Every day I wear a mask. A mask to hide my constant and brutal struggle with mental illness. A mask to make people believe I’m normal, that I’m not on the verge of tears at any given moment, a mask that hides my fear of living. 

I know I’m not the only one who does this. Many who struggle with mental health also hide it. Part of the reason is because there are so many stigmas around mental illness. We are afraid of what others will think of us, what they will falsely believe about us. It’s a defense mechanism, because the world is cruel to those who don’t ‘fit in’. 

We also wear the mask to help us try to feel better. You know, the whole fake it til you make it thing. The problem with that is so often you’re simply suppressing how you really feel and it builds into an insurmountable demon. And that demon won’t sit quietly inside. 

For me it’s become so instant, so habitual, that I almost don’t even realize I have my mask on. I live with it on. When I have slowly started opening up to people about my mental illness, they are often shocked because I ‘seem fine’. But the ugly truth of mental illness is there is no specific look, and the most put together people often are struggling the most. 

The mask can be good in some scenarios, but more often than not it’s harmful. You can’t be authentic and true to yourself when putting on a show for others. Struggles often go unaddressed since the only one who knows about them is the person dealing with them. It’s isolating, it’s maddening. 

I’m trying to take the mask off, but it’s so hard. One day at a time I try a little more. This is the path to healing, and it’s scary, but worth it.