All your hairs are belong to us.

I don't feel sick. Aside from an altercation with a rogue body part of mine, I feel perfectly normal. To look at me, you'd never know that I had cancer. You can't see the toxic chemicals coursing through my veins. You can't see the invasive tumor in my breast.

Until now...

My hair has been falling out in full-force. This has been quite traumatic, although I don't think people understand why. It's not a vanity issue. I don't need hair to feel pretty. This is the first physical mark of my cancer. From now on, when people look at me they'll see a "cancer patient" and associate me with the stereotypes that go along with it. And I don't feel like one, not at all.

To prepare myself for the eventual hair loss, I first dyed my hair pink. The next step was a short pixie cut and another round with pink hair dye. I'm glad I took that route. Seeing the short pink hairs fall out in the shower makes me feel like it's not actually my hair. My family keeps pressuring me to shave my head, but I just don't want to do it. Not until I have to.

A lot of people have suggested wigs, but I don't see a point in them. Are they supposed to make me less self-conscious? Because I will constantly be worried about people noticing that it's fake or off-centered or sticking up in the back. They're itchy and uncomfortable. I'm going to prefer hats and scarves.

I guess I just have to sigh and remember that I am more than my cancer. That sounds like a cliche, but it's still true.