Masking
It’s 6 o’clock in the morning as she sits before her vanity hating everything she sees about herself. She picks up her brushes and begins a routine she knows all too well. Applying foundation she begins building an unstable foundation on her insecurities. With every pat and stroke she feels the fake confidence settle on her as a warm blanket on a cold winter night. Concealer she uses to hide the deep wounds of her past, not wanting how truly hurt she is to be visible to the world. Every stroke she makes to line her eyebrows and her eyes is a testament to the control she is trying to regain. With a swish of the powder brush she eliminates the footprints of the tears that ran down her face. The shimmer in her eye shadow and the glow on her face to distract from her haunted eyes, still seeing the painful experiences she had to endure. A pop of red on her lips shows vibrancy and self-expression, hiding the black and white truth of her life. A perfect mask now put in place, contouring perfectly to her face.
She steps into the office her smile perfectly placed, she is greeted by a smiling coworker who says “you look beautiful today”, “thank you” her response as she continues on her way. Beautiful? Me? She is just being nice: With my pancake nose, my too round face, eyes too far apart, hair too curly, eyebrows too thin, double chin, too short neck, too thin thighs, and skin too dark. Me? Beautiful? How could that be? She felt the tremor from those words as the fault line in her foundation began to shift. Felt the panic rise, as her control slipped. She saw her reflection in the hallways reflective surface and focused on her eyebrows the precision, the lines, control, precision, lines, and control- her mantra. That was close! The mask almost cracked. People almost saw.
Every time she got a compliment, she struggled to breathe. The lies she felt people were telling, squeezing her throat, stealing the very breath from her body. But how could she accept something she wasn’t taught to believe. Mommy always said it was her ugly face why daddy had left, that no one would ever love her and that she was worthless. Aunty hated her too, called her the product of a harlot good for nothing mother, with no ambition or pride. Kids made fun of her from time to time. Digging their words into scars made fresh everyday by her mother. Could they not see how she bleeds? Becoming hypovolemic from all these wounds? Could they not see how she bleeds, daily losing her essence?
Her one daily reprieve the memory of her grandmother, who tried to stitch her wounds with gentle hugs and kisses, A smile of love accompanied by warm chocolate chip cookies. Words of comfort, songs of peace, made Sundays with grandma the best, though she could never fully heal in one day.
She had felt her breaking point coming though, that day when the emotional turmoil would catch up to her. She had tried running, but knew she couldn’t outrun it forever. Knew it would sneak up and drag her down with it. It had held her hostage for such a long time. Though she had tried to escape, it seemed to track her down everywhere she went, so she tried to always stay one step ahead. But these days that attempt just seemed futile. The panic attacks were coming way more often, as the memories of her past kept rushing over her as a tsunami in the most unlikely places.
She used to remember having many good days; now it just seemed that the good days were few and far apart. Always restless she was finding it impossible to stay still; she was fidgeting so much these days. No matter how much she did breathing exercises or used her stress ball, that pit of doom that had been forming in her stomach for the past few days was growing. She just felt that something bad was going to happen.
She had gone for a walk at lunch to clear her mind, the fresh air always helped, which it did today. Just observing what was going on around her and imagining the lives of the people she was passing was good reprieve from the hell that was her life. The click of her heels on the pavement, and enjoying the atmosphere created by the little ones in the park was such a great de-stressor, she would have to do this more often. It amazed her just how innocent children were, so oblivious to the pain and suffering going on around them. They still looked at the world with such wonder, joy and hope it pained her heart to see. Someone would ruin this world for them one day; take that innocence away feeling no guilt or pain about hurting a child- that broke her heart. Suddenly she wasn’t enjoying the walk anymore, everything had come full circle, right back to where she didn’t want to be mentally. Contemplating this mountain she was facing, and trying to figure out how to climb it or get around it. She had considered seeing a professional for the longest time. Who was she kidding? If anyone ever found out that she was seeing a therapist, they would think she was crazy. She couldn’t deal with any more drama, or the possibility of losing the life she had created for herself. She had worked so hard, survived high school, worked while in college, pushed herself to get good grades, and a great internship in order to land this job, she had made it! But for some reason this fact had yet to sink in, and she consistently felt like the girl stuck in the slums. She had clothes and shoes and lived in a totally different environment, but yet it still amazed her, that she couldn’t rid herself of the stench of her past.
Frustrated she went back to the office. She had four more hours left in this day, and she really had to push through, with the aim to make the rest of the day profitable. On her way back, she bought a medium chamomile tea in hopes that it would calm her. She passed Rodney the guy at the security desk on her way to the elevator, who smiled and said hello as was his custom. She liked Rodney, he was a great guy, and he took great care of those in his charge. She had met his wife, Melanie six months ago at the Christmas party. Melanie had such a warm, motherly and comforting smile, which she had gravitated to. All the hopes and dreams she had for her mother, shone through the love in Melanie’s eyes, but she had been too shy to approach the woman with the loving smile, too afraid that the love in her eyes, would cause her to shatter in public. She always amazed herself with these thoughts. How did one crave something so badly but yet when it’s available turn his/her back on it in fear? That was her reaction to being loved. So she has kept Rodney and his wife at a distance.
-See you next month :):)
-Ashley #FollowerofJesus
