I put on my mask and entered the building. It was a magnificent disguise. A toothy smile stretched across my pink stained lips showing adorable dimples below appled cheeks and perfectly straight teeth obtained with three years of orthodontics, both which helped to camouflage the pain within me. Years of practice allowed my eyes to twinkle. My expertly applied eyeshadow, mascara, and eyeliner made my eyes stand out and caused my irises to appear brighter than they actually were with the contrasting colors of the make up. Sparkly dangling earrings provided a distraction from my face in case I needed it. Indeed, this mask was well developed and effective. It was my "everything-is-wonderful-and-I-couldn't-be-happier" mask, and the one I wore anytime anyone else was around me.

With my mask, no one could detect the utter self-loathing I had developed as a result of a partner who constantly and consistently degraded me with words like "you stupid, ugly bitch," "you are useless," and "I can't stand the sight of you." My mask hides the self-doubt I experience with every interaction: do these people really like me? When I leave, do they laugh at me to each other? Does this woman think I am unintelligent and idiotic? Does this man see me as a slut and nothing else?

I know I am worthless, but I don't want them to know too. I know this is all I deserve. I know this is the best I can do. My mask will make them think I can add value to their interactions with me. They will think I can be helpful. They will think I am kind. They will think I am happy.

Careful not to allow my mask to slip, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Yes, I am ready. I stepped into the vestibule in my floor-length, white, satin gown just as the wedding march began to play.