, and now a more intense version of alopecia, I think in 2011 I need a little change.  Well, maybe a foreshadowing was that I spent last New Years sick in my bed.  I am determined to be as healthy as possible for this New Years.  If I am sick, I will not be a happy camper.  While I journal, I can’t help but think of all the reactions readers might have to these entries.  All the things they might say.  The response I want is not a word, just a hug.  A hug to let me know that you know that I am hurting.  That you may not understand, but you care enough to show me.  Lately I have been naming a bunch of inanimate objects in my life.  Mostly, Jimmy and Lola (the head Jimmy sits on), and my new stuffed animal toys.  I named a few other things too.  Anyways, I wonder why I have started this?  I always have named things, like my laptop’s name is Carmen.  Gosh sometimes it is hard to know if one of your characteristics is part of a big issue you are dealing with or if it has always been there.  Surely names are harmless?  Sticks and stones rhyme? 

Angry Shauna

I have new hair, why don’t you go look in the mirror and fix your own.   Before you open your mouth and talk about my hair, go and look at yours, and picture it gone.  Then, picture somebody giving you a wig, and saying okay no go back to class.  How would you deal with it?  I don’t mean that in a snotty tone, an honest one.  Because I need help.  Therapist, therapist, therapist.  My deadline is tomorrow.  I need to call that therapist.  I have been saying this for two weeks now.  My computer keyboard and screen don’t talk back.  That is one thing I absolutely adore about them.  My fingers go on auto pilot and my mind goes numb and I type.  I type my inner most thoughts out to the world who will read this.  The world who will read this and learn that our society kind of sucks.  How we have become, and how hippocrytical we are.  People who pretend to understand when they don’t.  I wish more honesty was around sometimes.  I wish people were more blunt.  The wig is a band aid.  The wound is still there.  Bleach white, smooth.  There are some prickly hairs, but come on.  And when people say celebrate the small stuff, I know they are so right but how could they preach to me?  How could they think they have any right to preach that to me?  Sure, when you have a few prickly hairs coming out of your head, I will throw you a huge party with champagne and balloons and a big cake saying “Good for you, your prickles are awesome!” Like no.  Please re think things before you speak.  Especially, let me repeat, especially re think what you are saying to someone who is more hypersensitive because something life changing is going on.  Re think what you would say.  But at the same time, It’s like this lose lose battle because my emotions are crazy rollercoasters that cant be predicted.  I might take a compliment very well one day, and the next, end up crying in the bathroom stall asking my inevitable Why question.  Confession, I have only cried once in the bathroom stall.  Aren’t you proud of me?  I am proud.  Another confession, I ask the inevitable why question a lot.  But the thing is I have a few phony answers to it when other people ask.  Here they are:

1.     It’s autoimmune.  This one is great because not a lot of people know what it means, but people have too much pride usually to actually ask you.  They just sincerely (but really unsincerely) nod their head, and agree with you.  Entertaining.

2.     I don’t know.  This one is for when I am freaking tired of talking about it.  This usually results in an “At-a boy comment” where someone will say, but on the bright side, you have a lovely face, or some quickly thought out phrase.  So god forbid there is no awkward silence, which would be the most truthful response I think.

3.     It started happening before but now it’s acting up a lot.  This answer usually leads to another why question,so I have started to discontinue this answer. 

Okay on a side note, I have become a bit more angry in the past few journal entries.  I think I should sort out this anger somehow.  How? 

Uh-oh!

Nobody’s life is so obvious that it can be summed up by other people in a few sentences.  This past week has been a very timid acting week for me.  It’s in my mind always, what are people thinking of my hair, and preparing myself for the inevitable compliments, whether they are sincere or prying.  Yes there are different types of compliments.  Sincere ones, and ones that pry and think something is fishy.  For the prying compliments.. there are types for them too.  Some people pry out of ignorance, not realizing something traumatic is at stake, some pry out of curiousity, and being observing knowing that my hair obviously cant sprout luscious auburn curls overnight.  And me, being a very bad liar, usually have to tell these people a little tiny iceberg version of what is going on.  As if to just hit myself in the gut again and agin, telling people and telling them.. because they know something is wrong whaen you don’t tell them.  You get this awkward silence, the silence that you are supposed to say, “Yes I just got it dyed and cut!” but somehow the dishonesty cant find its way out.  Because I feel different, I can’t always believe it’s my hair.  This hair has been flown over an ocean. I haven’t even been over the ocean.  This hair has been through it’s own stories, and to call it mine seems unjust. As if I am not honouring the person who grew it.  It’s as if you adopt a baby and forget about thanking the people who made that child.  I don’t know. Then there are all these other factors. Like if somebody gets an organ donation, everyone gives them tons of love, and they don’t question them, it’s seen as such a medial thing. But with a “hair donation” it’s so aesthetic, that nobody notices that its medical, and so the annoying questions come.  

