Dear readers, I received this very heartfelt and poignant composition from a person in early recovery from a severe addiction which ruined his life. He is in a lot of pain and very humble, and this composition is part of his healing. And though you may be far, far beyond this, and strong as steel, there may be something in here that strikes a chord in your heart and may be of help. I think it is beautiful and sincere and want to share it with you today.
PLEASE HEAR WHAT I AM 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 I am afraid to take off, and one of them in me.
Pretending is an art that is second nature to me, but don’t be fooled, for God’s sake, don’t be fooled. I give you the impression I am secure, that confidence is my name and coolness is my game, that the water’s are calm and I am in command, and I need no one. But don’t believe me. Please! My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my masks, my every-varying and ever-concealing masks. Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence. The real me is sometimes beneath in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
But I hide this. I don’t want anybody to know it. I panic at the thought of my weakness. I panic at the thought of my weakness and being exposed. That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant sophisticated façade to help me to pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation, and I should know it. That is, if it’s followed by acceptance, by love. It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self-built walls, from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It’s the only thing that will assure me of what I cannot assure myself—that I’m really worth something. I know now, I need others, and I need the help of Divine Intelligence.
But I do not tell this. I am afraid to; I don’t dare. I’m afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love. I am afraid you will think less of me; you will laugh, and laughter would kill me. I am afraid deep down I am worth nothing; I’m just no good, and you will see this and reject me. So I play a game, with a face of assurance without, and a trembling child within.
And so the parade of masks begins, the glittering but empty parade of masks. And my life becomes a front. I glibly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing that is everything of what is crying within me. So when I am going through my routine, do not let anyone be fooled by what I am saying.
Please listen carefully and hear what I am not saying, what I would like to be saying; what for survival, I need to say, but what I cannot say.
I dislike hiding. Honestly, I dislike the superficial game. I am playing the superficial phony games. I would really like to be genuine and spontaneous, but you have got to help me. God, please hold out your hand, even when that is the last thing I seem to want or need. Only you can wipe from my eyes, the blank stares of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness. Each time you’re kind and gentle, an 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 sympathy and your power of understanding, you can breathe life into me. I want to know that. I want you to choose to believe in my and yourself as well.
Perhaps, you, God, alone can break own the wall behind which I tremble. You alone can remove my mask. You alone can release me from my shadow of panic and uncertainty, from my lonely prison. So, do not pass me by. Please do not pass me by. It will be easy for you to help me, to help anyone, for I have Faith in your power over all, even my own seemingly hopeless insecurities. I know that you can help, and I will pay it forward a thousand times as I heal. I know you know that too.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls. The nearer you approach me, the more I may resist. It is irrational, but despite what the books say about human beings, I am irrational. I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than walls, and in this lies my hope—my only hope! Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands, but gentle hands—for a child is sensitive and like all of us I am a child within.
WHO AM I, YOU MAY WONDER?
I AM SOMEONE YOU KNOW VERY WELL,
FOR I AM EVERY MAN YOU MEET AND I AM EVERY WOMAN YOU MEET.
