I sometimes think back to secondary school and realise I lived in two skins. One was loud, funny, always the spark that lit up a dull room. The other craved silence, space, and invisibility. People adored the first one so much that the second rarely got noticed — and when it did, it was often met with worry, as though something had gone wrong with me.
With time, I began to notice a pattern. Anytime I chose to be quiet, people assumed I was upset. It was as if they were reading from a script I had already written in my head. The truth is, I often became the funniest, the most energetic, the “life of the party” at the exact moments I was least okay. Jokes became my mask, noise became my shield, and laughter became the perfect distraction from the weight pressing against my chest. And the irony was that it worked every single time.
Naturally, I have always valued my space. But whenever I was hurting, I would go out of my way to drown that hurt in performance. I would laugh louder, joke harder, and stir up energy just to keep the questions away. On other days, when I kept to myself, people would rush to ask if I was fine. Often, I was — which is why it felt easier to say yes. What I was really doing was avoiding those same questions when I wasn’t fine.
And then it struck me: maybe I wasn’t alone. Maybe many of us laugh the loudest when we’re hurting the most.
We live in a world where façade is often mistaken for strength. We assume the most cheerful ones are untouched by struggle, but that isn’t always true. Some of the strongest-looking people are fighting the hardest battles, hidden under forced liveliness. And maybe what we need is not to wait until someone looks downcast, but to check in even when they appear perfectly fine.
Those who mask their emotions with exaggerated joy usually give subtle signs: the inconsistency of moods, the way serious questions are deflected with humour, the sudden disappearance after an energy burst. Their smiles last longer, their laughter rings louder, but the effort of holding it together drains them once no one is watching. Yet because the performance is convincing, people assume they don’t need help.
This is why we must look closer. When someone is always “on,” ask deeper questions. When they say “I’m fine,” don’t always take it at face value. Listen to their jokes — they often hide confessions. Notice the extremes, because too much energy can be just as telling as too little.
So when you see someone laughing the loudest, don’t assume their soul is quiet. When everything seems perfectly okay, that is still the time to check in. Your presence might be the lifeline they didn’t even know they needed.
September may be World Suicide Prevention Month, but the truth is, every month, every day, every moment is an opportunity to save a life. Behind every bright face, there might be a quieter one, silently begging not to be forgotten. Look closer. Listen deeper. Because every single day is a chance to remind someone that they are not invisible.
— Augustine | Writer @ Campus Cares