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Writer's pictureHannah McClelland

I'll Take Off My Mask If You Take Off Yours



We all wear masks. Literally, in the age of COVID-19, we are all required by law to wear mask. However, long before this new way of life took over, we still all hid behind our masks. They just weren't as obvious as the cute floral ones we get off of Etsy now.


My mask? Mine is lovely. It is polished and pretty with a smile painted on. I'm fine, why do you ask?


It has bright eyes and a healthy glow. Can't you see how perfect my fitness routine is? You can basically see the word discipline written on my forehead.


There isn't a dark circle or bag under the eyes, why would there be? Every night I drift off to sleep peacefully, not a care in the world.


When I wear my mask, my voice doesn't shake. I stand taller. I am confident and assured. Of course I know what I'm doing, don't you?


My mask has a sharp tongue and a quick wit. Words that cut are quick off of my lips, but surely nothing can pierce my own thick skin. You really think you can hurt me?


My mask is beautiful. Successful. Proud.


My mask is deceptive. Distorted. False.


At the end of each day, when I lock the door behind me and I'm alone in my home, it is safe. I don't have to wear my mask anymore. I don't have to pretend it isn't smothering me. I don't have to pretend at all.


When I take my mask off, I am not lovely. The word that comes to mind is haggard, actually. Underneath the mask, I am painfully, undoubtedly human.


My eyes are dull from a day of staring at a screen. It's a 50/50 split between a screen I stare at to pay my bills and a screen I stare at to distract myself from them.


My face is fighting to be the same shade as the rest of my body, but never quite gets there, no matter how many summer days are spent in the sun. My pale cheeks have scars from the days that adolescent hormones wrecked them, a constant reminder that past insecurities never really go away.


I finally stopped flinching as I take my jade roller out of the freezer and roll it under my eyes, a last ditch effort to rid my face of the swollen circles that always greet me in the morning. Every day, as the cold roller sends a chill down my spine, I swear to myself that I will get to bed earlier that night, and every night I lie awake, anxious thoughts and a restless mind wrecking any hopes of beauty sleep.


Some nights, I drift off to dreamland without a fight. Other nights, I question my decisions, my path, my mind, my plans. I wrestle with thoughts that I'm not doing enough. Thoughts that I'm not enough. The darkness of my bedroom is no match for the darkness that catches up to me when I've finally given up on counting sheep.


Without my mask, I am defenseless. I have nowhere to hide. At my core, I just want to be loved. More than success, more than attention, more than anything. I seek approval like I seek water at 3am, waking up from a deep sleep. I am desperate for acceptance, validation.


Am I doing okay? Do you really think so?


When my armor comes off, the wounds inflicted by the world open up. Even the thickest skin can be pierced by the right weapon, and mine is far from the thickest. Tears held back can hold more pain than tears cried. Without my mask, I don't hold them back.


My mask is meant to protect me. My mask is meant to impress you. My mask is supposed to make everything better.


So why is it suffocating me?


 

This piece seems particularly dark, so let me add a disclaimer. I am, generally, a very happy human. I am surrounded by blessings and beautiful people. I am genuinely, truly, happy. But not all of the time. We all have our struggles and our baggage, and I am no exception. I wanted to personify the way we all hide behind a "perfect" façade, especially in the age of social media.


Personally, I'm tired of wearing my "mask", I'm ready to embrace all of my jagged edges and ugly truths.


xoxo, Hannah



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