The Mask

I've spent much time in writing this blog, thinking about the person I was, the person I am, and the person I want to be. When I read sixtyfivewhatnow, I often wonder how I will choose to spend the latter years of my life. I have done so much, been through whirlwinds; how will I face my future? I think it is the wise thing to wonder and plan, I think it is the normal thing to do. I remember when I was younger, I thought I could live life as a chameleon, being what people wanted (see: Big Bad Wolf); but truly it was more than that, I wore a mask.

It seemed so harmless at first. It began with little things to help me fit in. I had grown up a tom-boy; it was a natural progression as I have no sisters and many brothers. I climbed trees, I wrestled, I belched. So, as I got older, I began to realize that I wasn't like other girls, and in my entrance into adulthood I decided to ease my way into femininity - to be normal. I started with weekly manicures. I sat for hours while a woman in a dust mask filed my nails, glued on tips, and polished them to perfection. I hated it; it was expensive, I couldn't move the entire time, and they were hard to type with. But I got compliments, and I liked those. Then I began working out twice a day for five days a week. The changes in my body were incredible. The men at work became drooling dogs, and I was happy about that.

Things escalated from there; there were hair pieces, spa treatments, and costly makeup. Then there were the clothes. The corsets, and flirty suits, and skin tight dresses. But it could not have been complete without the attitude, the body language, the belief that I was better and held some kind of power over men that I never actually used. I was constantly at odds with myself and the person I genuinely was inside was losing ground every day. I felt cold inside; the men I dated were pawns in my game to see how far I could get them to go for me. How could I get them to prove their devotion? How could I boost my own ego while lowering theirs?

I recognize now that in a way, my treatment of men at that time was really an attempt at getting revenge against my father. But in that moment, I only knew that I derived pleasure from it.

One particular person I met was unexpectedly sweet and real with me despite being an award winning director of commercials. He didn't treat me like property, but like a person; not like a goddess, but like a mortal. At first, this meant nothing to me; everything he knew about me was a lie - he never knew my real name or where I lived or who my family was. I never cared for him - he was just a way for me to spend my time; watching him spend money on me was a sport. It was all manufactured; from my feelings for him down to my false finger nails. It was all a trap for my own amusement.

One day, as I was sitting on his couch, he got down on his knees. He told me how much he loved me, and that he would always love me no matter what - no matter what secrets I was hiding from him, no matter who I really was inside, no matter what I wore or looked like. Something inside me cracked. He had gotten through. He was the only one to realize it was all a false front. He was the only one who actually wanted the real me.

After spending the rest of the day with him, I ran. I stopped taking his phone calls and I was relieved that he didn't really know where I lived. I wasn't ready to face the truth of who I was. I had become some beauty whore - some glamour monster - and although I knew it, I didn't want to give it up. I kept seeing him though, in my mind's eye, down on his knees, so sincerely professing his love for me, and a part of me grinned - this sadistic evil grin of satisfaction, thinking of how I must have broken him when I walked away.

But there was another side of me, the side that hated what I had done, the side that knew I couldn't keep up this act. The side who knew I had violated everything good and holy about my being - and that side was fighting hard to regain control.

A year later, after I returned to myself, I called him and invited him to dinner - my treat. We talked, we laughed, and I apologized. It was hard putting down that mask, but once it was off, I vowed to never wear it again.

Tomorrow, Prom Night. . .