Mardi Gras masks

Wearing the mask, also known as, living with depression.

At one point in my life if you asked people in my circle, “Who is Dori Ray?” you would get a variety of responses: Successful. Excellent mother. Community activist. Dependable daughter. Howard University alumna. Budding entrepreneur. In public I was certainly all of those things. I got dressed each morning, put on one of those personas and left my house tired, broken, depressed and everyone was clueless. I continued this charade for years. However, maintaining the act was exhausting. I started each month with less strength and energy than the one before.

A Muse comes out.

July 17, 1996. That was the night TWA Flight 800 crashed into the Long Island Sound. I did not know any of the 230 passengers aboard the ill-fated jetliner, yet after hearing the reports on television and reading the accounts in the newspapers my tears would not stop. I cried during the bus ride to work. My eyes welled up with tears as I emptied the dehumidifier. I got a lump in my throat when answering the phone at work. It was more than an expression of empathy for the victims and their families. The event seemed to unlock a much deeper sadness within me.