            And when they come, you are already so insecure and sensitive that you cant be your normal self and answer them well.  Instead you blow them off, redirect the conversation or tell the real story.  It’s as if I’m giving away so much of my personal life that there is none of it left for myself.  I am giving, giving, giving, and the nourishment I receive from other people don’t feed me properly.  Instead it only naws away at what I have left to give.  It’s difficult to analyze yourself.  It’s easy for an outside person to view the changes in you.  But since you are living and breathing these changes, they come as natural to you and sometimes you don’t feel as if they are harmful.  Like for instance, I know I need to seek professional help.  But the part in me that is all “I’m Shauna Yarnell, I do things best on my own, and I always get honours, I exercise, I eat well, I am nice to everybody” screams at me and say, “since I am this self sufficient individual why do I need to go unload myself on a therapist.  Therapists are for real problems”.  What part of me cannot justify this as a real problem?  What part of me cant deal with the fact that maybe, for once, my own self doesn’t have what it takes.  Maybe, I need that extra voice.  That extra sounding board. If not for me, then for my friends.  My friends, who sit through hours of me talking and talking, and them, probably feeling this emotion of torture because they have a strong love for me, yet their feelings don’t do anything for the issue.  If anything, this therapist would be so I no longer have to rant and rave to my loved ones.  But I also have this time management issue.  I suck at fitting this therapist into my day.  I keep putting off the call to that therapist office because that part in me says it is not important.  That part in me says that my theory assignments, singing practicing, essay writing, Italian homework, rehearsals, lessons, and classes are far more superior than my lack of hair and its emotional affect.  Well to that part of my self that believes that, I would like to say “GO AWAY!”  Why should I have any feeling that I don’t deserve peace of mind.  Why do I not eat properly anymore?  Why does food not taste good anymore?  Depression is why.  I feel like I am at the beginning stages of becoming a bit depressed.  And who wouldn’t.  But, I also am so angry with myself that I cant stop it.  That I cant press pause on my life, make the call, and then press play and continue on.  That I cannot make the two minutes for myself.  Why do I not matter to myself.  Back to the food issue.  I do not like food that much anymore.  And if I am reading this journal out to anyone who cares about me, I hope they aren’t worried.  I take that back.  They probably should be worried.  But then I go back to the therapist thing.  I burden my issues on so many people.  I only want one person to be messed up because of this issue and that person is me.  The fact that I tell the freaking world gets me nowhere.  Now only more people are upset, bothered, confused, maybe disgusted by this issue.  I wish I didn’t blab.  But I do.  I have to because I’m like a piece of dry ice in a half full bottle of water that it tightly sealed.  Sooner or later I will pop, and we don’t know the consequences of that pop.  If I am depressed, hopefully it is just for tonight. 

