asimov
18-10-2005, 05:38 PM
Hi.
When my wife & I first met....(in a yahoo chat-room..;) ) She sent me this, which I saved to the computer & every now & then I will read.
The story behind it? Back in 1986 my wife was flicking through an alcoholics anonymous flyer at the dentist in the US when she came across it. No one knows who wrote it...just signed 'anonymous'.......
Mask of Pretense
To Whom It May Concern:
Please hear what I'm not saying. Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear, for I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks~masks that I'm afraid to take off, and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature to me, but don't be fooled...for God's sake, don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without. That confidence is my name and coolness my game, that the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. Please don't believe me.
My surface may be smooth, but my surface is my mask, my varying and ever concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath it dwells the real me, in confusion and fear, in aloneness. But I hide this, I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weaknes and the fear of being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, sophisticated facade, to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.
But, such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only salvation. And I know it. That is, if it's followed by acceptance, if it is followed by love. It's the only thing that can liberate me, from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself of, that I'm really worth something. But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance. I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by love. I'm afraid that you will think less of me, that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good, and that you will see this and reject me. So I play my game, with a facade of assurance without, and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks, the glittering but empty parade of masks.
And my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that's really nothing, and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me. So, when I'm going through my routine, do not be fooled by what I'm saying, and what I'd like to be able to say, but, what I can't say.
Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the superficially phony game. I'd really like to be genuine and taneous, and me. But you've got to help me. You've got to hold out your hand, even when that's the last thing I seem to want, or need. Only you can wipe away my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging, each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings, very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings.
With your sensitivity and empathy, and your power of understanding, you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that. I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can help be a creator of the person that is me if you choose to. Please choose to. You alone can remove my mask, you alone can release me from my shadow world of panic and uncertainty; from my lonely prison. So do not pass me by. Please don't pass me by.
It will not be easy for you. A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you approach to me, the blinder I may strike back. It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man, I am irrational. I fight against the very thing I cry out for. But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls.
In this lies my hope. My only hope. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but with gentle hands, for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I, you wonder? I am someone you know very well.
I am every man you meet and every woman you meet.
When my wife & I first met....(in a yahoo chat-room..;) ) She sent me this, which I saved to the computer & every now & then I will read.
The story behind it? Back in 1986 my wife was flicking through an alcoholics anonymous flyer at the dentist in the US when she came across it. No one knows who wrote it...just signed 'anonymous'.......
Mask of Pretense
To Whom It May Concern:
Please hear what I'm not saying. Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear, for I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks~masks that I'm afraid to take off, and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature to me, but don't be fooled...for God's sake, don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without. That confidence is my name and coolness my game, that the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one. But don't believe me. Please don't believe me.
My surface may be smooth, but my surface is my mask, my varying and ever concealing mask. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. Beneath it dwells the real me, in confusion and fear, in aloneness. But I hide this, I don't want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weaknes and the fear of being exposed. That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, sophisticated facade, to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.
But, such a glance is precisely my salvation. My only salvation. And I know it. That is, if it's followed by acceptance, if it is followed by love. It's the only thing that can liberate me, from myself, from my own self-built prison walls, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself of, that I'm really worth something. But I don't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance. I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by love. I'm afraid that you will think less of me, that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good, and that you will see this and reject me. So I play my game, with a facade of assurance without, and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks, the glittering but empty parade of masks.
And my life becomes a front. I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that's really nothing, and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me. So, when I'm going through my routine, do not be fooled by what I'm saying, and what I'd like to be able to say, but, what I can't say.
Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the superficially phony game. I'd really like to be genuine and taneous, and me. But you've got to help me. You've got to hold out your hand, even when that's the last thing I seem to want, or need. Only you can wipe away my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead. Only you can call me into aliveness. Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging, each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings, very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings.
With your sensitivity and empathy, and your power of understanding, you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that. I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can help be a creator of the person that is me if you choose to. Please choose to. You alone can remove my mask, you alone can release me from my shadow world of panic and uncertainty; from my lonely prison. So do not pass me by. Please don't pass me by.
It will not be easy for you. A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you approach to me, the blinder I may strike back. It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man, I am irrational. I fight against the very thing I cry out for. But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls.
In this lies my hope. My only hope. Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but with gentle hands, for a child is very sensitive.
Who am I, you wonder? I am someone you know very well.
I am every man you meet and every woman you meet.