All Of Her Hair Fell Out

A Story by JFag

All of her hair fell out. And it was, of course, a tragedy. It fell out in clumps. It fell out in thing little strands. She wept about it usually, ending up in a mess on the floor.

Sometimes she would dream that she marched to the doctor’s office, stood up straight and told him off. “I’m not going to pay for this s**t,” she said, in her dream. The doctor would smile warmly and tell her that she didn’t have to, that she would be fine regardless. The tears would sting her eyes as she woke up.

It became harder and harder to ignore. She would sit in the bathroom for hours, dazed. She would stare blankly into the mirror and finger the area where clumps of hair had since evacuated. Her eyes were glassy. She would dream of winning the lottery. She would dream of money, all amounts of money.

And it was, of course, a tragedy. All her friends agreed. Now that he had left, she was empty. She wandered around her room, trying desperately to remember what her life was like before they dated. She had lived like that for too long. Her mind was blank. Every feeling connected to him. Every experience connected to him somehow. Her mind refused to move on.

She had lived like that for too long. Time meant nothing to her. She lived in one room, and barely left. It became scary to walk to the mailbox. Outside was loud. Birds didn’t sing anymore, they screeched at her, angry for past actions she did not recall doing. Her house was gray. Her room was gray. Her life was gray. Sometimes it felt like too much. She would close her eyes and escape from the room. There were no walls where she went, at least no walls meant to contain.

Her life was gray. The color was gone. The color had left with him. The objects in her room taunted her, reminding her of a time when she could smile. It’s not easy to realize your whole life is only going downhill. She thought it couldn’t possibly get worse. It got worse.

The color was gone. The thrill was gone, as well. For that matter, her sanity had probably vacated the premises long ago too. The worst part was that she wanted to leave; she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Home” used to be a sanctuary, but now it was a prison. Her life had begun to end. Sometimes she thought about what made her this way.

Her life had begun to end. Her skin grew pale, she had no energy. She fingered her bald spots. She winced. Why me, she would ask out loud, louder and louder until her kids would have to cover their ears and hearts and wipe their eyes. It got the best of her. “It’s not fair,” she said. All of her hair fell out.

It got the best of her.