hair-loss

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These photos are from about 3 weeks ago.

I kept thinking things like “I’ll wait ‘till the New Year to post them” or “I’ll make a video with these photos instead,” but all these thoughts were just deterring me from posting them.  

I like to post photos of myself without a wig on my blog at least once a year or so.  It’s important to me to make myself visible to others with alopecia that might feel alone, and also important in helping me remember I don’t have to hide it or treat it like a secret.  (It’s a little scarier with my rebooted blog because this is a more public blog, and I know that more people I actually know may see it, not just online strangers!)

I don’t ever go out without a wig on, and there are only a handful of people that I feel comfortable to take my wig off in front of.  But my goal is to get past that.  I miss the carefree feeling of being able to take off my wig to go swimming without thinking about how others might be viewing me.  I’m not proud that I’m so afraid to take off my wig to go swimming, even with only my closest friends around.  

Having alopecia doesn’t define me.  I used to be afraid that opening up about alopecia would cause people to see me as “the girl with alopecia” or “that girl that wears wigs,” but now I know that I am so much more than my appearance.  I’m so proud of how far I’ve come in speaking about alopecia, but now it’s time to take the final leap forward– starting to build my confidence without the protection of a wig.

Don’t get me wrong, I love wigs, changing up my wigs, playing with different hairstyles, and I’m so proud that I can finally change wigs regularly without putting myself on the brink of an anxiety attack when people ask me questions about it.  Sure, some of that anxiety still comes back now and then, but it’s not debilitating anymore, and it gets easier each time I face it.  But sometimes I fear that I use the wig as a crutch.  I’m stronger than that.  It’ll take time, but I’m constantly working towards improving my confidence, bit by bit.  How do I expect to encourage others to be alopecia-body-positive if I’m not even 100% there myself?  If I want to have any chance of inspiring others with alopecia to love themselves, I gotta start with myself.

(..I keep getting nervous to post this, thinking, “what if no one even likes it” but then I’m like yo who cares this is something I gotta do for me, the point is not to care how others react, isn’t it? ^-^)

It is not your fault

It is not your fault you have eczema.

Do not apologize for leaving a trail of dead skin. It is not your fault your skin is dry.

Do not apologize for scratching. It is not your fault your skin is itchy.

Do not apologize for leaving blood stains on clothes/bedding. It is not your fault your skin is fragile.

Do not apologize for leaving loose strands of hair everywhere. It is not your fault you are losing hair.

Remember, it is not your fault you are going through this!

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12 Popular Beauty Trends You Didn’t Know Are Dangerous

Top knots: It’s not a myth that tightly pulling your hair back every day will make you start to lose your hair or make your hairline go back. So, it should come as no surprise that a recent study found that the popularity of top knots are contributing to a rise in traction alopecia, a fancy name for hair loss. Well, a fancy name for a specific kind of hair loss that is caused by constant tugging at the roots for hours at a time.

So will the bun you do once a week make you lose your hair? No, but if you put your hair up in a tight bun every day, then yeah, it might. The trick to pulling you hair back is to leave it as loose as you can. Hair loss happens when the hair is pulled back super tight. So, if you sleep with your hair up every night, try making it more loose - or try leaving it down sometimes.

BAD EYEBROWS


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These little sayings have been going around for a while now- hating on people’s eyebrows seems to be the new thing to do. I see them a lot on twitter, often tweeted from popular, “funny” accounts.
Bullshit.

I get that it’s meant to be funny, but it really shows blatant disrespect to those who have no control over their situation. There are many medical and psychological reasons behind hair loss, and people who suffer from these are already struggling to come to terms with their hair loss.

Personally, I have a disorder called trichotillomania that causes me to compulsively pull out my hair. At times I have gone with very sparse eyebrows. I’ve drawn them on, plucked them thin, covered them up with hats. And I’ve seen a whole community of people who go through the same thing. To us, these cute little sayings are like slaps in the face.

Here’s the kicker: even if none of these diseases or disorders existed, you still shouldn’t give a damn about somebody else’s eyebrows. Their hair, their body, their decision. People who have thick eyebrows are awesome. People who have thin eyebrows are awesome. People who have unibrows are awesome. People who shave their eyebrows are awesome. People who tattoo their eyebrows are awesome. Who are we to judge people -even humorously- by the state of their eyebrows?

