The Mask is an act, a barrier which starts at the face. You interact, laugh even, pretend that everything is ok, so that you can get through the day and complete your tasks with everyone thinking that things are normal, or whatever normal should be these days, with depression you are never quite sure. But it’s a brittle barrier, a high maintenance barrier, one which leaves you tired and in need of periodic escape just to recharge and face the rest of it. It’s like an egg-shell – seemingly hard and impervious, protecting the inside, but it only needs one sharp and well placed hit to break through and crack. If you get it right you can almost deceive yourself and start believing it to be the truth, getting you through the day, but when you walk out of the door from work and sit down on your own, the deflation sets in, the unrealised tension generated by maintaining it oozes out, and it hits you that the issues are still there – they always will be. It’s only how you deal with them that differs, and maybe one day things will be such that you won’t have the depression in the first place, and The Mask can be mentally filed away, placed back in the mental equivalent of Davy Jones’ locker, buried deep and hopefully not to be seen again.
But the door from work isn’t the end of it, you’ve got to go home, which is when you realise that The Mask isn’t just a mask, it’s a Janus Mask, multi-faced. What works outside of the home might not work at home, they know you better, are closer to you, recognise more. So The Mask morphs, takes on different forms, strengthens some parts, weakens others. But it will work – you got through the day before, the day before that, the sun still came up – what can possibly go wrong?
