The Guise

My heart was heavy, with the nothingness that always seems to creep up on me in the dark of winter. The holiday break was counting down to arrival. I silently wished away its advent, so I would not have to fight the demons on a constant basis. Leaving me with no where to procure my skill. On the outside I was glistening with hopefulness and precious happiness. My act was beautifully articulated. No one ever understood the depths of my sadness in those years of adolescence. Just like every other day I smiled to my perfect mother and father who fixed breakfast together and beamed when I ate my food and talked world politics, the economy and gardening, with an adult air that would make any mother proud.

The acting continued at school. Here I excelled at the deception of my true face. The mask of gossip and foundation proved to my circle that I was perfect, just like my mother. I was beautiful. The prodigious child who made straight A's, was the teacher's pet all without offending the other students. They all genuinely adored me. No malice ever crossed their minds. I was the wonderful confidant, the best listener around. Ann Landers had nothing on me. Everyone wanted to be involved with the sports or clubs I showed interest in. I was president of the Beta Club and the Debate team. I played on the varsity Field Hockey team, taking us to the state competition three times. Home in the evenings after practices of brain and brawn, I would eat my balanced dinner and listen to the evening news on the family radio. Then, retreating towards my room I kissed mother and father and listened to doting words on my appearance and mind. In my room, I finish my homework and change into my bedclothes.

At that moment, everything changes. I remove the foundation from my face and the illusion of perfection is lost. I am left with my ugliness and hatred and feelings of caution and amazement. This early evening ritual of slipping back into a reality helps me get along. I cry silent tears, shedding salted water for the holes that don't exist. I felt empty of love, in the middle of admirers and candy hearts, commendations and promotions, and proud father moments. It was a depression that went against every symptom listed in the warning signs booklet they handed out at school to all the girls and boys upon entering high school. I was outgoing with friends and family, I was involved after school. I didn't drink or smoke or put needles in my arms. Nothing was clinical or simple about my pain.

I suffered fully in my mind. I did not allow it to spill over into my interactions with others until I met Carey, whom came to my school over the break. I was never one to be overly interested in boys. True, I had dated the boys that pursued my on occasion, but never for too long. I was bored quickly and never found anyone worth the emotion of love. Except Carey. I fell into his soul. He talked to me about his home life, much different than my own. A broken family and a dead sister, his mother and he were on their own. Despite the hardships he had endured Carey beamed with strength. I wondered in my mind if he hide too behind a mask of strength. I believed in him in spite of my doubts. I was attracted to him in ways that had yet to touch my body. What a feeling to let him hold my hand, reaching for comfort I was only too happy to bestow.

One afternoon, on our daily walk home he asked me a question that startled and unnerved me.

"Harriet, are you really happy? I mean, I know that you have everything a girl could ask for, but what goes through your mind at the end of the day. What are you demons? "

I could only stutter that I had no demons and my life really did make me happy. I smiled and nodded weakly and we walked the length in silence. I arrived home and feigned ill so that I could hide away inside my four walls and worry that my secret is known. Carey was correct in his analysis of my private world and it frightened me so much I was unable to eat that night. The more I thought of his inquisition, the more I became obsessed with the idea of him understanding me. I no longer worried that he did know, rather that he didn't. I wanted to share with him my pain, my furtive world.

I began to seek him more in school, not yet revealing myself wholly to him, but reaching for kinship. We sat and chatted world civilizations in lunch and spoke of the debate team's strategies on the walk home. The inquisition was never discussed. It never surfaced in discussion, but it always loomed in the back of my mind. I wanted to tell him of my love and to ask for conformation of my disease.

The symptoms of depression began to appear in my schoolwork and attitudes towards teachers, fellow students, as well as my own parents. My well kept appearance declined, all in hopes of attracting the eye and attentions of Carey. He had started to care about me. His recognition of my affliction was appealing to me. A hole in my heart was filled by the true (in my mind) affection he showed for me.

All the while I chased him, he did grow close to me. We talked of friendships becoming more. Becoming love. We felt that we were different than the average teen couple, we were above the puppy love. It was a mature love called for needed mature action. He coddled my on days I did not want anything to do with life. Those days were premeditated. If I felt we were growing apart I would let my shadow fall over my eyes and let him come and rescue me. Then the bond would grow deeper and increase my dependence on him.

It was true our love was different. I fed off of his energies and he lovingly gave them up to me. He did not know any better than to please me. We married after high school. He was college bound and worked nightshifts at the plant. For many years I continued using my strange depression as a lock and key, never letting him go. Our children never understood why mommy had to sleep so long in the daytime and did not join in at the dinner table, but their daddy was a hero because he could make mommy well again.

The guise could not last forever and he let me fall. One night, I threatened to hurt myself. He had been working late and I felt neglected. I turn on the pain and waited for his touch. It never came. He simply called the ambulance and told them I was suicidal. I was taken away from my children and my home. Out of my environment I had so carefully constructed, I did not know how to survive. I was placed in a padded room with no fixtures, just a lonely cold window. He never visited, never gazed upon my children's glowing faces again.

Now, I have a pair of windows larger than the first one. I have a bed and a separate room with a shower, a sink and a toilet. I still go through out my day happy and contented until it is time to remove the happy face to reveal the pain I feel. They give me medicine to ease the confusion, but I know what I feel. I know that I am in pain. I need affection to make it all better. I need Carey. I was so dependent on being fixed that I doubt I'll ever leave this place. No one takes care of me the way my Carey did. I'll just have to be patient and continue to hide everyday my weariness of soul and maybe one day they will think that I am better and set me free to my Carey.


[Twistin' Knife Love] [Sweet Love] [Bit of Inspiration] [Head Down Low] [Short and Sweet] [Just a Little Darker]
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