to you,

A lot of my childhood was spent at doctors' offices, but that was something you already knew. Once a month for seven years we went for the appointments for my scoliosis and still I remember the hospital gowns that hung off my shoulders, the MRI machines that beeped in my ears, the X-Rays I posed for, the body brace I had to wear twenty-two hours a day.

The nurses and assistants watched me grow up. They knew my name.

I wonder how they're doing now.

But that wasn't what I wanted to write to you about.

There was a time where we went to the doctor's for another reason, but that was something you already knew.

My hair was falling out.

I walked out of the shower with black clumps in my hands and bald spots on my scalp and no one knew what was happening. Alopecia, they called it, but they were all left scratching their heads. They couldn't find anything wrong with me and their only conclusion they could draw was stress. But that was crazy, right? I was a kid no older than ten whose classes were too easy and lived in a happy, happy home.

The medications never worked, and you ended up covering the spots with black powder to hide them.

They were ugly, after all, and there was no way you'd let me be ugly.

Now that I'm older I know what it was. Why I spent hours running my fingers along the smooth circles on my head and wondering why there always had to be something wrong with me.

You know where this is going, don't you?

from,

me

p.s. I blamed myself for a lot of the things that happened to me.

p.p.s. But that was something you already knew.