Someday I will wake up. Fling my feet up and out of bed. And forget to carefully align my mask. Forget to ensure it fits snugly about my eyes, or covers every corner of my face, or hides the lines that begin to cluster at the corners of eyelids.
Someday I will not have to hide behind anonymity. Someday I will wake up without this weight of grief that I futilely pretend does not exist.
But that day is not today. And however much I try to tell myself that I shouldn’t find shame in the fact that I am raw and broken, that it is okay not to be “okay”… my heart is still chasing behind my head, and leagues away. Logic and feelings no longer tumble side by side. A part of me questions the former. While the latter… I have been burying and hiding them so long, it is hard to break those restraints.
And yet when those bonds snap, like today, I spend hours striving to be “ok”, to be socially acceptable. To avoid meeting eyes for fear others will see how red-rimmed mine are. It doesn’t feel okay to be so vulnerable to the judgment, annoyance or pity of strangers.
But today I am removing that first mask. Which is silly, because it is to an audience of one. Myself. And because I have been dancing around it for this whole post.
Some weeks ago today I left a relationship of twelve years and a marriage of nine. I broke down the week prior to someone safe, revealing struggles with verbal abuse. Subtle threats. Broken belongings. Suicidal manias.
I am out. I am safe. But today has been a hard day, and while my head knows I will be okay. The rest of me doesn’t feel so sure.