We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
I was in the middle of the hallway deep in conversation with a volunteer who I had met once or twice before about Amanda Palmer in varying states of undress when I stepped out of myself for a moment and realized that I barely discuss this with close friends, much less random people. So the question for a long time has been why I would choose to speak with someone I really didn't know that well about something that has heretofore been a closely guarded secret. I rarely bring up people I'm attracted to and I generally intentionally skip over mentioning women unless I'm with a certain few people. So why was I in the middle of the hallway casually discussing how hot i thought BOTH of the Dresden dolls were?
Well, there's a lot of answers but the big one is this: Hiding is tiring and it mostly just hurts me. I'm beautiful Goddamnit: Creativity, compassion, bitchy Dramatic tendencies, secular humanism, Bi-curiosity, mistakes, extra 35 pounds and all. It's all beautiful. Keeping it in is a lot of work. Keeping it in is me telling myself it's wrong or that other people's definitions of beautiful matter more than mine. FUCK THEM. I'm so tired. I don't think I've said that enough: it hurts and I'm tired.
When I went to the gaming convention in may, it was instantly clear that no one cared about "masks" and you were free to be whoever you really were. I was really comfortable and just behaved however I wanted to in any given situation. Funny thing--that entire weekend, everytime I looked in the mirror, I was happy with what I saw, in an actual, physical sense. Normally, I see too much weight or too little weight or the one hair thats out of place or the fact that my jeans are too tight underneath the huge shirt that covers them up anyways; and it's never the same problem I see--most of the time it's like i'm looking at a new me with a new problem every day. For three whole days, I looked in the mirror and saw a pretty girl -- the same pretty girl--every day.
I cried the night before I had to go back to work because I knew that the ugly girl would come back, the mask would have to go back on and I would have to go back to hating certain things about myself. I was partially right. The girl in the mirror is about the same everyday-- not as pretty as she was that weekend, but not fatally flawed and incessantly morphing. I do hate certain things about myself but I think some of those things will take a much longer process to deal with than 3 weekend days and a few conversations. The mask is back on, but it's bothering me more and more. And more and more I find reasons to cut pieces off of it. Thank God, because it's starting to ruin my skin and warp my beautiful face.
I was in the hallway having that conversation about half-naked amanda palmer because I WANT THE MASK OFF. OFF. Sometimes the mask is needed just like a good pair of high heels. But just like the heels, it gets irritating and old after more than a couple of hours.
Why did I begin this long journey with taht one convesation with that particular person? I'm still not entirely sure how, maybe i noticed wear marks in his face, maybe it was all conjecture based on the fact that we both like a band with a fucked up sense of beauty, but somehow I knew he prefers to see faces and he doesn't care what they look like.
And Why am I downstairs at 1 in the morning typing on a blog when I have a loving husband upstairs in bed who all but orders me to put that mask in my back pocket as often as possible? Because I'm a moody, contemplative ass. Sorry Sweetie, I love you. And, Ironically, I miss you ;)
No comments:
Post a Comment