The Mask

The mask is easy to put on once you know how to handle the darkness that lingers around your soul day and night. It becomes your friend.  Your ally in this imperfect world. You can hush it. Sometimes it’ll be stronger and scream at you. But it’s there. You put it on to hide away the fear. The anxiety. The depression. The unworthiness and pretend that all is well when it isn’t. The shame.  The guilt. The list is endless.

I can pretend to be happy.  I am pretty good at it. No-one will know that underneath that mask is a well of pain, fear, anxiety and depression.  Those that know me might realise that there might be something off. But most think I’ve got it together. Only dread and fear lurk beneath the troubling waters. I am no flower. I am no flower that blossoms.  I am just am empty shell. I am withered. Bedraggled. Helpless. Useless. A failure.

I am good at pretending to be happy.  I am good at pretending to put on a brave face. I am good at pretending that everything is ok. When you ask ‘how are you?’ And my response is ‘I am fine. I am ok.’ It usually means the opposite.  I need a hug. I need to know that I am not alone. If I talk a lot it’s an attempt to disguise the unhappiness bubbling to the surface.  If I eat a lot,  stuff my face it’s a sign of unrest inside my spirit. I am good at masking the darkness that lurks beneath the surface. No-one knows.

The tug of life this week is stronger than the tug of death.  Yet the call of death lingers by my door. Waiting patiently. I like to hide.  I like to stay busy. I feel restless.  I feel anxious.  I feel uneasy. I pretend that I am on top of these emotions.  But am I really? I wonder a lot of things. I just want this to pass. But will it pass?

I am alone in this battlefield.  I am alone fighting my own darkness.  It seems to last long like the plague. Engulfing me. Pushing me. There is a barrier. A wall. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I belong.  Where my home is and where safe is.

I am not a flower.  I haven’t blossomed.  I am just withering into this empty shell. Hope losing fast.


2 thoughts on “The Mask

  1. Dear Hannah, however much it feels that way (and it gets bad, I know) you aren’t alone. God is with you, inside you, around you, protecting you, fighting the darkness with you and for you. And so are we.


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