Category: therapy

The Mask

Ellen Thomas1 Comment

I spoke a couple of months ago about the misinterpreted face of depression. And the frustration I have with it. An extract from the post reads; “It’s easier to smile. It is easier at the time. We all know that. But everything will always catch up with us, it has too. Especially with the weight of a world that is desperate for us to be consistently happy, consistently instagrammable, and consistently consistent. It’s all too much.” And I want to write today about this a bit more. About how I cope or don’t cope or am struggling to cope, and how my coping mechanism can sometimes be… well, The Mask.

I wear a mask, one that (to most people) makes me appear to be strong and capable, cheerful, outgoing, warm. The “nothing bothers me” mask. It continues to smile no matter what is happening to the woman behind it. The mask is a way to hide my bruised self, a way to hide or disguise the feelings that are raw and vulnerable. It is safe. It allows me to attempt perfect control over what people get to see. We all wear it at times. And it’s vital some of the time. In professional settings it’s important to be able to keep some feelings controlled, that’s your job. In a supermarket, we smile and thank the person who serves us, no matter how we are feeling. When your friend needs you, you put everything aside, you put on The Mask for a little while, to help them out. Now, I need you to know that this post is not saying that we should never wear The Mask, sometimes, it’s needed, it’s appropriate. But what we must all be doing, is taking it off. And acknowledging it for what it is, The Mask.

My Mask used to fit me so well — seamlessly even — but in the past couple of years it has started to hurt a little. It feels heavy and no longer seems to fit and holding it up gets to be exhausting and occasionally it starts to slip. What once felt as though it was made from fine china, light and smooth, easy to keep in place, now feels to be roughly crafted from harsh sandpaper — it is heavy and rubs painfully.

I don’t want to wear it all the time anymore, and I am desperately trying to adjust to a life where I only wear it part time, but I am also fighting a feeling of not wanting to burden people with the real feelings I have. Truth is, I have been and am scared. I don’t like to leave the safety of my sanctuary, it frightens me. I am scared of falling apart, every single day, I am horrified at the thought that my mask might drop, without me being able to control when I take it off. I am terrified of being seen, judged or pitied. It strikes fear in my heart to think of falling apart and having people suggest it was a way to get attention, to be noticed.

I know avoidance is considered to be a poor and dangerous coping skill, but despite that, a lot of the time, I just want to be alone. I am lonely, sometimes. But not too often. I am aware of the negative presence I have at the moment. I don’t want to burden people with my presence unless I know that I am going to be able to keep the strong and cheerful me present. I do not want to be a disappointment. And right now, I’m desperately trying to work out… work out how to be me again, I’m putting on The Mask as often as I can. But I’m letting my real self, my depressed self, breathe a bit more. Sometimes I can’t face putting The Mask on just to sit for a meal at my family dinner table, I take it off in the evenings, I am aware of when I have been wearing it too long, and even more aware when it begins to slip.

Now trust me, I’m not about to even contemplate living a mask-free life. Although I suppose that’s what I’m doing with Ellen on the Edge, I don’t find it very difficult to sit behind a keyboard and share my thoughts, and for me, it’s quite therapeutic. But opening up in person, right now… let’s just say, The Mask is still in place.

Keep your mask on if that’s what you feel you need to do. I’m totally with you. But please know that you will need to take it off at some point, your real self needs to breathe. Do what you need to do, darling.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx

Driving in a rainstorm

Ellen Thomas2 Comments

I drove home from work on Friday in the most horrendous rainstorm. At one point I actually thought I wasn’t going to make it back.

I’ve thought about the journey this weekend and I think it’s quite symbolic.

Picture this: you run from your work building to your car, you have an umbrella but your shoes have managed to start squelching even though you’ve literally ran about 30 meters. By the time you’ve put your umbrella down as you attempt to scramble into your car with your rucksack fully disrupting your entry, your clothes and the inside of your driver door are dripping, your hair is an absolute write off and that cheap mascara you bought to last until payday when you can scrape together the money to buy benefit has truly and utterly let you down. (Enter Marilyn Manson, stage left). You sit staring out your windscreen whilst the rain absolutely hammers down, but you only sit for 30 seconds, despite knowing the safest and best thing to do would be possibly to wait a couple of minutes and see if it dies down. But no, home awaits. You have a good 50 minute car journey ahead of you, but heck, turn your podcast up extra loud, put your foot down, you’ll be cracking.

You give no second thought that your windscreen wipers are on there way out and that you are feeling less than well today. Who can’t cope with a bit of rain on their windscreen?! People do it every day mate. Pull yourself together!

As you pull onto the dual carriageway (which forms around 40 minutes of your 50 minute journey) the weather takes a turn for the worst, your windscreen wipers are now working overtime, slamming at the bottom and right hand side of your windscreen but still struggling to provide you with even 40% vision. Still, why pull over?! This is your commute, you do it every day, you have done for nearly 3 years and a lot of times in the rain. You’ll be fine.

The windscreen wipers are really trying now, they are trying to help, but you’re starting to hit major planes of water and you’re gripping so hard to the steering wheel that your fingers start to ache. You lean forward in your seat and start getting audibly worried. You turn your radio off and concentrate, hard. Still, it’s only a bit of rain, your hearts started beating a bit faster but.. yeah, this isn’t working.

You decide to think about this, none of this is working, you need to slow down, you’re not going to get home in the normal time, and you need to be wary of the other cars around you, and your own safety, you turn your lights right up, and pull into the slow lane. You slow down to 40mph, sit back and concentrate on your drive, people are starting to flash you, but they get over it and take over. You are safe and more comfortable at this speed, you will still get home, it just might take a bit longer. What you could do, is pull over for 5 minutes, let yourself calm down, phone your mum and tell her you’re worried. Stop for 30 minutes if you need to. Home will still be there and there is genuinely no rush. You relax a little, and just as you do the rain… the rain starts to calm. It’s still not a pleasant idyllic driving experience but it’s manageable. You decide to carry on, but maintain the slow pace.

The rain stops at some point, and your windscreen wipers are still screeching against the glass, working overtime to clear your vision, without you needing it. It’s time to turn them down, turn them off. You’re ok.

You manage the final 20 minutes of your journey and pull into your road and turn off your engine, you throw your head back against the seat and feel momentarily very emotional, you were really scared, and you didn’t enjoy that. But the relief that it was over, for some reason, on that Friday, meant a lot.

What was all that about, what was there to worry about?!

But stop. You’ve just driven 33 miles, you’ve driven 33 miles in the most horrendous rainstorm, you were scared at one point, but you slowed down, you slowed to a pace that you were comfortable with, you let others over take you and you quietened the noises that were distracting you. You concentrated, but not enough to hurt your fingers, or your head. You let the windscreen wipers do what they could, but knew that they could only do so much. You turned your lights up so you could see in front of you better. You could have pulled over, you could have stopped, for however long you wanted, it was your journey, you had nothing to rush for, but you decided not to, that was your choice, you managed it.

It took you a bit longer to get home on Friday, it was a rough one, but you got home, in your own time and you used what you could to make it easier for you to manage. No one else needed to know, no one needed to rush you, it was and is no one else’s journey. To some it would have just been a commute, a car journey, in the rain. No big deal. But for you, for you my sweet one it was a big deal, it was a drive in a rainstorm, a bloody horrible one, and you got there. You did that by yourself. Good for you kid.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx