Face of Broken Solitude

I think it's time that I show one of my faces behind the masks. You may have seen the eyes peering from behind, but now I'll let you see the raw flesh. For all intents and purposes my masks have covered and hidden this face of mine to my satisfaction.

You see, my masks are my defenses. They allow me to transform insecurity into confidence, exhaustion into energy, unease into comfort, vulnerability into strength, and sadness into apparent happiness. My masks are as much a part of me as anything else. Perhaps they are more of me than I realized. Perhaps I can no longer tell apart my masks from my faces, as that distinction is blurred. Indeed, this may not even be a face but yet another mask; but if it is, it's not a mask I let others see.

I've learned from a young age to put up walls of emotional defense. If I must, I can attain an almost Vulcan-like clinical mind. As such I've created masks to show you what I feel (and want to feel) and what I want you to see. You may have noticed that the bulk of my posts since August have centered almost exclusively on my life as a med student, under the all-encompassing Mask of Medicine. You may have felt me delve into issues that no one else cares much about, dedicating my Mask of Caring to some purpose that may or may not be greater than myself. And perhaps my posts read like a documentary, as I'm not the most emotional writer, even without my Mask of Stoicism. What's left to hide, I hide under my Mask of Silence. It was all for some purpose, but so that you now see, here is me defenseless, here is me vulnerable. This post may be longer than my usually long novelette posts, but realize my difficulty in articulating that which I can't even stand to see.

To reiterate, you may first want to read this post on Straight as the Arrow Flies. Deep down, beneath the masks and the walls, is a fragile insecurity that's always on the edge of breaking. As true as it was since I started this blog, I am alone in every romantic/sexual sense possible. Though I may have moved on to the next stage in my life and career, that part of me has not matured since perhaps the 7th grade. Dating and seeking a relationship, quite frankly, unsettles me to the point of emotional paralysis. Even thinking about it makes me feel exhausted and heavy. I'm being held back . . . by myself.

It truly is all my own damn fault. I don't make much of an effort to get out and explore. I generally dislike going to clubs or bars, and I certainly will not go alone. But even if I did, I don't know how to approach someone and I'm too shy to express interest. It's so easy to make excuses; after all, the Mask of Medicine pretty much dictates the majority of my life right now.

I am scared that I've become numb to my own feelings, that I wouldn't recognize love even if it were in front of me. What does it feel like? How do I know? How do I act on it? I'm not sure I'm able to separate out love from infatuation from lust. I've spent too long brushing aside such feelings in pursuit of other achievements.

And I am tired. Lately, every now and then, I laugh in the shower. I laugh at my own pathetic-ness and how nice it feels to have water flow over my body, to pretend to have something wash away my unease and hide my tears (in case I have any). And the nights I crawl into bed cold (because it's getting cold here), and alone, and wonder what it must feel like to get into bed with another person and wake up next to him/her.

For the most part I guess I'm too good at hiding this face. I wish just once someone would call me out on it. I wish every now and then someone would hug me, long and sincere, and tell me that things will be okay. I wish I could hug back and not feel awkward. I wish someone would call bullshit on my excuses and drag me out somewhere I've never been (and probably somewhere I'd never be able to find on my own). I wish I were invited to more social events and activities. And I wish I didn't have to initiate and feel pathetic doing so.

Today in anatomy lab, we were having our usual conversations and gossip. But then somewhere along the line it hit a nerve, I felt a crack and felt my face showing. Our conversation drifts, as it often does, towards relationships. And every time I feel alone, left out, unable to contribute - for I have no experience, I've had no relationships. Virginal in all aspects to this subject that my peers were well-versed in.

Perhaps you think I'm silly, or pathetic, or perhaps you haven't even read this far. But this is how it is. And even now, I feel that invisible hand grasping my heart and the dense gravity in my legs. I'm no saint, I'm not some confident med student, I'm not even always on steady ground. But this much you can count on - so long as someone else needs me, so long as others suffer, so long as you have a complaint that I'm willing to hear - I won't tell you my own issues. Because it's my duty to put aside my problems for you, an aspect of medicine that I find relief in. It's my job to care but not yours to reciprocate. My masks and I are for you, even if no one's there for me. There are other people and bloggers who write more emotionally than I, who expose more of their problems than I, and who receive the love and praise of the world. I don't ask for it and I don't expect it because I don't bring it up, but you know what? It does make me sad, and I suppose envious.

I guess med students and doctors are human after all. Time to go to bed, alone and heavy with this broken solitude.