 
Two years afterward I was sitting in the psychiatrist's office with my parents. She thought it would be a good idea to tell them finally. I tried but I couldn't, so she told them instead. I sat there with my hair over my face as she described the rape. I couldn't look at them and I couldn't see them through my hair. Mucus and tears made it stick to my face. And after she finished talking, my dad tenderly wiped that nasty hair away from my face. He made me look at him and told me something beautiful. I can't remember exactly what he said, all I remember is that I couldn't hide behind my hair anymore. That is the story of "how I lost my hair." It still makes me cry.
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