I miss my long hair. I really do. I find myself being very self-conscious about my short hair. It’s in a similar style that Winona Ryder had at one point only she has a prettier face than I do, so she carried it off better. I’ve never really had a desire for short hair. Trendy styles were never my thing; my hair was always straight, maybe a little layered and at my collar bone or longer. The one time I had short hair before this, was when I decided to cut my hair to my shoulders. Only somehow from “shoulder” the hairdresser heard “chin” and I walked out hysterical crying and vowing never to get a “trim” there again. Now I’m overly cautious and descriptive with my hairdressers. I was a ponytail queen; I have a drawer full of unused holders and clips and hundreds of dollars worth of haircare products. Don’t believe me? Currently in my bathroom I have the following: MOP Pomade and Molding Crème; Garnier Fructis Putty; Got 2 Be Glossing Crème; Mastey shampoo; Philosophy Remember 3-In-1; Sebestation Potion #9; Dove Foaming Conditioner; Thermasilk Conditioner; Herbal Essences Shampoo; Frederick Fekkai Shea Butter Treatment and Tocca Crema. Okay, maybe not hundreds of dollars worth (I do tend to exaggerate) but certainly more than someone of my shorn locks needs.

But why the obsession with my hair today? I asked a close friend of mine what he thought of my short hair. He responded that he doesn’t think any woman looks good with short hair. My heart plummeted and tears welled up behind my eyes. He wasn’t saying it to be hurtful; I truly don’t think he even thought about what he said. It was one of those immediate response things, that’s his opinion and that would be his answer at any given time. But as soon as he said it, I found myself reaching for my hat and putting it on my head. I hide behind my hat, I know I do. I hate how exposed I am with short hair. I like my hat as some kind of shield; similar to probably how I felt about my longer hair. I was constantly playing with it, pulling it up and down. If I’m nervous or upset I find myself mimicking those same motions. I’m always disappointed when I run my hair down the back of my head and it ends at the base of my neck.

I read in a magazine that a survivor had said, “Any day with hair is a good hair day.” I wish I felt that way. I wish that I could just put it behind me and accept that someday it’ll be back and I’ll be able to use all those potions and products lining my bathroom shelves. But the problem is that I sometimes feel like a stranger to myself. I look in the mirror and feel just so lost. “Who is this girl?” I ask. My short hair makes me look so much older; but sometimes I feel like this whole experience has also taken the youth out of my eyes. I can see it. I can see it in pictures (which I almost refuse to take across the board these days). I look at these pictures, where I’m smiling and laughing and think, “I would give anything to be back in that moment.” When I was in the hospital, I made my mother bring in pictures of me from my friend’s wedding. When I was being brought to the ICU, and I wasn’t entirely lucid, I was begging the nurses to look at the photos, so they could see that I didn’t really look like this. I wish I was a better person. I wish it didn’t matter to me. I really do. I just can’t make it go away. I can’t turn it off. I can’t help that sometimes I collapse into tears and as much as I want to believe that the heaviness in my chest will go away, at that moment it feels like all I can do is hide behind my hat and try to face the world underneath the rim.