Putting on the Smile for the Front Door and Hating the Actor in the Mirror

Dear Delyara, I stood in the hallway for a full minute tonight before opening the door to my flat, actively forcing the muscles of my face to adjust into a cheerful, relaxed expression. I practiced it in the reflection of the glass panel—a slight tilt of the head, a small wrinkle around the eyes, a voice that sounds warm and light. My partner has had a brutal week at her own job, and I’ve resolved that she won't have to carry the weight of my depression tonight. But as I turned the handle, I felt a deep, sickening self-loathing for the actor I’ve become. I am spending my entire life performing emotions I don't feel, terrified that if I show the real, hollowed-out face underneath, the people I love will realize I am completely empty.