The mask

Don’t be fooled by the face I wear, for I wear a thousand masks and none of them are me. Don’t be fooled; for God’s sake, don’t be fooled. I give you the impression that I am secure–that confidence is my name and cool is my game and that I need no one. But don’t believe me. Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness. That’s why I create a mask to hide behind– to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation. That is, if it is followed by acceptance; if it is followed by love, it’s the only thing that can liberate me from my own self-built prison walls. I’m afraid that deep down I’m nothing, that I’m just no good and that you will see this and reject me. And so begins the parade of masks. I idly chatter to you; I tell you everything that is really nothing and nothing of what’s everything of what’s crying within me. Please, listen carefully. Try to hear what I’m not saying. I would really like to be genuine and spontaneous and me. But you’ve got to help me. You’ve got to hold out your hand. 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 sympathy and your power of understanding you can breathe life into me. You, alone, can release me from my shadow world of uncertainty, from my lonely prison. It will not be easy for you. The nearer you approach me, the blinder I may strike back. But I’m told that love is stronger than strong walls. In this lies my hope, my only hope. Please, try to beat down these 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 you meet and I am every woman you meet. And I am you, also.