Masks

Confession time.

This is okay for me to do…because, according to the stats of this website, nobody is actually reading these anyhow.

Sometimes, I’m not okay.

I’m smiling at you. I’m cracking off jokes and witty puns. I laugh at my own jokes like I’m a genius of humor.

Can you see them? The cracks, spreading across my facade like clay in the hot sun? I’m guessing not. I got you good, didn’t I…? You really believed it.

There are some of you who know that I’ll let you lean on me. I’ve been there…I’ve helped you through your breakups and your moments of insecurity. I’ve held you up whenever you felt your world crashing around you. I’ve offered humor when you’ve needed it. I’ve offered wisdom or a shoulder.

But where are you…? One of you won’t even talk to me unless if you need something…and you’re family. One of you can’t even remember that I helped you through one of the hardest times in your life…can’t remember because I joke around so much that it’s hard to believe that there’s any depth, wisdom, or seriousness.

But there is…there is a chasm deepening inside of me and it hurts so deeply that there are times when I can’t even breathe.

Along with the pain of not being enough, I have to deal with the shame…the shame of things I’ve allowed to happen in my youth…the shame of the fact that my husband is the only man I’m attracted to, but that I’m attracted to plenty of women…the shame of knowing that my husband does not want children with me and that a part of me can never forgive that…the shame of having days in which I long for an end, but knowing that it cannot come until God is ready.

It was hard, though. I had a panic attack at work the other day due to flashbacks I was trying to fight away. I went into the break room. Then, not wanting anybody to see, I hid in the closet. I got onto the floor in the corner, brought my knees to my chest, and broke. Sobbing into my hands, feeling my body tense up with horror, I wasn’t present enough to notice that somebody had come in. She was worried and checked on me. I could hear her from a distance, but I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. Eventually, she left. I don’t know how much time stopped before the tears stopped and I could move. I lifted my head and stared at the wall, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get up and I couldn’t move any farther than that. I don’t know how long I might have sat like that. Another girl came in to check on me. She stepped into my line of vision and that was what broke me out of that spell. I could talk and move, but I haven’t been the same since.

I’ve had panic attacks before…sure…but this was different than any of them. I could move with the other ones. I wasn’t frozen…helpless…but this time, I was. I know it’s never going to stop…not completely. Just when I think I’m safe, it comes back. I think of you…of what you might do if I see you again. I look over my shoulder. I don’t get out of my car without looking around first. I don’t unlock the door of my house without being aware of everything in the vicinity. Because I remember…I remember the things that happened and I remember the things you said. I remember how you wanted to run away with me and live together in secret and have sex with me every night. I remember you telling me that, were we not related, we would have sex right then. And sometimes, I think I’m safe from you…but am I? I can’t help but think….and I know that it’ll never stop…not really.

I want to help people…I want to help to hold you up, my friends…but right now, I’m falling and I feel my breath snatched away and I can’t see the ground in the darkness, but I know it’s getting closer and closer.

How long until I hit the ground and break…? I don’t know…but gravity’s working…

But I’ll keep smiling. I’ll keep joking. When you ask me about it, I’ll laugh and say that it was just something I said…that I’m a poet and like to exaggerate…or I’ll say that I’m doing better and don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t…not really…but I DO want to feel whole. I want to feel loved and wanted and safe. I want to feel like somebody can SEE THROUGH this laugh and hear the cry behind it.

But nobody will read this…and it feels better just to have gotten it all out there…and now I’m okay.

…see…? I’m even smiling.