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 me as
well as without, that confidence is my name and
coolness my game, that 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-warying 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 liberates me, from myself, from my own
self-built prison walls, from 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 you'll 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 the 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 becomes
a front. I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of
surface talk. I tell you everything that is really
nothing. And nothing of what is everything, of what is
crying within me. So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm 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. I dislike the superficial game I'm playing,
the superficial, phony game. I'd really 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 because you really care, my
heart begins to grow wings, very feeble wings, but
wings. With your sensitivity and empathy, and your
power to understanding, you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me, how
you can be a co-creator of the person that is me if
you choose to. Please choose to. You alone can break
down the wall behind which I tremble. You alone can
release me from my shadow-world of panic and
uncertainty, from my lonely prison. So do no pass me
by. It will not be easy for you. A long conviction of
worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you
approach me, the blinder I strike back. I fight
against the very thing that I cry out for. But I am
told that love is stronger than strong walls, and in
this lies my hope ... my only hope.
Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands,
but with gentle hands, for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I you may wonder? I am someone you know very
well. For I am every man and I am every woman you
meet.
