Masking. I have not been diagnosed as being autistic, and I am not saying I am, but I certainly share some typical actions and reactions to certain stimuli. But, that is not what this entry is about. This entry is, generally, about masking; and specifically, about masking around my bio family. I mask in a lot of places and around a lot of people. I am very good at it, at least, I think I am. This can be a good thing, while simultaneously, being a bad thing.
So, my family is very religious. African Methodist Episcopalian (AME). My sibs have become very religious as they have aged. I stopped going to church at 16, and started following what I thought I was looking for. It was right for the time, but not my destination. A mere stop on the ever-ending ride that is spirituality.
Anyway, I digress. What I want to write is that me and my family are two completely different beings. There’s my family…then there is me. The proverbial black sheep of my Black family. I have masked since the age of 16. The first time my parent’s saw any evidence of my manic episodes. I was manic from March until just two weeks ago. I am almost back to baseline, and made a ton of bad decisions, as per normal with a manic episode. My parents helped bail me out (no jail), and I am grateful for them. It is just that I can NEVER be the real me around them. They would definitely be clutching their collective pearls if they saw even a glimpse of the real me. And I mask because it protects me from such scrutiny. Like really, it would be unbearable. So, I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never show them the real me. They will get the version I have created for them for all of these years already. Why not continue?
