Member-only story
Behind the Mask
Escaping the prison of pretense and resurrecting the self we abandoned
In the more mature years of my adulthood, a metamorphosis began to occur within me. This change was so gradual and imperceptible that at the time it was happening, I mostly remained blissfully unaware of its unfolding. It was a journey of self-discovery, a shedding of the caricature I had so carefully cultivated as a means of deflecting the scrutiny and judgment that so often accompanies those who dare to fully embrace their authentic selves.
As a young gay man, I had learned early on to put on a mask, a carefully curated persona that was equal parts entertainer, comedian and a character I’ll call “Mr. Positivity.” No matter how badly my life was falling apart behind the curtain, everything was good — things had to be good — all the time.
With my queeny quips, animated gestures and cartoonish mannerisms, I could become the life of every gathering, a fixture whom everyone liked and wanted to be around; a court jester of sorts who made everyone laugh. Yet beneath this vibrant facade lay a calculated strategy, a desperate bid for acceptance that sacrificed authenticity at the altar of conformity.
In my childhood home, where affection and love should have been my foundation, my needs were shunned with either deafening silence or worse, harrowing physical and emotional abuse. The effects of such a childhood left an indelible mark upon my psyche.
As I entered adulthood, I found myself unconsciously striving in vain to fill the chasm that those barren childhood years had wrought. I needed to somehow reclaim that which had been so cruelly denied me — to somehow retroactively nurture the wounded child who was still inside, yearning for unconditional love and acceptance.
I badly needed to be liked and to be seen.
If I could dazzle and delight, I thought, if I could make myself wanted through the sheer force of my charisma, then perhaps they would overlook whatever aspects of my identity that everyone in my life thus far had deemed unpalatable. In this way, I bartered my true self for the illusion of belonging, trading genuine connection for the fleeting laughs or approval of those who knew only the cartoon caricature I had so meticulously…
