The Show Must Go On: A Masquerade of Relationships

4/19/2006




When a tear slips out, we say nothing is wrong. In dead silence, we say nothing is on our mind. When we are falling out of love, we deny it until the very end. Just whom are we trying to convince?

In all of my relationships, I have painted a face on every morning, and not necessarily with a makeup brush. I have consistently put his needs before mine, focusing on staying in love and keeping the relationship intact—even when a more pressing problem is at hand. Inside my heart is breaking, my makeup may be flaking, but my smile still stays on. Every relationship has become a cabaret show. It becomes difficult for our lovers to discern our show from our reality.

Women seem to be guiltier of keeping the smile on than men. We are so afraid of vulnerability and judgment that we would rather perform our love than live it. Are we really this insecure? Realities bring people together, not fiction.

When we don’t know what we’re fighting for, living for, or loving for, acting becomes easier. Fake masquerades as real, and wanting to love masquerades as real love. This isn’t living. This is acting. And there is a difference. On with the show, I’ll top the bill, I’ll overkill. Overkill, indeed.

I have become quite the actress over the past few years. I have hid the direst of problems. It should bother me, but it doesn’t. I don’t want to be judged. And perhaps more than anything, I don’t want to unload my problems on him. They are men, they are lovers- not counselors. I, like generations of women before me, am trying to live up to standards that aren’t even living.

Whatever happens, I’ll leave it all to chance, another heartache, another failed romance. Yes, I would rather have another dead relationship underneath my bed than the fear of not putting on my show face. Living is so much scarier, so much harder, than acting. I find myself consistently choosing to put on my sequin bustier and thigh-highs rather than jeans and t-shirt.

Maybe if my relationships started out honest, it would be easier to keep them honest. But instead, we all start out on our “best behavior,” trying so hard to get someone to like us. All the sudden, it’s a year later. He has opened up to you, confided in you, and you are rushing to paint on your face before he wakes. No matter how much he asks you to tell him what’s on your mind, you can’t. Instead, you scramble for a believable lie.

This is probably why most women, myself included, say they feel true love and marriage are unattainable or that they are incapable of them. I can’t imagine marrying someone, waking up next to someone, with whom I only pretend.

Are we afraid of ourselves or are we afraid of what he might think? Are we afraid of the real world or are we afraid to quit writing our own script? Because that’s essentially what my relationships have become- cheap movie scripts. I can’t seem to gain the confidence to improvise, or even hand the pen to him.

Even now, as I write this, trying so desperately to address a problem that is killing love, I wonder if I am glossing over it. But it is of no matter because we don’t have a choice anymore- at least I don’t. The show must go on.