Don’t be fooled by me. Don’t be fooled by the mask I wear. 
For I wear a thousand masks and none of them are really me. 
Masks that I’m too afraid to take off, fearing that you’ll 
get to know me. Pretending is an art that is second nature to 
me. I pretend that I’m in command and that I need no one. That 
I’m cool and that my surface is so smooth, I cannot be shaken 
by anything. I act as if I’m in control, but please don’t for 
one moment be fooled by my surface, that’s only my mask. 
Beneath this mask lies no smugness, no complacence. 
Beneath this mask dwells the real me in confusion, loneliness, 
and fear.
But I don’t dare tell you that. I don’t dare tell you that this 
is my mask. I’m frightened by all the possibilities of my weakness 
being exposed. I think about it all the time. Will I look like a fool? 
That’s why I work frantically to create this mask to hide behind in my 
relationship’s with people. This nonchalant, sophisticated facade helps 
me to pretend and shield me from the glance that knows me. But such a 
glance is precisely my only salvation. It’s my only salvation if, 
however the glance is followed by acceptance and love. It’s the only 
thing that can liberate me from myself, and from my own self-built 
prison.... from the barriers that I have so painstakingly created. 
It is only that glance that will assure me of what I cannot assure 
myself, and that is, that I really am worth something. 
But, I don’t tell you this, I don’t dare to, I’m afraid to, I’m 
afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love. 
I’m afraid you’ll think less of me....that you’ll laugh, and that 
your laugh would kill me. I’m afraid that deep down I’m nothing. 
That I’m just no good, and soon you’re going to find out and 
you’ll no longer love me....that you’ll reject me. So I play 
my game, my desperate pretending game with facades of assurance 
from without, and that of a trembling little child from within. 
And my life becomes a front. And I idly chatter to you in suave 
tones about anything that really means nothing. And yet I can 
never tell you about the crying inside of me....
of my greatest hurts...
of my deepest fears. I can’t tell you that because I’m afraid. 
So please listen carefully not to what I’m saying, but to what 
I am not saying. To what I’d like to be able to say. And for 
what my very own survival, I need to say. I dislike this 
hiding...honestly. I dislike this superficial, phony game I’m 
playing. I really would like to be genuine and spontaneous and me. 
But, you’ve got to help me. You’ve got to hold out your hand. 
You’ve got to hold out your hand even when it seems that it’s the 
last thing I want from you, because I am going to share a secret 
with you about myself, the moment I act like I need you the least 
is the moment I need you the most. Don’t be fooled by this mask. 
When you see anger in the mask, don’t be fooled for one second...
that’s not anger, that’s hurt. The mask of anger is easier to show 
than the mask of hurt. You have the power to wipe away this blank 
stare of the “breathing dead” beneath this mask. It will not be easy 
for you. Long felt hurts make my masks endure. The nearer you approach 
me, the harder I may strike back. Irrationally, I fight against the 
very thing that I cry out for - my identity. You may wonder who I am. 
You shouldn’t. Don’t be fooled by the face I wear. 
I am someone you know very well. 
I AM YOU.