It’s all inside.
I want to scream
~Not My Mask
Like a mask, my face is plastic. Like a mask, I feel like I am breathing through tiny holes. Like a mask, I feel like the edges of my vision are cut off. Like a mask, I am suffocating on my own breath. Like a mask, no one can see who’s really behind.
And on that mask is a pretty smile. On that mask are sparkling eyes. On that mask, rosy cheeks light up a glowing face. That mask laughs and smiles. It seems to do all the talking. That mask is the one that eats in peace. That mask in the one that doesn’t worry. That mask doesn’t get upset over tiny things. That mask doesn’t get irritated or irrationally angry. No, it stays smiling. That mask stays peaceful, happy, controlled. That mask works hard. That mask in confident. That mask is not a deep thinker, but it rather lives in the moment. It loves the little things and gets happy easily. That mask is perfect.
Sometimes I wish I was my mask. I could float so easily in the draught of life. I could flow with the wind and feel weightless. If I were what they think I am, what they expect me to be, I would be so happy.
The best part is, my mask, my beautiful mask, is numb. Yes, she can cry. Yes, she can be upset if something terrible has happened. She can be empathetic (even though she hardly ever is). You see, my mask is also cold. My mask feels little emotion. My mask is more logic. My mask is science, she is fact. My mask knows what life is about. Knows about perspectives and truths. My mask is set. My masks knows what she wants. My mask doesn’t let emotion affect her choices.
Maybe that’s why my mother calls me unfeeling.
I guess my mask can be like stone. Closed off, not hinting at any emotion, good or bad. Perhaps my mask makes others feel unloved. Perhaps my mask makes others feel awkward. Perhaps my mask is not the best with people. Perhaps my mask is just trying hide something.
My mask, perhaps she’s just trying to hide me.
Maybe, for some strange reason, she doesn’t want the world to see me.
I feel so much. If I were to be exposed, my mask fears that I will be vulnerable. She fears that opening up is inviting demons. And perhaps she’s right.
To hide this, the real me, is probably a good idea. I don’t want people to know that I care. I care so much about them. I hate seeing people that I love hurting. I hate seeing people that I love suffering. I hate hurting. I hate suffering. Sometimes, my mask says I’m okay but I’m not. I don’t want other people’s masks to do that to them.
I don’t want to live in a broken world. A world like this, where everyone around me is brainwashed. Trapped in a system. A system where they are swallowed by alikeness, a ravishing need to belong. A system where power and greed dictate lives; dictate whether lives can exist or not, dictate how happy and fulfilled lives can be.
How do I free everyone?
I can’t hurt so much and let it show. I can’t let them know they hurt me when they conform. When they tell me stories of how fat or ugly they are, I know. They’ve fallen so far I can’t even think of reaching them. When they tell me about how they just want to be successful, I want to cry for them. I do cry for them sometimes, alone at night,when my mask is too afraid to come out. I cry because they are so entrenched in social constructs that they have forgotten that they are human. They don’t want to be human, they want to be perfect. And I cry because they feel that way. Because they are trapped.
I guess I must cry for myself a lot too, then.
Why do I have to wear this concrete mask? Why do people think I’m cold? Some people are so sweet. So warm. So open. So friendly. Why can’t I be like them? Why does my mask have to hide me like this? Why must I overthink everything and shell myself? Why must I keep my truest thoughts to myself? I need an escape.
I can’t trust anyone with my real thoughts. Not even you, sweet paper. They’re too precious, too golden. No, maybe they’re just too dark and frightening. My mask would never allow it. I can’t release myself unless in abstract. I guess that’s my curse down here, on this earth. I must stay hidden behind my mask until I die. Till I’m withered away and my secrets cannot exploit the world. Until I’m no longer bound by societal rules and earthly limitations. Until I’m free.
Until we’re all free.