Lesson #12: Taking Off the Mask

“You have to be strong, you can’t let anyone see what’s really going on in there,” I tell myself. “You don’t want them to think you can’t handle this.”

Strength is something I am forced to possess. Not the kind of strength that allows you to show off at the gym or the strength that enables you to untwist the too-tight soda cap. I’m talking about the kind of strength that aids in hiding emotion. The ultimate test of strength isn’t the amount of weight you can withhold but how well you can choke back the tears.

One of the hardest parts of ‘dealing’ is talking. Constant questions:

“What happened?”
“How are you doing?”
“Are you okay?”
And the oh-so-inspirational departing remark, “You are so strong.”

I am so strong; at least that’s what they tell me. They don’t see me though. They see the façade I put on. They see the mask I wear. The mask called strength. This mask allows me to hide my true feelings. Showing true emotion, breaking down that barrier exposes me to vulnerability and vulnerability isn’t something that looks good on me.

The last thing you grab when leaving the house is usually your keys, phone, purse, or wallet. The last thing I am sure to grab before departing is my mask. I never go anywhere without the mask. The mask is what provides protection. The mask allows me to shrug things off, come back with comedic remarks, laugh at the sadness, make jokes about the pain.  The mask is my vibranium shield. Fire anything at me and my mask is sure to respond.

I have found though that my mask is not invincible. The mask has a kryptonite, loneliness. Loneliness pulls the mask off, leaving me exposed. Exposed to what I hide underneath. When the mask comes off, the tears come out. All the emotion rushes to the surface and I am faced with what I have been pushing aside. I am forced to deal with what happened and where I am today. What causes the greatest pain is the why. Why did it happen? The why is what causes the most tears.

The funny thing about loneliness is that it sneaks up on you. The kryptonite can be hiding anywhere. One moment you’re completely content with yourself and the amazing progress you’re making. The next you’re curled up in a ball on the bed in tears, confused and conflicted. The effects of the kryptonite last anywhere from a few minutes to hours and are typically broken by a puppy kiss or an unexpected phone call, reminding me that things are getting better. I have to keep in mind where I have come from. Sometimes you just have to go through the bad to get to the better.

“You are so strong,” they say. “I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

It’s not something you choose to do. You don't have a say in the matter. It’s something you’re forced to do.

"You don’t want to see me without the mask on. That's not a pretty site,” I tell them.