“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.” ― Ernest Hemingway

I live with many mask.

I wear them at different times, sometimes together.

Right now, for instance, on the outside I wear the mask of the dutiful worker, compliant and conforming (well, mostly). I wear the mask of the dutiful mother, wife, daughter.

Inside, where there are no masks to wear, I am broken.

On the weekend, I wore the mask of mom. It’s not really a mask though, it is one of my many aspects, but it masks the pain and anguish.

My head/scalp, neck and shoulders have been numb for a couple of weeks now. My doctor believes my MS is flaring a bit. I get symptoms, but haven’t had a full flare in years. My MS is considered mild.

Cognitively, my MS has robbed me of so much. Memories gone, thoughts scattered in the wind.

Depression has become my constant companion. Even with the joy of starting to lose weight, my children, new pets, life…it is always there. Sometimes harsher than at others.

When the depression comes, I wear the mask of happiness, a false smile, over exuberance to compensate for the lack of true emotive joy.

Few things truly make me happy now. My children. When my youngest smiles at me, my heart smiles back. My pets…my bearded dragon and my budgies (my two newest additions) get me out of bed in the morning and functioning because they depend on me to survive. I love these two little birds. They are still juveniles, but we think they are male as their ceres are a purplish hue (adult males have blue ceres – the area around the nostrils). I’ve only had them since last week, and they already provide me with more than they will ever fathom.

I’m not ok. I wear a mask of being fine, but I know I’m not.

I try. I really truly try.

I feel so broken lately. My older son has so many issues. I love him with all my heart, I love all my children deeply. My older ones have broken me. I don’t know what to do for them anymore, how to help them, how to cope. Even if I am right and they know it, I am still wrong, that in itself is not unusual – the reactions from them, however, are.

I’m tired. I want to spend a month in bed, but my body would ache from the pressure on it.

I’m tired of this rollercoaster. Just once would I so love to have a day of peace. No arguing, no loud noises, no door slams, no stomping, no screaming at me, no swearing at me, no expectations. Just one day to ‘be’.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Sarah McLachlan – Fallen