the veil

We walk through the doors of an uptown store-front. Already, I am at a disadvantage. I feel awkward and out of place in this neighborhood. The name "Uptown" alone evokes feelings of disconnect, inferiority, and discomfort. I assume I have nothing in common with the sort of people you would find in a wine and cheese bar... yet we are here to meet fellow church goers of a new church we have been visiting. I find, upon entrance, that I am on edge. Taylor is by my side, baby in tow, and we are both casually dressed. It is a beautiful store. Wood and brick create the backdrop for walls of wine bottles perfectly placed, shelves of gourmet jams and jarred finger foods, and a well lit deli style refrigerator flaunting its vast array of cheeses. There are a couple tables and severe; stacks of round wooden cheese boxes, but it is a fairly open space. There are several people gathered in small clusters throughout the venue, all of which have stark white name tag stickers plastered to their chests. The man near the door, who for the first few moments we were in the store had his back turned toward us, slowly rotated to face us and welcomed us with both smile and handshake. After introductions, we begin casual conversation about what we do, where we live, our kids. The number one question asked of parents with infants id presented to us... "so, is she sleeping through the night yet?" This of course turns into a reliving of the days when all our children were horrible sleepers and then he says, unbeknownst of our history, "yeah, I remember when my son slept through the night for the first time, and I ran to his room thinking he was dead."
Done. Conversation over. I need wine, NOW.
In a span of five minutes, I went from discomfort, to beginning to enjoy myself, to recalling the worst day of my life. It wasn't his fault. How could he know? How could he know that I, in fact, DID run to my child's room after a too long nap and find him not breathing. He couldn't have known. I don't hold that against him. But I noticed immediately, that it set that evening up for "The Veil." "the Veil" is what I have come to refer to as my dark place in plain sight. I am hidden, but not completely. It is a state of feeling, but I can only describe it as a veil.
It is a dark, sheer fabric that drapes over my head. The fabric is tightly woven so it is difficult to make out distinct features or expressions on my face. I can see out more clearly than you can see in, but it is all still tinted a shade of gray. Every time I try to take a deep breath in, the veil forms a suction around my mouth or nose, and I find it hard to fill my lungs. I can't take a true deep breath, it is always filtered but his dark veil I don. Instead, I take short slow breaths to avoid the slightly suffocating affect of those deep breaths. In turn, I never feel as though I am truly able to release this tension that resides in my lungs. I feel tight chested. I feel trapped, almost panicked... waiting for the veil to be lifted so I can breath deep.
I feel as though I no longer wear this veil, but that it wears me, refusing to remove itself from me. It allows outsiders to see me, but not all of me. They can not see the tears of sorrow streaming down my face. They can only see the bold outline of my mouth, so the sorrow remains concealed, while the overt expressions are visible. They can only detect this sorrow if I allow it to show through frowns or furrowed brow. But I don't allow those expressions to be visible. Instead, I turn up the edges of my mouth in the illusion of a smile. They see the smile, but not the tears that continue to seep out of my distant eyes. They see what makes them feel comfortable... what I know makes them feel comfortable. I smile for them, but what I feel inside does not match that smile.
I have been doing this for years now. This veil has been my saving grace, my crutch, my weakness. I like the veil... and yet I can't seem to remove it when I want to. I am having a harder time letting go of it. At first it was like a security blanket. "If I look happy, then people will stop asking me if I am okay."
I completely understand why women in mourning used to wear veils. I completely understand.
When will I be done mourning? When will I stop being triggered by others' mindless comments? When will this veil stop feeling more like an extension of me than a garment I can actually remove?
I have been living in a dark, illusive place for some time. The past two years, since we have returned from Korea, have been the hardest two years of my life so far. I have fallen into this pit of emotions that are so thick, I feel as though someone has added another few layers of sheer fabric to my veil. It feels heavier, thicker, and less likely to go anywhere any time soon. I am slowly suffocating as I struggle to take in the air. My breaths have become shorter, fainter. There have been days I just wanted to stop trying. The effort it takes to truly breath and allow life giving oxygen to enter my body hurts. It is exhausting. I wonder how much longer I can manage before the veil forms a permanent suction against my face and slowly grafts into my skiing becoming a part of me forever. I want freedom.
I want freedom.

I need freedom.
LL