Grey

I feel a rant coming on.  On second thought, I am too tired to rant, or even talk about anything right now.  I was going to vacuum my room today, and de-hair everything, but it gives me too much room for self pity, I need to wait and do it on a day where I am happier.  It’s just like somebody saying please clean up this mess that you had no control over.  It’s shameful, embarrassing.  And frankly, I don’t even know if I want to wear a wig.  I want to shave my head. I am tired of watching my hair fall out.  Watching it thin, trying to cover it awkwardly, and seeing pictures of what it used to look like.  I’m tired of the constant changing, every day.  I’m tired of plucking black hair off of everything I own.  And of course I have to be blessed with the darkest of brown hair, so obviously noticeable on everything.  I am tired of finding hair balls on the bottom of my socks, and all over my bed.  I’m tired of feeling ashamed, of wearing hats for my runs, and enduring a heat wave inside of them because it’s not cold enough to wear them.  I’m tired of telling people nonchalantly of what’s going on with me.  I’m tired of only talking about the tip of the iceberg.  There is a whole other part that is underwater, and it stretches deep down, deep within me.  I’m tired of hearing people shrug off the problem, and say that it’s going to be okay.  So if it’s going to be okay, could you give me a date and time, because that would help me a lot thanks.  I’m tired of trying to maintain a positive outlook.  I’m tired of dealing with this stupidly, rare, “disease” that nobody even knows, or seems to care about.  I’m tired of crying, and I’m tired of hugs from people, of meaningless support, of people asking how I am, and of people saying that I’m beautiful because they don’t know anything else to say.  All I want is an answer. Something tangible to hold on to.  Someone who knows more about this than I do, to tell me something!  And I know that people mean well, but it hurts more sometimes.  Because nobody understands what is happening to me.  And because I can’t even explain it to anyone either. It’s like I can’t even talk about it. Because what is there to say? I’m so angry and it’s so suppressed.  I sob in my bed, probably every other night. I cry to myself, because I’m the only one who gets what I am going through, and because I really don’t want to hear encouraging words, and advice.  If I were editing all of these thoughts I would say I am bathing in self pity, and maybe that is true, but how could you not?  When you play this cool, calm, collected person all day, and inside you are burning like a fire, sobbing, screaming, or isolated.  I’m psycho.  I’m Shauna, the freak with crazy hair.  I’m not a freak, apparently I’m beautiful.  But how the hell am I supposed to feel it? I can’t feel it. It’s a huge secret.  I can’t show the world who I really am, because it’s not normal. What the hell is normal? I can’t walk outside without something on my head, because people would look at me weirdly.  What did I do to deserve this? What? I don’t know. I would rather it be black or white. Either all there, or all gone, none of this gray crap.  I hate the shade of grey right now, all it does is reminds me of ambiguity, of not knowing a solution.  What type of person holds a grudge on a colour? Like that is some weird stuff I tell you.  Oh yeah, the other thing. I probably can’t even shave my head because then nobody will know the progression of my hair.  So basically, I have to endure it falling out, everyday, with no control over it.  I’m surprised I haven’t developed some sort of eating disorder over this thing.  I seriously lack control over my hair, and I am a person who does what ever I can to be in control of situations.  So on a positive note, kudos to me for not becoming anorexic or bulimic.  Heck, if I did do that all my hair would probably fall out in a day.  Maybe that’s a good thing?  The sane part of my mind can’t believe I just wrote that having an eating disorder for a day would be a good thing.  Wow, what turmoil.  And I’m supposed to be going to sleep soon.  Peacefully.  Well, that probably won’t happen. 

Bed Head!

In a weird twisted, definitely way too positive way, hair loss can look super cute.  It’s like I have this perma-bed head thing going on.  It’s super adorable sometimes.  Tomorrow is my first performance for lots of people with my lack of hair.  No worries, I have my gypsy turban to wear, but still, I’m a little bit nervous about everything.  Feeling in control is really important to me.  I think it’s important to everyone.  When I listen to myself sing though, the quality of the sound I produce is not as good, as when I let go more, and just trust that it’s going to be there.  Learning to trust is my new goal.  I’m learning to trust with so many things in my life right now.  First, I’m learning to trust that my hair will be okay, whether it is there on my head or not, it won’t ruin my day.  I’m learning to trust that my voice is inside of me, and I don’t need to force it out.  I’m learning to trust my body, in the fact that I don’t need to run to complete exhaustion to get a good workout, and I don’t need to keep tabs on when I work out, nor feel guilty when I decide not to work out when I had planned to.    Gosh I don’t need to be so hard on myself!  It’s like a mental struggle in my brain sometimes, the should do, and the want to do.. However, it’s “achieving balance”.  Whatever that means.  I could probably write a beautiful sentence of what it means, and how one should go about doing it, but it’s like a puzzle piece, and whose to say that it’s going to fit perfectly in my puzzle?  And, if I were to rearrange my pieces so that it did fit into my puzzle perfectly, would that obscure my picture?  Would it make things better actually? And I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not the only person out there who has not achieved this so called balance that everyone talks about.  And yet, people preach about it to me like it’s their day job!  And I’m so tempted some times to tell them to get off their high horse and tell me some of their problems, because I know they have some.  And maybe they should consider my feelings before they start harping on finding this balance, when they are nowhere near it themselves.  Gosh, it is frustrating sometimes, when people, and myself, can’t even follow their own advice properly.  But I don’t know it’s a fine line, because people will do what they want to do, and it takes all kinds to make the world go round.

