If you were to give a man a mask then his true self will be revealed. The idea came from Oscar Wilde and it shows that if humans can’t be recognised, they will do horrible things. This doesn’t apply to me though, as I do not know what I am. All that remains are remnants of what lies I have conjured up. I have learned that I lie a lot; even when the truth is accepted. But if truth is stronger than fiction, why does fiction hold such a higher value over the truth? I don’t know and I believe it is something I never will.

I know I am at a loss for myself. Pleasing people has regarded the death of me but the acknowledgment of me to others. People can see me, but I will never really be seen. Within these white walls I’m supposed to be me and it’s the only time I will be allowed to be me. After a few months, I’ll be out and the mask will be fractured yes, but it will still be on. I look at the mask like a straw filled with water. If you were to cover it up then hold it in the air for everyone to see, everyone looks at it. Sure they may not be impressed, but they’re still looking. But the second something damages the straw, all that was held inside comes pouring out it’s suddenly less impressive and no one looks at all impressed.

A question that has been living alongside me for a growing number of hours is whether I am really at all a person. I mean yes I may look like a person, but I don’t know if I am all there mentally enough to be a person. I am average across the board except for science in which I am only slightly above the average. I do not know what I am and I do not know how to define what I am. The best analogy I could give would be a clay sculpting of the past and present experience of me.

I have learned over exaggerating yourself and or personal qualities of general ideas starts to be the death of your life and the start of somebody else’s. People believe I am panic-stricken of spiders. Sometimes they tease me with spiders and I immediately reject the idea of engaging and run the opposite direction. To be honest with myself, I am not at all afraid of spiders nor arachnids or any other sort of insect or bug. I had a pet tarantula from the age of six up until now. Though if I keep associating myself with spiders then people will think of me anytime they see one. When I was younger, I wasn’t afraid of anything. I didn’t have the slightest fear of dying. No reason for it. I thought that if I die, that’s fine with me, any time at all. But then I met a certain crowd and it changed. I started to think that I wanted to survive. For the first time, the idea of death began to scare me.

I never seemed to seek the spotlight or the crowds attention until I had it. It was like a confidence boost telling me anything that I do. Confidence that I didn’t even need. I was doing well in my life; I had learned to speak a language, swim and I can even do some gymnastics moves like a cartwheel and a backwards handspring. I learned very quickly however people only appreciate your achievements when you don’t talk about them so I very quickly ushered back to my room with my medals.

I think if life was like a butterfly, I’d never leave the cocoon and grow to spread my wings into a moth, like a cocoon that can change its colour based on your favourite. I think the issue with the mask is that eventually it won’t fit just one person it will fit about four separate identities behind them.

I used to lie about myself all the time to everyone, whether it be about my nonexistent pet dog who would always cover me in dirt and that’s why my clothes were dirty. Or whether it be that I used to play football but I broke my leg and then stopped playing for years so that’s why I never participated. I know why I had told these lies, and it was solely because I was asked questions about myself. I am a selfish thing of the universe and that is something I will neither change nor want to change. All of that I would lie for would be for people to appreciate me.

I don’t do much outside of my school life. I sit at home and dully move around my house. I live a boring life. I am comfortable in this life however, and I don’t want to change it. Acedia is a state of complete emptiness and a lack of motivation to change and I think in this ruin of what remains of me, this fills my empty life like a hollow shell telling me that what I do is enough.

At heart I’ve never really been that happy a person. If I were to die soon, I don’t really care about how I’d go out. I could go out by myself and I wouldn’t even bat an eye. That’s not the bit of my story I want people to focus on. I want to be able to be remembered for longer than 2 hours after the funeral and to actually leave an impression on someone’s life, or day at a bare minimum. I think that’s what I want at least. Just to know that all this suffocation and suffering hasn’t been for nothing, I’d like to at least believe that people would have to take time out of their days in order to show their appreciation towards me. Almost like a test of my own self worth to these people. If I had the choice to go and watch my life from another persons point of view it would maybe make more sense. I think if I were to die I’d rather it be a ceremony of my afterlife than a celebration of my life.