I wish I could hide my face. If one more person asks me if I’m ok, I’m going to lose it. I am not ok, but I also don’t need every Tom, Dick and Harry at work asking me. They don’t need to know my business. But I can’t. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, especially when I’m upset. Anger, I can occasionally hide, although it usually comes out as tears. Happiness, I’ll wear with a smile. Sadness, it’s written all over my face. My eyes are watery. My mouth, turned down. The light, gone. I’m sure I look like an empty shell. A hollow person. I’m barely surviving this week. I know I’ll swim through the seven layers of shit I feel like I’m buried under and come out the other side, but until then, I wish I could hide my face.
I never was a very good actress.