“Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

It’s funny the things that can trigger memories and bring them to the fore.

A song. A word. An action.

Sometimes the memories are incredible. My friends and I on the beach. Sun glinting in my eyes, the smell of freshwater, the laughing, the ability to just be.

Sometimes the memories are just that – memories. A smell, a sense of déjà vu. A heartbeat skipped in a moment, breath caught up in the wind.

Sometimes, though, sometimes the memories are dark. Lost loved ones – buried six feet under, never to be seen in this life again. Harsh words. Regrets of actions not taken. An ache in the chest so deep it bears witness to the emptiness that lies within. It can be put aside, forced to lay dormant until that moment – a song comes on the radio, sudden intake of breath, burning in the eyes, memories of loss, hurt, anguish.

Why do the hurtful ones seem the strongest? What is it about anguish?

I sit here typing, Hurt on repeat. It is trapped in a loop, just as I am. I missed a step somewhere along the way. I’ve had others tell me that I need to be in the moment. I need to move onMindfulness, they say, is the way to let go of that ache, that stress, that hurt.

But how? How does one forget and move on? Maybe forget is the wrong word, but as awful as my short term memory is, my long term memory is strong, sometimes too strong…

I’ve let myself down. I really don’t know what I’ve become or who I am anymore.  I put on a good show, I act like I know. But I don’t, and I can’t start over, I can’t keep myself from falling away. Everything feels surreal, and yet so incredibly, solidly real.

Johnny Cash – Hurt

A Mask for all Reasons

“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter (Source: Goodreads)

“You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you were beneath it.” Alan Moore, V for Vendetta (Source: Goodreads)

I was going to name this entry A Masks for all seasons, but it didn’t feel right.

I know I’ve talked about people wearing masks and not being true to themselves ( Some days I find it so hard to tell if I am really being me, or the me that developed over time due to whatever constraints have existed in the span of my life (real or imagined).

I fear that my mask is so deeply imbedded that it will take brute force of will to remove it, a searing of the flesh if you will.

When my step-daughter first met me (my ex-husband’s daughter, we’re close) she said I was so carefree and full of life. The zest has been erased over time, eroded as the shore against the waves.

It doesn’t matter how I look, what my hair is like – none of that matters. Something deep within me was broken and I’ve been woefully inadequate at piecing it back together. Some times I think I feel it. It quickly crumbles under any guise and I once again lift the mask to my self.

I want so much – I want to study, to read, to be happy and carefree. I want my anxiety to go away, my depression to lift, my pain to dissipate into the ether.

Do I want too much? Do I ask too much of this universe? I work so hard to attain what everyone wants of me, where did I lose what I wanted for me? I am sure I could pinpoint it. A specific point in time where I was convinced to shorten my education in favour of returning home – after all, I was getting married, why would I need to continue? Yes, why. Where was my backbone? Where were my hopes and dreams? Where?

I need to throw away the mask and be who I truly am, problem is – I no longer know who I am. I know what I like. I know what I enjoy. I know that there is an extremely limited amount of people who truly know me. I mean, truly know the deep down dark and dirty, light and bright me.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll figure it out. Maybe.

Michael Crawford & Sarah Brightman – Phantom of the Opera (gawd I love this song…)