HALLOWEEN HAUNTS: IT’S AN EMINENCE FRONT

Halloween Haunts: It’s An Eminence Front

by Mark Matthews

Trigger Warning: This post addresses mental health.

Halloween is a magical night when we can transform ourselves into something else, something we may have always longed to be, whether it be superhero or super monster. Put on a mask, or craft some makeup, and we spend a night parading as a whole new being. A whole new persona. Then we walk door to door, walking on front porches, ringing doorbells, looking for others to bear witness: See, look what I’ve become? I’m no longer me. 

Often we become something we covet, a part of our personality only acceptable for certain nights. Or perhaps something we want to celebrate and bring forth.

Masks don’t conceal, they reveal.

Of course, this holds true every day of the year, not just Halloween. So often we wear a mask to hide the emotions and reality of mental health symptoms to avoid letting others see what’s underneath. And society rewards this mask with treats of acceptance and belonging, since if we show up without the mask on, and the reality underneath is presented, we may be shunned.

I can’t let others see what is really happening. What if they see the real me? They may not like depressed me or angry me or anxious me, but if I hide it with a mask—untenable as it is—Boom, you fill my bag up with full size bars of acceptance.

So when we’re feeling any mental health stressor, we feel pressure to mask our true selves with smiles and joviality. The ‘treat’ we receive in return is acceptance and status, but as you’ll hear The Who sing, “It’s an eminence front. It’s a put-on.”  Just look at the list of depressed comedians and actors, who seemed so full of joy in their attempt to make others happy, but inside they are suffering. Robin Williams syndrome.

It’s a maladaptive coping skill, but for the short term, it works. Long term, masking our true selves can’t be sustained. The truth will seep out. Often in physical ailments: hygiene might fail, muscles tighten, ulcers form—the body keeps the score. Or the emotions break free with some other form of breakdown.

If there was more acknowledgment of the universal nature of mental health stressors, we could live mask free. We openly share stories of going to the dentist, of going to the eye doctor, but if we share that we are going to therapy, suddenly it’s a weakness. Nope, don’t let them know that. We don’t talk about Bruno.

This is not to say that masks can’t be helpful. Knowing who to trust when you take your guard down keeps you safe. But more often than not, the masks are not helpful, but seem necessary in a world that judges and shames the alternative.

These masks we wear may not even be consciously worn each day.  Masks can be part of our own denial, trying to hide part of ourselves we don’t want to believe exists. If we can get others to believe we really are the mask, we can convince ourselves.  If I can get you to believe I’m okay, maybe I can pretend that I’m okay.

“Masked Depression” is a clinical term used quite often in the 1970s and 1980s to describe those who have physical ailments with no identifiable origin, so a mental health origin is suspected. In this condition, the symptoms of depression are hidden by behavioral problems or somatic complaints. Patients with masked depression are often misdiagnosed and treated symptomatically with little success.

In my own addiction, a life full of self-loathing, depression and anxiety, the mask I wore to hide and compensate was at first confidence, but soon turned to arrogance. The more shame and sadness and hurt and pathetic actions I took in private, the more public I became arrogant. I was better than you. I was living a life that you wanted, and only the foolish, less adventurous, less creative, didn’t imbibe drug and drink at my level. I convinced myself I was some fantastic artist, Ken Kesey, Jack Kerouac, Hunter S Thompson, exploring the bounds of perception and limits of reality. This is what I wanted to believe. Truth was, I was a sad, pathetic, terrified creature scared to live in reality, and terrified I needed substances soon as I opened my eyes each morning. Living required a bravery I had not yet found. But I hid that terror behind an ‘eminence front’. A put-on.  Every day was Halloween.

That mask could not be worn too long. I didn’t take it off willingly. Reality ripped it off, very painful and bloody. Looking at my true face in the mirror was humbling and terrifying, but at least something true. And after some growth, I worked on accepting what was underneath, as fearful as it all can still be.

It takes bravery to take off the mask and present our ugly and vulnerable side to everyone else. Of course, the way the world treats those who don’t put on a brave face makes us cling to that mask well after the last jack-o-lantern candle has been blown out.

So go forth this Halloween. Wear a mask, a costume. For one fantastic night be some other part of your persona. But for every other night of the year, I hope we can all practice acceptance for those with masked symptoms that appear on our front porch. This will help us all take off those masks willingly and feel safe to show each other who we truly are. And when those without masks or costumes show up at our door, let’s give them their treats anyway. Full size candy bars for all.

Mark Matthews is a graduate of the University of Michigan and a licensed professional counselor who has worked in behavioral health for over 20 years. He is the author of On the Lips of Children, The Hobgoblin of Little Minds, All Smoke Rises, and Milk-Blood. He is also the editor of, and a contributor to, the addiction horror anthologies: Lullabies for Suffering, Garden of Fiends, and Orphans of Bliss.  In June of 2021, he was nominated for a Shirley Jackson Award. His latest novel, The Lake Speaks Most Honestly to Those Willing to Drown, is expected in 2025.  Reach him at WickedRunPress@gmail.com

The HWA Mental Health Initiative Charter is HERE: https://horror.org/mental-health-initiative-charter