Personal Narrative: Iron And Steel Masks

In my life I have had many faces. Iron and steel masks of emotions and anxiety, hung up with heartstrings on the walls of my consciousness. My collection has only grown, fragile faces painted with the fear of vulnerability. Sculpted with the dread of criticism. I protect myself by shielding all the soft humanness that lie inside, by shoving myself into the mold that society puts in front of us. Why would I not cut myself down to fit inside?
From a very young age, about fifth grade, I believe that in order to feel like I have any self-worth, I needed to be popular. I needed to wear the Aeropostale jeans, the Abercrombie and Fitch shirts. I needed to be petite and wear tight clothing. That was what my so-called friend said. I became obsessed …show more content…
The perfectionist mask. In seventh grade I discovered to some extent that I really liked to learn. And somehow if I was really smart then I would have a purpose at my school, that people would know me. But that is not “me”. I became obsessed with constantly parading around in a mask of intelligence. Every fiber of my being wanted to receive the highest grades, the most academic awards, the most praise from teachers. I worried myself sick. Migraines, stomach pains. This is me! Right? I protected my true self with an obsession with grades and an image of being smart. Because if I was not the smart girl, then what would that leave me with?
Just because I left the hell that is middle school did not mean I lost those masks. They are still tucked away, and every once in awhile can pop out. In high school the mask of joy came back, but this time in a much deeper way. I wanted to be skinny this time, not just suck in my stomach. So I dusted off my mask and began to starve myself, counting and controlling every calorie I begrudgedly let into my body. I cannot be fat. I cannot let others see my nonexistent rolls. What would they say? What would they think? I like to think I got better, but my mask is still strung …show more content…
No matter how hard we want to throw them against a wall, to stomp them into microscopic dust, to throw them off a bridge and hope they drown with all our insecurities. Shame. We create our masks because we are shameful of our true face. Shame. We cannot break our masks because we are ashamed that we even needed them. Shame. It is a shame that we cannot see through each others masks and help remove them. As people, we feel so hateful about the soft insides that create our humanness. Consequently, we become obsessed with protecting ourselves with iron and barbed wire. I am a human. I am soft and malleable, and feed off other people's energy. I have emotions, and I cry when I listen to worship music. I care what other people think, and it hurts when I do not feel accepted. I make mistakes, and I am learning to own them like the freckles on my cheek. I cry, I scream, I sing, I laugh. I feel. And so do