Snowballing

Snowball effect has taken place! The true core emotions have been compacted into the centre of my being, and I have built multiple layers of protective snow around them, so that now I rarely cry.  I will laugh way more than cry.  So much healthier, but is it?  Hiding feelings isn’t healthy, but is it possible to simply run out of energy to occupy a certain emotion?  To just grow tired of how you really feel, and take an easier route, even though it’s kind of false?   These are things I wonder about. Today was a baby book moment.  I went to the gym! I faced the walls of mirrors, and all of the big intimidating guys with my patchy hair hidden underneath a baseball hat.  I bought the hat today and clearly was not thinking of sweat when I chose the beige one off the rack!  At least I put the green one back!  Needless to say, I sweat through my hat, well my hair is pretty bad at absorbing anything lately, so I guess the sweat had to go somewhere.  I ran hard on the treadmill for exactly 25 minutes.  25 minutes is like my medium workout.  If I’m feeling rather athletic and in the need of a challenge I will do 30 or 35, and if I’m kind of lazy, in pain, or just feeling like a blob, I do 20.  So at least I put up a decent fight on the treadmill!  Entranced in a daydream this morning I dreamt of a million dollar idea.  An idea that maybe I will pursue one day if my singing falls through.  Except, my singing will never fall through, because honestly, it’s probably the one thing that has kept me sane throughout all of this.   People hopefully will look beyond my hair loss and see a bigger picture, and see that my voice can make a difference.  Whenever I am sad, I research my songs, I practise, I research summer programs, I dream about the Met, I don’t know, but it always involves singing in some way.  Singing is so freaking complicated, but yet incredibly simple.  It’s the mastering of being like a duck.  I know sounds crazy but, hear me out! Ducks are seamless on the surface of a still pond.  They swim around, and they look like they are barely moving anything, yet they swim around so gracefully.  But have you ever seen a duck’s feet while they swim?  They are pumping away, working very hard.  This is the essence of singing.  It seems so easy from an observer and a listener’s perspective, but really, we are like the duck, working really hard to keep momentum and support!  And people who are new at this, like me, sometimes are crappy at making it look like it’s easy and seamless.  My quack is too loud, and I need to learn how to pull it back so that I can consistently quack for four hours straight for nights and nights in a row.  Don’t worry, this will happen one day.  Maybe I will be quacking all over the world.  Quack!  Back to my million dollar idea.  My new motto is, “if you’re going to lose your hair, do it with flair!” And my new company is called Flair Headwear.  Flair Headwear will sell all of the cutest wigs, hair pieces, head scarves, funky head bands, and everything a woman needs to go through hair loss fashionably! I know there may not be a ton of business for this type of company, but maybe there is?!  Who knows, until you try!  Another idea, I know it is stepping on religious and racial boundaries but, I kind of understand why Muslim women sometimes wear hijabs.  Hair really has too much say in how we look! Grr, it angers me because, I now, having experienced a lack of hair, force myself to see the beauty from within, which so many people don’t have to do because they look okay, or normal, every day. 

Where does it all go?

Sarcasm usually doesn’t bother me, in fact I am incredibly sarcastic usually. Today, I couldn’t handle it though.  People’s jokes felt like personal attacks.  People’s little comments hurt me deeply for no reason.  They don’t mean them that way, but that’s how I received them.  And the damage is done.  Nobody can love you like your mum can.  At least my mum.  I would give anything for a hug from her, or from my dad, or my brothers.  Heck, just to pat my dog.  In fact, I don’t always know what possessed me one morning in calculus class to really consider this university.  Exoticism I think.  I always want to be doing something different than other people.  I always want to be different from other people.  I want to be remembered somehow.  I just want to be safe.  Nobody can really comfort me completely here.  I’m afraid to break down.  I’m afraid once I do, I won’t be able to stand up again.  I don’t want to burden another person with my issue.  Nor do I want to have the time when I see them after I have my big crying session.  The message from that person’s eyes, pierces my heart, reminds me that I broke.  I never want to break.  Perfectionist freak, I know.  In more humourous news, today I yelled at a piece of hair that I watched fall to the carpet.  “Life is way better on my head than on the floor!”  Maybe I’m going crazy.  I don’t think so.  Not yet anyways.  Tomorrow is one of my Victoria besties’ birthdays.  I’m so happy, we’re going to eat carrot cake for breakfast. and I am debating whether to go buy a blank CD and burn my CD on to it for her.  Maybe I will.  Hopefully my mom’s voodoo hair growing potion comes soon, and also my gypsy turban.  I probably won’t use the hair potion though, I don’t trust that type of medicine. But with the turban,  I can really embody a weirdo personality.  Does anyone else find it weird that I had a full head of hair in the summer, but now I have like legitimately none?  I won’t say none, because in a week I’ll probably kill for the amount of hair I have on my head today.  The thing about losing your hair, is you don’t really lose it.  It just displaces itself.  Instead of finding it mostly on your head, you look in your bed, the floor, the sink, all of your clothes, and you see multiple friendly reminders of your rare, awkward, and embarrassing situation.  I went running this morning, and I ran really fast.  I felt like maybe, I could run faster than my hair was falling out.  That maybe the faster I went, I would beat time and reverse the process. 

