From early childhood up through adolescence, I knew that I was forbidden from talking about the majority of my life and required to be bubbly. As an actress I succeeded at it magnificently. Then when I went off to college I got myself in legitimate therapy and found a psychiatrist, and I began striving toward a healthy honesty with life.
Meeting my now husband as a senior in college changed everything for me. I felt safe – both physically and emotionally. That was an entirely new experience for me and it was everything. I began sharing truths with him. Over the years since then, I’ve occasionally invited others to experience me authentically with the eventual result of rejection.
My now husband and I bonded with mutual trust and honesty. He became my entire world. And when my inner demons began consuming me without break a few years back, the only way he knew to help me was to relentlessly remind me to be positive. Denying my experiences doesn’t help me. But no one wants to be around depression so I began denying myself for everyone else. It’s an old habit I fell easily back into – painful as it is. I’ve found a sort of balance where if something specific and not too uncomfortable comes up, I can share the information in a mostly cold and clinical manner. Otherwise I smile and actively listen to the people in my vicinity. And since I care about the people around me, it’s easy to engage in their stories and be genuinely happy for them. At least that part is no longer an over animated show for people I hate.
Still, it’d be nice to just roll out of bed more often without sitting in front of my vanity, putting on that stage makeup. I’m not sure if I still can apply that natural look instead. Or if anyone could stand to look at me if I did.
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