The Mask
From the outside I hide it well. To many on the outside it looks like business as usual. This is my mask. I have a pretty high ability to maintain just enough of my normal routine that I make it through. If I see you I will smile. I will tell you I am tired, and for most they don't understand my tired, they look at me as a mom, and well what Mom isn't tired? My tired, well my tired, is different. I am exhausted, mentally, and physically from fighting the demons that live in my head. You can't run from your thoughts, so my brain spends all day running from one thing to the next. The mask is really good at hiding this, with the mask I can say I am tired and everyone will go about their day. It is socially acceptable to be tired.
Behind the mask, I am the women who has had a rough week. Big important meetings were had, stressful situations were handled, not resolved but handled. The husband missed an eight hour shift to do this appointment with me. He held my hand, played with my hair, and rubbed my neck when the anxiety and the panic set in. He asked how he could help with that damn meltdown because PTSD doesn't give one single fuck where you are when you are triggered. The brain says hey we are in danger and you go full on into it. I still fall partially down this rabbit hole. It's hard fighting both sides of the brain at the same time. You can't run from your own brain. So I fight every ounce of my being to try and stop falling down the rabbit hole.
This is the me you don't see. This is the me I am afraid to talk about. So I hide behind the mask. The mask of tired. What I really want to do is say I need a hug, maybe a cookie, and for someone to spend the day holding my hand and telling me it is okay. That everything in the end will be okay. I need this but all I can muster is I am tired.
That damn mask I have gotten so good at putting on.
I am tired. So very tired.
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