| PLEASE HEAR WHAT I'M NOT SAYING Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear. For I wear a mask, I wear a thousand masks; masks that I am afraid to take off, and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that is second nature with me, but don't be fooled, for God's sake don't be fooled. I give you the impression that I'm secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without, that confidence is my name and coolness my game, and the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. Please. My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask, my ever varying and ever-concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness. But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, sophisticated facade, to help me pretend, to shield me from THE GLANCE THAT KNOWS. But such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only salvation. And I know it. That is if it is followed by acceptance, if it is followed by love. It's the only thing that can liberate me, from myself, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself, that I'm really worth something. But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love. I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that deep-down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good, and that you will see this and reject me. So I play my game, my desperate pretending game, with a facade of assurance without, and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks. And my life begins a front. I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that's really nothing, and nothing of what's everything of what's crying within me. So when I'm going through my routine do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm NOT saying. What I'd like to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but what I can't say. I dislike hiding. Honestly. (anonymous) |
| (editor's note: This is a well-know poem for many people working to recover from issues involving alcoholism, dysfunctional families, abuse, etc. In describing the experience of wearing a mask that covers one's true identity, this poem also uniquely describes the experience of living with Moebius syndrome. In wearing a mask (whether through showing facial expressions which belie one's internal emotional state, or through having a facial paralysis such as Moebius) we share an internal identity with many others. While the exact number of people who have Moebius syndrome is very low, thus making this condition so very rare, the human predicament that many of us experience is NOT rare ... and it is through revealing our true selves that we remove that mask initially induced by Moebius ... and jouin the ranks of so many others throughout the world. Thus, in a fundamentally vital way ... we are not alone. Reach out ... let others see what beauty lies beyond your 'mask ... |