Parkinson’s disease stole my identity and took my face from
me. To cover up the loss and to prevent anyone seeing the horror of what was
left behind I wore a Parkinson’s mask of expressionless white; only my eyes
betrayed the grief and loss I felt. Without an identity I could fit into the
gaps in the world and I hid myself away. I was then free to rely on others to
give me a person to be; my self-worth was tied up with what they thought of me
and I would graft their opinion of me onto the mask I wore. I felt satisfied
with the role until I met someone else; then I had to graft another face onto
mine. In such tiring anonymity I lost myself in my disease.
However, I knew I remained the same beneath the scared
muscle and bone of my stolen face. It was curiosity that made me peel off the
Parkinson’s mask; curiosity of what was left of me. Standing at a mirror, mask
in hand, I looked at my eyes first and saw the spark of me. I dared to move my
gaze around the contours of my face and with a rising heart I recognised every
part. Parkinson’s had changed me, for sure, but I could still be me and I could
see the light and the dark passing through me. I dropped the mask…
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