Who Are You? Part 1
This mask tells a story
It’s an honest question, but for me, it is not quickly answered. One of the many lessons I learned during my PTSD treatment was that I show everyone that I am who they want me to be. For most of my career as an NCO, I never wanted to show too much emotion. I was taught that if I showed any emotion that it was a negative thing. Unfortunately, this spilled over into my personal life. Like many people with emotional baggage, I hid all my hurt and pain inside and never let it out. I became so good at it that I even started to fool myself.
Then one day, as I was out-processing a duty station, there was just a minor inconvenience that ultimately pushed me over the edge. I held it together until I was driving in my car by myself, and I just started to yell and bang my open palms against the steering wheel. I couldn’t stop screaming. I was sweating, and I wanted to swerve my vehicle into something. I had no idea what had come over me, but I did not like it. I was angry at everyone and everything.
What was it about this minor event that set me off? Why did this happen? Well, it would take me five years to learn that “the body keeps the score (Van der Kolk, 2015).” No matter how much we think we can outrun past pain and trauma, your body remembers what you’ve gone through, even if you’ve consciously sought to forget about it. Think about it like a closed wound. You need to open it up and get all that junk out of there before you can start to heal.
I started opening my mental wounds during treatment. The photo you see above is who I was on the inside (and sometimes I still am). This is the inside of a paper mache (papier-mâché) mask we had to make. The black paint represents the darkness that consumed me. I couldn’t find hope or joy. My day-to-day life was numbness and anger. The yellow streaks represent the occasional light that would penetrate that darkness, but it was never enough to make a difference. You will notice the crosses surrounding my eyes and my mouth. When you look from inside the mask, you can’t see the crosses. This represents me trying to find Jesus, but I couldn’t see anything in my periphery. I could only look straight ahead of me, which is where my fear and anxiety were. The crosses on both sides of my lips represent what I sometimes spoke and wanted to speak. I wanted to praise the Lord, but darkness kept overcoming me. I put on a good show and talked a good game, but my words were empty. Now that you see what it means look past the terrible art. This is what I wrote at the time I had to present it. Investigate the depths of my soul…
“I am a liar. Most of the time, all I see is darkness. All around me, in my periphery, I know God is there and wants to help me, but I ignore Him. I see past Him. You will never know this part of me. I won’t show you, lest you don’t believe me. Focus on the periphery. God surrounds you, but you don’t want to change. I know you are there, God. Let the light penetrate.”
I’m not a poet by any means. These are just the thoughts of a broken man desperately seeking to connect with his God. These are the thoughts that consumed my mind. Sometimes, I still have those thoughts, but treatment has been a revelation for me. I don’t have to do this alone.
Neither do you. If you feel like I felt, reach out to someone. Reach out to me. Reach out to someone you know, trust, and love. Don’t wait as I did. Waiting will only prolong the misery, and your life is too short to be miserable. Next week, we will talk about the side of me that everyone saw.
~Rey