I felt that if I let down the mask, people would see the rotting heart underneath. What would that mean? Well, first, it would mean I would be vulnerable; vulnerable to their stares and pity filled looks. I cringed at that. Second, it would mean I would be subject to their questions. I would have to let them stick their fingers in my wound and understand how deep it truly was. But, the most terrible consequence would be that they would see I was in pain.  Somehow my mind was warped into thinking pain was weakness. Now, standing years down the road, I see pain is a gateway to strength. When athletes train their muscles, they have to tear them. In the gap between the severed tendons, more muscles grow. But. But, those athletes have to keep using those muscles.  Unfortunately, when my emotional muscles were torn, I became too concerned with resting and medicating them. Instead of healthy muscles, I grew stringy, stiff tissue only capable of one or two tasks. It has taken many years and many hard exercises to come to the place where I can trust those muscles with my own weight.