My Mask

As a young woman, and a college student there are a few things expected from me:
-to be laid back when not stressing about classes
-my biggest worries should be classes, rent, where I'm partying this weekend
-enjoying the freedom that is still mine without work

Unfortunately, this isn't who I am. Not with my losses.
Everyday a mask is put up to hide the emotions underneath.
I become who I am not.
I become the college student I'm expected to be.

Inside I yearn for the babies lost to miscarriage, I scream and cry.
Outside I try to come across as calm, collected, fairly carefree.

Outside I drink with friends to have fun, inside I drink to numb the pain.
Outside I laugh, inside I cry

My mask doesn't come off anymore.
I don't trust myself to put it down.
If I take it down, I'm not sure if I'll be able to put it back on.

When I'm completely alone, like right now, I can feel my mask cracking around the edges.
Deep breaths fix the mask, but the cracks are more like scars now.
Each scar a moment of weakness, a blemish on my mask.

-Post inspired by Faces of Hope Faces of Loss Writing Challenge-