You look at someone who seems to have it all together and you assume they’re happy, content, thriving. From our observation they have no reason to be depressed because their life looks pretty darn amazing.
I believe that some people just wear masks well.
It’s how they get through the day. They put it on as easily as brushing their teeth.
They have to. If they gave in, or focused on what they were feeling, they would render themselves immobile.
You can deny something in your mind and still feel it stirring in your soul.
You can get through experiences, days of funk, Holidays – if need be, only to collapse when your soul finally screams I can’t, and it’s in those blackest of times when you start to question your existence. You wish something, anything, would make it all go away.
A part of you wants to give up. Give in. You wish the inky hands of death would just take you, X you out of this freak show and put an end to your anguish.
And you pray for it, silently, lest someone hears your mind on its knees.
You open tear stained lashes and see that you’re still here. Breathing. Your heart is still beating, and as it rages out of your chest, it shows no sign of taking directives.
Helpless. You are. You tell yourself it will get better, and some days it does. But the mask -You wear that mask like you’re on the catwalk.
Make no mistake, the dark times will find you again…seeking you out like a lover who knows every muscle that needs rubbed.
Fondling every curve, despair will thread names of self loathing and disrespect in-between each and every rib. You will shit talk yourself until you will justify what the world tries to shove down your throat.
You’ll reach for that mask again because it helps hide the scars from beating yourself up. You’ll go shopping, and you’ll buy a matching cape that compliments the mask because you are a Superhero.
But you’ll pray for it again… and no one, not even your closest friends will know.