So... Masking? ♾

Hi. I’m back with another post- not a poem this time.

So, about the previous post... 

It was a poem I just wrote on the spot. Yeah, I did that again. 

I wrote it to comfort myself. It’s a comforting writing piece. And like the rest of my creative writing, it’s about a topic very personal to me. 

Which brings me to this: 

So... Masking? What did I exactly mean by that? 

I found an in-depth article (academic journal?) that explains it. Masking information 

It is a behavior (set of behaviors) that neurodivergent people engage in. 

In my case, I was intending my poem/writing piece to be about autism more than anything else. 

And that brings me to this: 

Hi, I’m called Cutepups or Shan on here. I haven’t been active on this blog in a while. So many things changed in my life over these past few months. 

Including figuring this out and getting diagnosed: 

Hi, I’m autistic. 

Turns out I have Autism Spectrum Disorder. 

♾ 

So, that’s one thing. I could create more posts about other things that happened in my life this year.

Whenever I think about blogging now, I realize how open and public it is. It seems daunting to me, to tell you the truth. I don’t feel as impulsive to make posts about everything that happens in my life as I once did. Maybe you viewers don’t need to know everything about me. And that’s okay. 

That’s all I feel like saying for now. Bye. 

Mask (poem)

There is a certain sense of 

feeling disoriented in the disconcerting situation 

when your lines of reality and unreality become 

blurred so much that you realize that 

there were never solid lines in the first place.

There isn’t anything like 

staring at yourself in the mirror,

touching your face,

and finding out that 

what is staring back at you

turns out to not be your face 

but a superficial version of yourself. 

I wish it was straightforward—

the moment of realization when the mirrored face

turns from human skin to 

plastic, clay, wood— 

anything that’s not your skin,

but such a transformation never happens

since this isn’t a 

beautiful mess of a metamorphosis. 

 

There isn’t anything beautiful 

when you don’t know your true self anymore 

and all you know is suppressing and hiding 

who you really are 

in order to survive. 

There is no beauty in discovering that 

your face and reflection don’t match;

identity crisis rises in bile in your throat 

and you start questioning everything 

because you don’t know who you are anymore. 

This is an insidious type of mask 

that you could go years and years wearing 

without even knowing it,

and you don’t even receive a costume piece 

as a gift for finding out about your own mask 

because in the end, 

there is no mask.

This is ironic,

such a bad joke,

and you’ve got to be kidding me.

Finding out that I have a mask

which I can’t take off and use as a costume—

where is the silver lining?

But when you learn about your own mask,

you can’t go back,

so now you know better

since you know you have a mask,

and it’s better than being in the dark,

not knowing why you are the way you are.

There is nothing wrong with us

for being forced by society to wear masks 

in order to adapt, be accepted, and less ridiculed 

by the intimidating majority.

There is nothing shameful in

using survival tactics without being 

consciously aware of them 

since you’re so used to wearing your mask. 

But finding out that we’re not alone

and that a whole community is out there 

makes the future seem a little brighter

and worth taking those tentative steps out of the dark. 

We aren’t fake,

superficial versions of normal,

pathological liars

for wearing masks.

Know what it really is?

It’s something called

Masking.