To Whom it may Concern
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'm afraid to take off, and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature to me, but don't be fooled. For god's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without. That confidence is my name and coolness my game, that the waters calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. Please don't believe me.
My surfaces may be smooth, but my surface is my mask, my varying and ever concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath it dwells the real me, in confusion and fear, in aloneness. But I hide this, I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness and the fear of being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, cool, sophisticated façade 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's followed by acceptance, if it's followed by love. It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I cant assure myself of, that I'm really worth something. But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance. I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by love. I'm afraid that you will think less of me, that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid 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, with façade of assurance without, and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks. The glittering but empty parade of masks.
And my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in 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'm saying, and what I'd like to be able to say, what I need to say for survival, but what can't I say.
Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the superficial, phony game. I'd like to be genuine and spontaneous, and me. But you've got to help me. You've got to hold out your hand, even when that's the last thing I seem to want or need. Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. Each time you're kind and gentle, and encouraging, each time you try to understand.
