Game Face...

No, I am not talking about getting ready for the superbowl game. However, I am sure that I am not the only one that knows what this means or even has one too.

Thinking back, I think mine started around thirteen years of age when mom and dad were getting a divorce. I still remember that day, it is burned into my brain like a photo. Dad was on his full dressed motorcyle, a gold Goldwing, leaving for work in tears as he hugged us and said that he wouldn’t be coming home after. Soon after the divorce was final the new step-dad moved in to the house which began years of abuse for not only myself, but for my mother as well.

I learned very quickly how to get through the day pretending everything was fine for many reasons, but in the beginning I think the biggest reason was fear. Through the teenage years I really did not care what people thought of me, I was more concerned with the fear of what would happen if people knew the things I was going through. Would my mom get into trouble? Would my sister and I be taken away? So I went to school everyday with a smile on my face and kept it all inside. This was the beginning of what I now call putting on my game face.

Now I am not going to sit here and sugar coat things and tell you that I was the “perfect” lil angel, because that is just not the truth. I wasn’t really a bad kid, I didn’t break laws or hang out with bad people. But I was a troubled teen and troubled kids act out. I suppose acting out is some sort of a cry for help after you have exhausted the game face and start to feel like everything is building up inside of you. I skipped classes, got suspended from school once the detentions were not working, and I even wound up running away three times. The first time I was gone for a day, dad knew exactly where I was and came after me. The second time I got a little smarter so I was gone for ten days until I got homesick and called my mom. The third time I ran away was back to the same place I ran away to the first time, only this time I convinced my mom to just let me stay, I was sixteen years old.

Throughout the years that followed the game face got easier and easier to wear. There had been a lot of heartache, break-ups, abusive relationships, and well.. life. Somewhere along the way the tables turned on me. No longer was I not worried about what people thought about me, in fact I worry about it a lot. The game face grew from a survival tool to a necessity. I didn’t want people to know things or see things for fear of what they would think of me. I also did not want people to know things because I didn’t want people to gossip about me or pity me. I didn’t want people to know things because I didn’t want them to think I was weak. But most of all, the game face kicked into high gear when I got sick and wanted to hide the pain from my children. It would break my heart to let them see me in pain, and it tore me apart to see them look at me with that heavy look of worry in their precious eyes.

My game face is pretty much a normal part of my daily life now, sort of like an auto pilot. I live through everyone else. I think I say that because I am in such pain most days, it makes me feel better if I can brighten someone else’s day or even make them smile. My social media, I post jokes, comments, comics, and anything else that says I am normal instead of letting on about my daily struggles. I don’t want to make anyone sad, and I definitely do not want anyone to feel bad for me.

I know there are a lot of you reading this that are thinking this sounds exactly, or pretty close to your own life. It is a crappy way to deal with things I know, but for now… until I learn to properly deal with my problems and emotions, it is what makes me who I am.