Personal Identity: A Short Story

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"How do you do it?" the woman next to me asked, sounding both wishful and incredulous. We sat at a table in a conference room at a local hospital, waiting for the commencement of a monthly alopecia support group meeting. I blinked at her, unable to comprehend her question, and asked for clarification. "How do you just walk around bald all the time?" she elaborated, adding, "I would be absolutely terrified, if it were me." I was somewhat puzzled by her statement. I just do, I thought. At this point in my life, my hairless is so ingrained in my identity and my daily routines that I don't think much of it at all. To say that my relationship with myself has always been so smooth, however, would be a miserable understatement. I started losing …show more content…

On top of the massive changes experienced in the move to a new state, I was now experiencing a sort of culture shock to sixth grade. Suddenly it wasn't cool to be smart, passionate, or opinionated, the very things that had always defined me. I felt as though all the things that made me me weren't "cool" anymore, and it was like the floor had been ripped out from underneath my feet. At the same time, there was an added pressure to be pretty, and the word "pretty" became more important than any other. The "pretty" girls were short and sweet, with bubbly personalities and a neat, round handwriting style. Pretty girls had smooth, white skin. Pretty girls had long, straight hair. I wanted more than anything to be that girl, but I could never fit the bill: undeniably black and horribly tall with a bizarre sense of humor, fundamental aspects of my person made my wishes impossible regardless of how hard I tried. The dead-end results of my futile efforts murdered my self-esteem and left me feeling unsettled in my own skin. Conscious of my progressing hair loss and increasingly resigned to the fact that it might never grow back, my parents give in to my pleas for a wig. I was so excited then, but now I recognize that the wig was a double-edged sword in a way. On the one hand, it offered me the security of …show more content…

When the very last strands of hair were thrown away, I took stock of my new body in front of my bathroom mirror. I flexed my muscles and danced a little and realized, "I don't have to live like this anymore." So I didn't. I walked into school the following day without a wig, and I never looked back. Post-hair loss, I'm feeling more comfortable in my own skin than ever. Upon leaving middle school began to embrace the talents and interests I had suppressed in pursuit of normalcy. It hasn't been easy-- I still have bad days where I -- but I have come to realize that I have to okay with being "weird" if I want to be anything other than miserable with myself and my life. I am bald and I am black and I am six feet tall. These are qualities I will never be able to change, so I might as well love them. My focus now is on becoming a better person, teaching myself to unthink negative talk about myself and others, and ultimately becoming more open and more encouraging. As I sit in a conference room at a local hospital, surrounded by several middle-aged women who were in the same dark place I had been several years

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