The Crying Mannequin

Most don’t know what it’s like to exist this way, but then again how could they? Maybe they haven’t had a perfect life, but they never had to wake up everyday in a state of constant perturbation that has been slowly rotting their insides day after day after day. From the second they awake to the very last thing they remember at night… no, not many people can even begin to relate to a crying mannequin.

Every second of the day, you feel this weight on your chest- sometimes on it, sometimes in it. Whatever the case may be, that feeling is always there. It’s a feeling you truly can’t put your finger on. Something is wrong… but what? What is wrong? You’ve taken your medication. You’ve followed the doctoral orders. You’ve sat with the professionals. You’ve seen people much worse off- people living in the streets, malnourished children, a mother grieving over death’s cold embrace of her loved ones- yet, somehow, you still feel worse off. Why do you feel this way? You don’t know.

You used to love going on adventures. Driving off into the unknown for weeks at a time. You would stay out partying until four am, consuming almost lethal amounts of toxins at times, just to feel like you fit in. Wearing clothes out of all of your neighbors closet’s to see what suit fit you best, but knowing that no label would ever truly define you.

Now you can’t even leave your bed in the morning without some aid. It’s just too difficult to face the world on your own. Even then, the effects dull after some time and you need more. And more. And more. You can’t even imagine leaving the house for an hour without preparing an arsenal of “just in case’s”… just in case. After all, you never know what might happen out there.

You used to love love. You used to chase down every possibility to find yourself in someone else and forget everything about yourself for a complete stranger. You would make a new friend every day. You chased your dreams and even crossed the finish line for a few of them! You had a lot of “ups” and a lot of “downs”, but ultimately, the “ups” usually ended up winning.

These days, you live in a constant cycle of “down” after “down” after “down”. Isolation has changed the way you think and feel about others. You don’t need anyone anymore. All you need is the only person who’s ever had your back, and of course that person is you. You still try to chase your dreams but you have a broken leg, crippled wings and lungs, and a heart that never really pumps in the same way it used to, in more ways than one.

You keep trying and fighting with all you have left inside, but it never seems good enough. You’re just not the same person you used to be. Life stole the best days of your life right out from under your feet, and left you only with regret. It left you as a shell. You still look the same as you once did, but there is really nothing left inside.

You watch as the days go by. You watch the clocks on the wall tick by, second by second, hating that you’re just wasting away. There’s so much to do, so much you want to do, so many things that you would just love to experience… but you don’t feel like you can today. Maybe tomorrow.

For now, you just lay in bed, watching the minutes pass by, pretending you’ll be fine soon when you know for a fact that you won’t be. You plaster on a fake smile for all to see on the outside, while it’s just you and all your misery on the inside. Misery traps you alongside it deep down inside as it loves company very much, and what better company than the one who created it in the first place?

The misery pins you down and forces nothing but recollections of regret to play inside your skull, playing back every single moment that could have been- every moment that went wrong, got abandoned, or misplaced. You lay pinned beneath this crushing monument you’ve built, unable to thrive. Oh sure, you can go about your day doing the bare minimum, wearing one of the many smiles you’ve grown so comfortable wearing throughout the day, but it’s just mere makeup.

You know all too well that mannequins are just blank slates. Everyone paints you differently- family members as successful, teachers as poster children, colleagues jealously try to erase entirely, as friends paint security blankets. Everyone has a different face for you. You wear all these faces, so many every day that the once clean slate you were is now filthy and unrecognizable. The tears can’t even be seen beneath all the masks and smudge marks.

You feel like you don’t really know who you are anymore. You’re just a toy for everyone to control, to paint into what they want you to be. It’s just a mannequin, they think. It can be whatever I want it to be.

They forget that mannequins can be people to. A mannequin can have a soul and a heart. Even if it seems almost gone beyond repair… it’s still inside there, somewhere. Maybe the makeup and paint has dripped down onto the heart as well. At that point, you really start forgetting who you are. With all these expectations and deadlines and hopes and dreams and loves and hardships and goals and anxiety and everything else, where does the mannequin itself come into play? What say does it have? Does it have a say at all? Does it have a purpose?

Well, you know that even if you’re just a mannequin, you’re something. It’s a start. Why not cleanse yourself from what others want you to be, and be what you want to be? Why not draw on a face with permanent marker and stop letting others dress you with their makeup and clothes and ideology? Why not end the vicious cycle- you created the misery, so you can destroy it. It’s a long process, but you know you can do it. Just work a little bit at it every day. If anything is capable of change, surely a simple mannequin can as well? Surely the once blank slate can start over once more?

Maybe, deep down, everyone is just another mannequin, trying to be what everyone else sees him or her as. And maybe, just maybe, a crying mannequin can learn the way to erase the tears and replace them with a smile.