Cut the fuckery. What’s inside your heart is much more important than what your eyebrows look like.

Stereotypical

‘Shit, it’s happened again!’ I cursed under my breath as the jogging pants I’d been wearing as I ran laps suddenly morphed into revealing running shorts and my t-shirt vanished into thin air.

Examining my exposed torso nervously for changes, I nearly freaked when I saw a huge expanse of inked skin where the tattoo of an eagle soared majestically across my serratus and abs.  The tattoo looked as though it’d been there for a few years but like the abdominals it covered, it was really brand new, yet another effect of Justin’s fucked up fag-magic.

When me and my bros mocked him and his blimp of an emo fag hag at the mall last week, I’d had no idea they were into that fucking voodoo-bruja shit but when my board shorts transformed into a faggy white speedo at the beach the next day and my usual gym gear of ball shorts and tee turned into shiny spandex tights, a stringer tank and backwards ball cap that evening in the middle of my workout, I knew some weird shit was up.  The really fucked up thing was that I couldn’t seem to take the clothes off or break out of my routine until I’d finished what I was doing which meant I spent the whole day at the beach being called a fag and got hit on by roided out gym bunnies all through my workout at the gym that night.

I began to join the dots the next morning when I saw one of my buds, Brody on his way to class dressed up like some Ivy League grad student in chinos, button down shirt, tie and blazer.  His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment but like me the previous day it looked like he was forced to continue his day as usual while everyone else seemed oblivious to the changes.

It was three days later when I noticed the first physical changes.  I was at the mall picking up some new threads when my jeans, tee and sneakers transformed into the kind of fruity outfit that would make even the most hardcore gym bunnies blush with shame.  

Catching my reflection in one of the store’s mirrors as the transformation completed, I’d been horrified to see that I was now dressed in revealing lime green spandex compression shorts, a blue stringer tank, fluorescent yellow running shoes, red fanny pack and a white and yellow trucker ball cap.  What freaked me out most though was that I’d hulked out with muscle.  Dressed up in that faggy workout gear, I looked like one those douchy meatheads that can only hold a conversation if it’s about macros, lifting or fucking but I reluctantly had to admit the muscle was pretty cool even if the threads weren’t.

The next morning Brody turned up at class in a three piece suit and tie with one of those preppy side-parting haircuts.  The combination made him look older and when I asked him about it in private after class he told me anxiously that according to his driver’s license, he’d aged fifteen years and was to all intents and purposes thirty-five.  Worse still, he told me blushingly, his voice sinking to a whisper, his cock had shrunk two inches and he’d discovered he could only get off by sticking one of his ex’s dildos up his ass.

Eventually we and a few of the other guys worked out who was behind the changes but for some reason, none of us seemed to be able to get near enough Justin and his fag hag to confront them about it.  As my entire wardrobe was gradually replaced by revealing workout clothes in hot, bright colors and synthetic fabrics, I realised, I was beginning to accept and even enjoy exposing my new physique to the world and found myself spending more and more time jerking off in front of the mirror in my room or skipping classes to hit the gym and work on my bod.

As I thought back on the past week and my gradual transformation into a narcissistic gym bunny, I spared a thought for poor Brody, or Broderick as he now preferred to be called, who’d yesterday sprouted a thick grey mustache that worked surprisingly well with his newly receding hairline.  With the tweedy suits he was now wearing day to day, he looked more like one of the professors than a college student and who knew, by this time next week, he might actually become one.

I continued pounding out the laps, conscious that I wouldn’t be able to get out of these shorts until I’d done at least fifty circuits of the track and consoled myself with the thought of a slow jerk off in front of my reflection in the locker room mirror afterwards.  At least I still have that…  Brody’s dick’s so small now he’s had to start bottoming for dudes into old men that he finds on Grindr.  Poor fucker!

youtube

I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to talk about this situation on my channel. Or give the amount of details I did regrading everything I’ve been thru dealing with UC/CD. But I did!! lols. I think I needed to because hopefully my video will be able to help someone else out there going thru this. You are NOT alone :)