I will write something here today that I have never written before. I'm pathetically and miserably conscious about my hormonal hairfall. Not that I haven't dealt with it before. It's been following me since my teenage years. The time I began menstruating. The hormonal imbalance I have had since also explains my "stable" mind. It has worsened over the years. It has always been so emotionally scarring when someone looked at my scalp with a look that said, "Oh, is she balding already? Isn't it too soon for someone her age?" Or when they say it out loud. Or when they tease you in good humour. You then bury your confidence in an unretrievable, dark place.
My hand have gone cold even as I'm writing this, because it has always been difficult for me to even think about it, let alone write. Sometimes I look at people who have extremely thin hair and wonder what it would be like to be them. At least my situation isn't that bad. Why am I so conscious that even if someone as little as looks in the direction of my hair, I feel like hiding my face somewhere.
I remember once I had asked my brother to draw my sketch. And I had not liked it. Not that he didn't draw a good sketch; that he did quite well. He drew me as I was. But what I saw was—my ugly self, with bad hair, jowls due to excess face fat, unshapely eyebrows, small, bespectacled eyes, and my shapeless, lumpy body plopped on a sofa. There was no problem with the sketch; the problem was the way I saw myself. I realised over the years, I never truly felt beautiful—internally and externally; even when I dressed up. Never trusted compliments, even sincere ones.
It's so disconcerting to see a bunch of hair falling from your head once you comb, or your shiny and visible balding scalp if you stand under a bright light, or how it affects you so easily when someone even mentions hairfall or balding or even does harmless teasing. I never let my hair loose in public during my teenage years. I still don't. Never experimented with them because I was always so horribly conscious.
Not that I have never had thick hair before. I had really thick and nice curly hair until I got my period.
Whenever I see myself in the mirror, I am either scared or feel disgusted. Whenever I see myself in pictures, the first thing my eyes see is my hair, and if the angle is bad, it breaks my heart a little every time. I obviously don't speak about it to anyone. Keep it to myself. I wish I could simply not give a fuck about it. I wish I wouldn't be so shit bothered about it all the time—when air brushes against my hair in an autoride, or when I stand under bright lights, or to consciously not leave my hair open in public, or to keep checking my scalp and correcting it every time I am in my office loo, or not wearing helmets or caps or bandanas because I may have to remove them and that would make my hair damp and flat, or getting my hair wet in the rain to avoid from my scalp being visible.
It's been years now, and I'm so tired of carrying this feeling with me all the time. I really want to free myself from this emotional burden. Some day, maybe I will. Some day, hopefully, I will stop giving two fucks about this.
I don't know why I'm doing this, writing all these thoughts here. Maybe because I want to avoid therapy and bare my ugly soul to a stranger who may or may not judge me or understand me the way I want them to. But here it is. I wrote something here today that I have never written before. And trust me when I say this—I'm shaking right now.
No comments:
Post a Comment