No, this isn’t a discussion of my personal feelings regarding the Jim Carrey movie (although, for better or worse, I quite like it.. Let’s just agree to never talk about the sequel though ok?)
No, the mask in question is this one *points to face* what? You don’t see a mask? Perfect! Just the way it should be. You should look at me and ne’er give me a second glance. You should cast your eyes upon my unremarkable mediocre visage and pass on without a second thought. I should merge seamlessly into the sea of anonymous faces, never standing out.
The mask I wear hides who I really am. After 47 years of being an aspie – actually no, technically after 1 year of being aspie and 46 years of being a very confused individual – I’ve learnt to hide my inner true self. I hark back to the conversation of the previous week ( see blog post Oh Dear…. for details) where a colleague told me I couldn’t possibly be on the autistic spectrum as I was “not weird enough” I suppose I should be happy that it’s working so well.
Unfortunately, I have to present a false front to my shabby interior. We’re all judged daily by people we know and people we don’t. Walk onto a bus and within seconds someone has probably made a snap judgement about who you are and what sort of person you might be. I get treated differently when I’m in my work suit and tie opposed to my scruffy weekend gear. How do you think I’d be received if people who didn’t know me suddenly realised I’m “not right in the head” (not my words – overheard on a bus recently about another passenger)
Masking is dangerous. It puts us under incredible stress and strain. Constantly being on guard and pretending to be someone else every waking moment is hard. Constantly worrying about letting your pretence of normality slip for a second makes me very anxious. Of course, I can’t SHOW this anxiety, no I have to bottle it up as well. Apply the plastic broad smile and artificial twinkle in my eyes. I have to laugh and joke with everyone like I don’t have a care in the world when in reality I’d dead and dry as dust inside.
It’s tiring being someone you’re not, which is why my wife is so important to me. She’s one of the few people who know ME – Not the fake public me, but the frail broken shy private me. She’s got the keys to my inner enclave. She’s seen the face behind the mask and covered it in loving kisses. I feel safe around her. She is my strength and my anchor.
Unfortunately I can’t carry her around with me every minute of every day. I have to work, interact with people, deal with problems and strangers and that great messy uncontrolled tangle that is London. As much as I hate it, I need the mask.
Time to put the mask on again and face the world from behind its protection.
How do I feel?