I’m a very joyful person.
Some may think the opposite. Most people agree that I am. But do I really believe it about myself? Do I truly believe that I am what others think of me? The answer is no. If you consider me to be a cheerful, outgoing person, you are completely wrong.
I picture myself as this crazy, outgoing, sarcastic human being, but on the inside, that’s not how I feel most of the time. Like almost everybody, I worry, I get frustrated, and sometimes I want to curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out. Maybe that’s obscure—maybe curling up in a ball isn’t what most people feel like doing, but that’s how I legitimately feel inside.
I’m not all rainbows and butterflies all of the time, and I’m not sad either. I’m a normal human being who feels things regularly, but I can’t seem to show that. Sometimes, the person I am at school or with friends and family isn’t the real me. In those moments, I may feel frustrated or worried about an upcoming event; I may be anxious about a situation with a loved one; I may be sad because I am missing someone. But you would never know because I hide that. I put it past me, and I fake it. I fake it and become someone I am not.
I need to learn how to show my emotions honestly and tell people how I really feel. I tend to let myself hide beneath an impassive exterior because I am afraid of upsetting people or making someone mad because of how I am feeling. I tell myself, I need to be happier; I need to be funnier; it’s not okay to be pessimistic.
This leads me into the dark hallway—the one that seems light at first but ends up being the wrong path. I sit in a room full of friends—anxious, depressed, and uptight. Make a joke, I tell myself. Talk for hours on end. And it begins. I become a better version of myself, or so I think.
“Masyn, you have a black soul,” my mom tells me sarcastically, “You never show emotion towards things.”
I do, only on my own time. I hide them away around others. I bury them in a black hole. I keep them all to myself, sitting in my room with my lights off. I stare blankly at the texts I am fearful about, sobbing as minutes go by without a reply. I lay on the soft carpeted floor, shaking as the three small dots move on the screen. It was nothing. Why was I worried about a pity answer? I laugh hysterically because I was worried for nothing.
I am a human being. It’s normal to have feelings go up and down, but to hide them? No.
It feels like a weakness to show my genuine emotions, but I know it desperately needs to happen.