When I was little, if you asked what superpower I would choose, I absolutely would have said fire power. I had an unhealthy obsession with the bad-ass girl boss that is Lavagirl. She was the inspiration for my first character, my first book, and the game of which all of my childhood friends are aware.
When I was little, I probably would have told you that reading minds is overrated, teleportation is unnecessary, and invisibility is cliche. But back then, I didn’t care what anyone else thought, I had a mom to drive me around, and I didn’t have crippling anxiety that made me want to disappear.
If you asked me now, What superpower would you choose? I would absolutely say invisibility. There is something about being seen that is so unnerving.
Anyone could look at me on the street and think whatever they want. They see my face, my clothes, my posture, my expression. They perceive me how they like.
But what is it that being seen and still unknown that irks me? It’s the concept of the mask that I have convinced myself I have mastered. Not just the physical mask that I wear in a post-pandemic world, but the intangible one I put on every morning.
Whatever terrifying nightmares I had in the night, however long it took me to pull my aching body out of bed, whether or not I had the energy to fix my face and nourish my body, that is unbeknownst to the rest of the world. A secret I’ll never tell. That lies beneath the mask.
And the mask is not always a smile. Life is not simply a choice between the happy and sad. It’s a complex chaos of emotions and longings and rememberings. It’s a constant battle between confidence and ever-present insecurities.
And when you’re down, it’s a burning to relive those days where you were so happy and content that you felt invincible, impenetrable. Because today, every glance, every stare, feels like a threat. Like at any moment, the mask will be knocked out of place. Someone might see, someone might know that I woke up sobbing from a paralyzing nightmare, and that I couldn’t bring myself to get up on time or eat breakfast because I felt nauseous and terrified.
But the world doesn’t wait for me to feel better, and I don’t get to be invisible, so I put on a baggy sweatshirt and I pull out the mask from my back pocket.
I must learn, in this new environment, how to take care of myself on these days. When old coping mechanisms fail, you cry a little and find some new ones. It will take some trial and error, and some more tears along the way. Maybe it will take talking it out to someone or writing it down so that you can make some sense of it. But, for right now, it looks like a six-dollar latte. And, for right now, that will have to do.
Because the world doesn’t wait for me to feel better. And I don’t have a superpower.
Sophie Matossian 