Pride and Passive Prejudices

I am going through a little bit of a struggle these days, and working hard to be positive and cheerful. But one of the issues is confidence, and another is focus. When I look terrible I get a bad return-vibe from people; and under good circumstances people usually feed me with positive energy. And when I feel really sick I tend to wind down and want to do nothing; so my writing is negatively impacted.

But the crux of the coming dread is hair. As in, I've already started to loose mine again and will most likely be bald by the end of the month.



I'm not vain. I've never been beautiful, but can pull off cute. I actually like being scruffy, boyish, and average-gal most of the time. While we all fall victim to occasional bouts of "man I look like poop," I actually think most of my life I was very nearly immune to that syndrome. But I have to say... the first time I lost all my hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes I noticed how terribly the general public treats people who show signs of severe illness.

Ironically, I can't think of any medical condition that would require the kind of treatments with these results that is contagious or economically specific. Yet every time my hair has gone away I was treated as if I were poor, dirty, and contagious. Rationally I know this is a knee-jerk reaction based in fear: she has something that terrifies me on a visceral, primal level-- I must run from it. But the degree to which it really does change my mode of moving through the world is a little scary.

For instance, last baldy-round I was in a jewelry store with the money I'd been given for my birthday, wanting to purchase a bracelet I saw. I was in immaculately clean jeans, with a nice knit top, and a Red Sox cap covering what was obviously a very bald dome. After fifteen minutes of clearing my throat, standing ignored, and even being told to wait after vocalizing a request for help, I left. The only other customers in the store were a couple. There were three people behind the glass counters. I finally just left. I also noticed that cashiers who saw me on a regular basis around town became careful about touching me when returning change or receipts. Many stopped making eye-contact, though I think this is probably more based in pity than anything else. It's not easy to know somebody is sick but not want to offend them with questions or stares.

Still, the prejudice is always there and always baffling. And if anything, my normal, instinctual reaction-- which is to be determinedly cheerful and joking about the whole mess-- doesn't seem to work.

Anyway, I'm considering getting a tattoo on the back of my head just to have some decoration. And maybe I'll dress kind of tough and bikery. Like it's on purpose. Because frankly, if I'm going to scare you, I'd rather it be that kind of fear.

That's right-- I'm bald, I'm bad, and I'm brooding. You wanna make somethin' of it?

*crickets chirping*

Well... maybe not so much bad as... err... cranky? *sigh*