Lose the Suit
By Nicole Mashek
I am never sure if I should be dissatisfied or take pride in the identity I have made throughout my growing years.
The identity of something calm. Something complacent and docile. Perceived to be… submissive, even.
The idea that I will be fine with everything, and anything, simply because I barely offer a word of protest.
This is not untrue. I am content with letting others do as they will, as long as they let me do the same. I will keep to myself. I always do.
I will tend to my own thoughts and actions, handling them carefully, so as not to upset others.
I would hate to give myself away… but it is no use. I am near my limit. I must speak.
I readjust my legs in discomfort. I itch at my wrist. I rub the back of my neck.
It has become difficult in these later years, to keep myself tidy and presentable. The strain, the stress, the repeated jabs at my anxiety start to show.
They make it hard. So very hard, to keep this suit on. The suit I’ve worn for years. The only perception others have of me. And it is false.
I become undone. I stand at the edge of my patience, and the mellow feelings have left me, replaced by anger. They threaten to push me.
But… I can not give in. My hands tremble as I clutch my skin. The skin of my suit. If I lose this, then it’s over.
They will see me.
This must not happen, I will not allow it, I have come so far, making sure nothing was tipped or mangled due to harsh words.
I sacrificed my own feelings, I realize. This suit, so carelessly worn has tightened over the years, becoming ill fitted and suffocating me.
So they want to see me?... That’s fine. Perhaps it is time I showed them what I really am.
I will shed this suit. A suit covered in hastily stitched wounds and disgusting emotional stains. I have worn it for far too long.
Appearances and peers be damned. I want to breathe, open my mouth wide, and expose this fresh inner self. They will not like it.
But I don't care. I no longer wear my passive suit. There is no turning back now.