Identity Crisis

Yesterday was a very hard day, probably one of the hardest yet. As I sat on the end of my bed drying the 50 percent of hair I have left in preparation for my photo shoot and day of “fat” shopping I lost it. I mean, completely lost it. Now I know you have two questions. 1) How do I know I have lost 50 percent of my hair? 2) Lost it, how?

Being the science geek that I am, I have seen a recent decline in the pumps on the shampoo bottle from four to two. The pumps are on a rapid decline to 1.5. It also now only takes me four wraps with a hair band vs. that of the previous two – please note I use a new hair band so that one can not state that it may just be a stretched out old one. We must be accurate!

Lost it, hmm. Well, let’s just say my mirrors are lucky to still be standing and my fists are lucky to not be a bloody mess, As I sat to blow dry my hair I longed for the days when it would take hours and I couldn’t see my scalp. But as I sat there and it fell limp on my shoulders I began to cry. And maybe because of less hair I saw the enormous face staring back at me. I stumbled off the bed in a fit of tears and looked at the unfamiliar swollenness that had become my face. No wonder people were beginning to look at me weird and people I knew didn’t recognize me.

I searched hard into that face and ran my fingers like a blind woman over it trying to find a part of myself. Even the trademark green eyes looked foreign hidden behind puffy eyelids which remain that way all the time now. I began to pull and stretch look for any part of me as I stood naked in front of that mirror looking for any part of my body that resembled that of my former athletic-self. As tears poured down my face and my skin trembled, I pulled and tore at myself trying to find just a piece. An anger and horror I have never known sliced through me like a jagged knife.

Who could possibly understand such pain at not being able to see a piece of yourself? Such sadness and pain and anger! I wanted to scream! Who was I and where the hell had I gone! Where was I in this horrible body that had become my own?

I know the outer shell of your body isn’t who you are but it is a symbol of who you are and the kind of person you aspire to be. I don’t aspire to be a slovenly homeless person!

I curled up on the floor and reached out to anyone. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy…a “Cushie.” I called a friend of mine but she was in the shower. I felt a bit stupid since her husband answered but since he lived through this once already he understood. So I dialed another number of a good friend, and while he can’t possible understand the horrible emotional pain of this disease (and at times I think he thinks I’m crazy) he at least made sure I didn’t kill any of the mirrors. He “gets it” or at least me which is very important. (Thanks!) Anyway, she called back and immediately I broke down because I knew she understood and I felt safe again, like I wasn’t just seeing things and I wasn’t crazy. I can’t even begin to explain the torture this disease plays on you.

After a few moments I had the strength and wisdom I needed to go shopping for some clothes the “fit.” I bought a couple of outfits for comfort (for those of you who have not read cashmere and yoga pants please read).

And then came the hard part, the photo shoot. Well you see the results posted here and a picture is worth a thousand words. Again I struggled viewing the results of these shots since it brought to me a strange reality that I wasn’t that athletic girl I had known but in four short months have turned into this monster who I don’t even recognize. More tears and anger fell and I’m sure more will everyday as I try to get dressed.

I was asked whether I still wanted to post my photos. I guess that’s the point of taking them, so you don’t think I’m crazy and you can see the pain that it may cause someone. I don’t look fat, I look sick! It’s probably the scariest thing I have ever done but if it helps you understand than I have achieved my goal.

I think today I’ll cover the mirrors. Some of you will call that stupid or ridiculous, I call it self-preservation.