Really?

Alopecia.   It sounds like a tropical fruit.  Maybe distantly related to papayas, and growing on flowering trees in Madagascar.  Or perhaps, a fine piece of fabric, made from whatever good fabric is made of.  Anyways, either way it sounds far off, distant and exotic.  This in a way is true. Alopecia, from what I know if it, is a rare “autoimmune” disorder where some little cell who seems to be the boss gives the green light to a bunch of cells to attack the innocent hair follicles, causing hair to fall out and little bald patches to appear. Meanwhile the hair follicles had no idea this attack was going to happen, and they are unarmed, no weapons in sight.. Except traces of rosemary. But really, is a little rosemary plant going to win the battle? No, I didn’t think so either.  Sorry to be pessimistic, but come on. Where did the rosemary come from? Just a shampoo I bought. It’s from a hippie store in Chinatown. The bottle says lavender rosemary shampoo, and it says it promotes hair growth.   I found it beside the 100 % natural spearmint toothpaste.  Needless to say rosemary is not any match compared to the force of the cells who are under the leadership of a boss cell.  Scientists are cringing at how unread I am.  But some part of me cannot be bothered to get the terminology right.  Because really, if I know what types of cells are what, is that going to magically make my hair grow? That piece of knowledge? Probably not.  I really wish it did.  In fact every time I’m in the shower I leave the shampoo on for an extraneous amount of time, hoping that maybe this time, something will happen.  But still, I’m left with the massive, disgusting black glob that needs to be cleaned out from the drain.  The glob is gross, I’m sure you non-alopecians have experienced the nastiness of a hair glob.  I understand now why cats make such a horrible sound when they are hacking one out.  Then there is the emotional baggage.  So much of it too! That nasty black glob brings out the worst in me.  I get very angry at the world, very quickly.  But seriously, what nineteen year old girl willingly signs up to have her hair fall out unexpectedly?  Let me think, no one. And if someone did, I would have to introduce myself to them, and talk them out of their decision.  To be really not positive, I just have to say, hair is more than hair.  Hair is more than what it looks like.  It’s unique to everyone.  And especially for girls. We claim we don’t always care what we look like, but we do.  It’s our nature.   Thank god I have boobs, something to indicate I’m a woman! And if there is a dude on a cloud up there conducting all this, it would not be funny to have my boobs fall off!  Needless to say, hair is an extention of personality, blah, blah blah.  And wigs. Wigs are probably amazing, in fact I might need one some day.  But I can’t help but picture the gross earwig that I saw in the washroom this morning, and I didn’t kill him.  Usually I can’t leave the room before killing a bug I have spotted, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, I left him there.  I arbitrarily decided it was a boy. He’s just chilling in the washroom, but now when I think of wigs, I think of him. And that doesn’t correlate to lots of self confidence, and beauty.

On the upside, I am an artsy kid, so people don’t even consider it weird that I spend every day wearing a hat of some sort.  Most people compliment me on them! Today I wore an adorable pink hat, with a little flower on it.  The hats are cute, and fun to wear, and they hide a lot.  I have to thank my bestie for the idea to go cute hat shopping.  There is a store in Victoria called “Roberta’s Hats”.  This store is filled with fancy women who work there, who all wear these abstract hats that are totally savvy, and look like something out of vogue magazine.  I chose the most simple hats from that store, because I can’t afford to rework my entire wardrobe for the sake of some far out lids.  But if you ever are in need of a funky hat, I check this place out.  After walking out of that store, with a too heavy back pack hanging from my shoulders, I trudged off to the Running Room to pick up my registration package for the Run for the Cure which was happening the next day.  The run was fabulous, except I felt my obvious bald spots made me look like a survivor, or a chemo patient, or something, because I did get some stares that did not linger on my eyes.  I’m fortunate not to own an electric razor, because in moments of anger, I do get rather impulsive.  And the results would probably be very upsetting.  In fact I would probably be bald.  I’m so scatter brained recently.