The Masks We Wear.

So many masks, which one to wear today.

I wear masks. Not the real kind. Not the ones that make our faces into monsters, but the other kind. They suit I wear when I go out, depending who I will be. Maybe it’s one of the many legacies my parents left me, or maybe we all have them.

I’ve been working a lot on myself, the face behind the masks, because I know that the masks I wear feel more fake with each passing day. They get so hard to hold into place and maybe one day, they’ll disintegrate until I am left with one. Maybe that one is a mask I don’t like.

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I have the parental mask, maybe that one will never leave. There is the student mask, the one with me all the time at university. I have the lover mask, the one when I am with my other half, but the one I hold the most, is the happy mask. The happy face.

I realise the more things happen, like my dad for example, him being unwell, I hide. I hide my upset. I hide my pain. It’s like my parents made me ashamed to feel anything, so to the outside world, I don’t.

It makes my life hard, this mask, because as well as not showing the sad emotions, I can’t show the really happy ones either. Someone gives me a gift, I hate it, not because I hate the gift, but because I hate the fact I know the giver is waiting for a smile from me, or a thank you and any words I utter feel forced and fake. But inside, in there, my real mask, I am beaming. So damn happy that someone did something for me.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to wear masks, and other days, I know I’ll never part with them.

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