Some of my earliest memories involved doctors and nurses,
all observing me and seeing how I acted around others. They
told my parents that my condition would result in me learning
“masking” as a tool I would use to appear normal.
If they only knew how true a term it is,
for in my world every day was like Halloween
and I would put on a mask before going out.
When I became an adult, the narrative around me
changed. Gone was the pressure to act like everyone
else, and in it’s place was a message that I didn’t
have to act like everyone else and could take off my mask.
But when I took it off, instead of feeling okay
I only felt like an alien. Wondering if I was even human.
But today, I know that I too experience love, loss, jot,
anger, and sadness. I may act different, but I too
experience the human condition.
And I don’t need to wear a mask to know that.