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.