Beyond the Mask You See

The last few days in, my head hadn't been the best place to be. All those thoughts stinging my brain, angry wasps demanding my attention. The medicines only keep some of the wasps away. So I have been writing those thoughts down here. Sharing with strangers the things I can't actually say to other people.  This is the only place where I can let the mask go completely, because here I am anonymous. Another one of the many faceless bytes of data on the internet. Tomorrow, these thoughts will follow me.  They will sting me again and again. But for a very brief time, I can escape them by putting them here. On the outside, I will be fine.  On the inside, dying. And no one will know the difference.

I feel a bit of levity is in order today. Something to remind myself that even though I feel bad, things aren't always going to be bad. So a few fun memories are on the menu for today. 1) There really are grass police in military housing who measure the height of your lawn weekly during growing season to make sure that you dare not allow it to be longer than 2 and 1/4 inches long, that you do not have weed growth in your lawn, and during the winter to make sure you dare not leave a flake of snow on your driveway and the sidewalk in front of your house. Anyway, these all powerful weilders of the citation (3 strikes and you lose your house on base) can be quite the pain in the ass. For example, one year in Minot, North Dakota, we had a massive blizzard followed by four days straight of -75 or colder temperatures. The snow plows drove through during the blizzard, pushing all of the street snow onto the end of our driveway and it had now frozen into a solid block of ice. Now, becaus...

It's interesting how many people believe the mask. I swear that people could see through the mask and know,  but then again most people don't care enough to look deeper. That's the sad truth. Even people who claim to care about me dearly don't see through the mask when I don't want them to. But sometimes, I wish they could see the truth, that beneath my smile and pleasant conversation, beneath the professional focus on my work, beneath my drive to be the best mom to my daughter and show her that I am happy- beneath it all, I am slowly dying inside. It feels like my insides are full of glass shards. It hurts to even breathe sometimes and takes everything I have in me to not break down in tears in front of everyone, to save my tears until after my daughter is in bed and I can let that pain escape in rivers down my cheeks. I say that I am okay. I say that I'm over it, that I'm not torn up inside. That it doesn't kill me every night when I lay down to sl...

Sometimes, I feel scared and anxious for no real reason. Sometimes, I feel insecure and need reassurance.  Sometimes, it feels like my heart is in my throats and my stomach is full of lead. Sometimes, the thoughts swarm my brain stinging like bees, demanding I pay attention. Sometimes, I need help but I rarely seek it. Sometimes, the days are bleak and gray.  Sometimes, I think it would be better if I went away. Sometimes, I am desperate for some feeling of control. Sometimes, I feel lost and alone. But sometimes, I feel happy. Sometimes I feel loved and wanted. Sometimes, I feel beautiful, intelligent and strong. I wish that sometimes, the good times happened more often. Sometimes, I am in so much pain I can't even breathe. Sometimes, it's tolerable and I can forget the disease destroying my insides. Sometimes, I feel sick for no reason. Sometimes, I get sick for no reason but there is nothing to throw up.

When I was younger, the box I shoved all emotions that weren't helpful to my situation was my protection. It kept me as safe as possible in a situation I couldn't control. It became as natural as breathing, to hide my emotions and thoughts away and keep my mask in place. The problem with this is that if you never let those emotions out and deal with them, then you never learn how to express them properly. When you don't know how to properly express an emotion, then that emotion becomes a source of anxiety. Do I really show that I love someone? Am I expressing it the right way? If I am angry I worry if I even have the right to be angry. When I am sad or hurting, I don't even know how to express that in a helpful way. Worse yet, I wonder if feeling sad or hurt isn't just a sign of weakness. As the anxiety builds, shoving those emotions back in the box looks so tempting. It would be easier to withdraw back into myself, especially with the negative or painful em...

PTSD. High functioning anxiety disorder. Depression. In my story so far, I've referred to these disorders of the brain as she. I've given them human like traits and asigned them insidious personalities. I've personified the darkest part of my psyche but rest assured, I do not believe these are different people or voices I don't recognize telling me to do things. I understand quite well that each of these things are not some separate entity from me trying to harm me. No, I know perfectly well that they are me. As I am female, so too does my mind see these aspects as female because they are me. They just aren't the good side that I want people to see.  One throw back to my teen years, developing the talent to hide your thoughts and feelings behind a pleasantly nuetral mask to avoid harm, is also one that I use to this day. I hide most emotions and thoughts behind a mask, a pretend person who has her shit together, who is confident and capable.  When I'...

Imagine, for a moment, that you are trapped in a room. This room has no doors, no windows, no way out at all. You are sitting on a chair facing a wall that is covered with screens of different sizes. In fact, every wall is covered in screens. All the screens are dark. Then one of those screens flashes to life. Flickering in the darkness, one of the smallest screens has a scene on it that you can barely see. You strain your eyes to figure out what is on the screen when another flickers on. This new screen is larger, you can just barely make out what's on it. It's a scene from your past.  You try harder to focus on the screen when another turns on. The screen is large enough that you can clearly make out that it is most definitely a memory. The more you focus, the more screens turn on all showing the same memory. The last screen is so clear, the picture so perfect that it's almost like you are there. As you watch, you realize that you aren't watching anymore- you ar...