I began this blog a little over a year ago with the hopes that it would become a place of refuge.
A place of hope.
A place of honesty.
I became so tired of the ever pressing facade that this culture constantly, and continually, enforces. We all dwell within a masquerade. We all have our different masks; small enough to reveal a little bit of our true selves but large enough to keep the important parts hidden. Most masks are elegant, covered in bright feathers. Others have beads, diamonds, and jewels fashioned to their exterior. Such a beautiful world. We dance and drink the night away, stumbling in to the morning sun in the midst of our stupor.
It has become so exhausting.
I could not maintain and sustain such a phony lifestyle. My mask wasn’t as pretty as others…They saw right through it. It made them uncomfortable. Oh, how I longed to have the world see me for who I was.
I remember the night well. It was business as usual: music, dancing, lavish celebrations. We were swinging on the chandeliers of a false reality. No one really wanted to admit that they were breaking deep down. They had these expensive masks, why would they?
I remember seeing a mask I had never laid eyes upon. It wasn’t as majestic as the others. In fact, it didn’t even cover the entirety of the individual’s face. This was new, intriguing, and hope giving. Maybe I didn’t have to wear my mask after all?
I approached this newcomer and struck up the conversation. I could see a tear welling in their naked eye. Sweet, sweet honesty. The longer the conversation went, the more comfortable I became. I did the unthinkable. I took off my mask.
I revealed the broken, disheveled face of a little boy who had been forced to deal with this world of lies. I was ugly. I was empty. This was the only hope I had of making a change. This newcomer must have blinded me by his false portrayal. He abandoned me. When he saw my face, I remember it well, his eyes grew wide in horror. He ran away.
I now live with this question: Is honesty worth it?
When I speak I am questioned. When I write I am ridiculed. I seek restoration but only find bewilderment in the eyes of the one listening. I simply cannot win for losing. My God tells me that those like me should be honest and that I should too. He says, “Be Holy for I am holy”. I want to believe Him. I want to…Those like me must have never been listening.
Today, through a fight for forgiveness, I am wondering if honesty is worth it. If I could craft a better mask, could I live the elegant lifestyle of the fake? Would they finally accept me as one of their own?
Maybe their opinion shouldn’t even matter as much as it does.
Oh, but how it does.
Shall we dance?