All people wear masks and costumes. They are the lies we present to others' eyes every day. You put a cheerful mask on, despite the fact that your father just passed away, or your cat was eaten by a rabid wolverine. You put on the mask of sympathy, despite feeling that the person in question is simply reaping what they sowed. You laugh at jokes that aren't amusing. You wear clothing to show that you're a wealthy individual that works in a bank - despite just being a teller. You buy clothing that shows that you've spent a lot of time in them, despite their being pre-stressed. We wear t-shirts of places we have never been to, or products we have never tried - and often don't want to.

You, and many others here, are simply dealing with a mask that is much more difficult, and often painful, to put on, and that you want to take off as quickly as possible each day.

Actually, I do understand what Dorothy is feeling. I too lived behind a mask, a facade, that represented the boy and man my parents and relatives expected. As long as I didn't let anyone get very close, I could maintain that facade pretty well, but many times it was a chore. I lived with friends and family held at arms length for the most part, and never opened up like others could. I wouldn't drink as I feared I would blurt out how I felt to just anyone if I was drunk or stoned, and I couldn't. I didn't have the outlet of the net, I didn't have books or other resources until I was 26 and found the Transsexual Phenomenon. (No, not true, I met a TS in a way during an interview by students in a class while getting my first degree. Her story scared the beJesus out of me, as she had been committed to an asylum by her parents, had electro shock and drugs until she knew she would die unless she could finese' them. She did, got released, sold all she could get her hands on, and left California, the money running out in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Low paying jobs and bit of luck, and she went for surgery in Morocco 10 years later.) There were many times I was depressed, suicidal even, but still put on that facade with my clothes every day and added the joker, smiling face that hid so damn much. I didn't like confrontation and fights, and I could defuse situations with the jokes and smiles and if nothing else walk away if someone was being a super asshole. I lived like that from the time I was 10 until I finally faced the fact that I was going to die not only unfulfilled, but early and by my own hand. I was 60 then. And I had tried to off myself a total of 4 times since I was 15.

I understand what Dorothy is feeling. Only 6 years ago I was feeling the same damn way. Every Halloween I would think about getting clothes and getting dressed with that as an excuse, but also felt it would be unstoppering the genie's bottle and knew it would not go back in. There was no grace of God to depend on, no magical Fairy Godmother, just one plodding day after another. And so I would continue to look at the world through a mask of NOT ME every damn day, only relaxing from it at night when I could be alone with myself and often cry myself to sleep and wake with a we pillow almost every morning, and even then I often pursued hobbies I could use to avoid facing myself, or read to place myself into a person other than me. Every day was an unfulfilled Halloween. It was a life I mostly hated, though there were times I could find some happiness, some pleasure in achievement, or relaxation with friends. I do so well understand.

CaroL