I wear a mask.

That is to say, when I'm not alone, I wear a mask.
In the 12+ years that I've struggled with depression, I learned early on that people are not okay with you being real with them.
When someone asks "how are you?" they don't really want to know.  Really, they're just asking because it's just "something you say" when greeting someone.
In high school I used to answer that question honestly, and people usually responded with horror or surface-concern or they just looked at me like I was growing another arm out of my neck.

I learned early on that most people want to continue to deceive themselves in their happy little bubble where life is fine and dandy and people don't struggle with issues like depression or suicidal ideation. 
I learned this because for a while there, I didn't put on a brave (in a manner of speaking) face.  I let myself just...be.  I didn't smile or laugh or joke.  I merely existed, because that's all that I was capable of at the time.
But people didn't like that.  They were uncomfortable with being around someone who wasn't happy or joking around, and besides, nobody likes being around a "debby downer."

So I learned.
I learned to put on a face.
I learned to smile and laugh and act happy and like everything was right in my world, even though inside, my mind was a nightmare I could not wake up from.


And that mask still goes on flawlessly when I'm with people.

To a certain extent, humour is my defense mechanism.  Yes, I am actually a hilarious person.  But also when I'm uncomfortable and my defenses are up, I resort to cracking jokes like no other.

Another part of that, though, is merely playing along.  Playing the game of acting like people want me to act, expect me to act, because people don't want to face the reality that perhaps there are others out there who struggle with uncomfortable thing.  Thinks like depression and anxiety and trauma.


There is only one person in my life where I have allowed myself to completely let my guard down.  Where I don't feel like I have to put on an act or joke around all the time.  Where I can be silent.  Where I can just sit and struggle to exist, and not have to put on a show on top of that.

That person struggles with it, sometimes.  I would be lying if I said they didn't.  After all, how hard is it to see someone you love struggle with a darkness you cannot dispel?  Sometimes it can get tiring.  You want them to be happy.  You want them to smile and be lighthearted.  To not struggle anymore.  It can, without a doubt, be a test of patience.
And a test of love.


It's funny, how easily I slide into my mask without realising it.  Only to be aware of what I did as soon as it's not required anymore, and by how drained I feel out of seemingly nowhere.


We all have masks.
We all feel they're necessary at one point or another.
I just hope we also all have people where we can sit with, bare-faced, and still be loved.