Many thanks to the commenters who said they've seen me in recent months and didn't notice my hairloss.

Of course you didn't.  It's because I've been shampooing my hair with special stuff for volume and letting it airdry without combing it for lift and I've spent hours in front of a mirror finding the exact point where I can part my hair so you don't notice.  Luckily there isn't much gone from the top so I can cover the sides with what's left up there.  The part changes weekly.  I carefully determine which side has more hair and put the part in the exact place where you can't see much headskin through the sparseness.  Then I fill in all the holes and draw in a false hairline with brown eyemake up.  Specially chosen to exactly match the darkest of my hairs.  Go to light and it looks false.  Too shimmery.  Too made up.

I'm making it up as I go along. 

I place hair pins in all the sections that tend to be particularly shifty so they can't move if they tried.  If the wind tries.  If a hand tries.

Then I put eye makeup where it belongs, so you'll look there instead of looking up.  And a lower cut shirt than I normally wear so maybe your eyes won't travel northward. 

I know you can't tell because I've been spending time with people who are also losing their hair and I can't tell theirs is falling out either.  Until the breeze catches it or the light hits it just right and I can see their secret.  One you wouldn't notice but I'm studying closely so I can make it my own.  Save me a few hours of trying by stealing their time spent.

And have you seen me?  Not much.  I've been keeping busy with things that put me in front of strangers rather than people I know.

Losing your hair is bigger than just losing hair.  I'm losing confidence.  Beauty.  Self worth.  Self image.  Self esteem.

Self.

I don't dare speak up or speak out because someone will look at me.  They will see.  They will stare.  Point.  Ask.  Joke. 

They won't, of course.
But I feel as though they might.

Losing one's hair isn't about how one looks.  It's about how one feels.

It feels awful.

There is no right thing to say.  I prefer "Oh my God!" or "Oh, yeah I see it" or "Why? How? When?".
Anything other than "I wish I'd lose some of this mop" or "you can have some of mine" or "I can't tell".  Saying you can't tell makes me feel unvalidated.  Like I've looked like this forever.  Like I've felt like this forever.  Or should have.
But I appreciate you saying you couldn't tell because it means my tricks are working. 

You can't win for losing, can you?  Say you don't notice and I'll wonder why.  Say you do and I'll feel ugly.

How does it feel?
Like seventh grade.

Everyone is noticing.  Waiting.  Watching.  Whispering.  Wondering.

I feel huge.  Shiny.  More important and noteworthy than I really am.

You aren't supposed to feel this way twenty two years past the seventh grade. 

It started about a year ago.  I noticed that my hair wasn't the same.  Different texture.  Different color even.  I put it up to aging.  A doctor suggested it might be connected to some of the autoimmune problems I have.  Another suggested menopause.  Then it stopped.  Then it started again, giant noticable clumps in the shower.  I clogged the vaccuum while sweeping my bedroom.  The lint trap in the dryer was making sweaters.  Hair everywhere but on my head. 

You don't know how warm your scalp is until you can feel it through your hair.  Until you can put an entire finger- or two- down in a spot where hair used to be but is now gone.  It's a revolting warmth.  It makes me think about the time I was assaulted in a crowd.  A disgusting, unwelcome, violation of crotchtemp warmth.  My head reminds me of a shaved vulva.  Like looking at Geraldo without his moustache.  Unnatural.  Unnerving.

I think it's stopping.  Or slowing.  I'm not sure.  I had my hair cut short last week.  The long hairs all over the place were unbearable to see.  Half inch to three inch hairs are less horrifying.  And they slide down the drain a bit easier.  Get mistaken for cat hairs on the couch.  The vaccuum sucks them right up. 
There are tiny hairs along my hairline.  My hairline that receded over an inch in the past couple months.  I'm hoping they are new ones and not just what's left of the old. 

Hoping.
Hope.
There's always that.

I take a lot of vitamins.  Drink lots of water.  Eat the right foods.  Use the right shampoo.  The right comb.  Google combinations of "hair" and "loss" and "reasons" and "disorders" and "medicines I've taken/foods I've eaten/symptoms I've felt" and "women" and "female" and "baldness" and and and. 
You can ask, you can suggest, and I can almost guarantee the answer is "yes, I've tried that/thought of this/stopped doing that/started doing this.  I just don't know why this is happening to me."

"Are you experiencing any unusual levels of stress lately?", the doctor asked.
"I'm losing my fucking hair and I don't know why", I replied.  "It's the most stressful thing I've ever been through".