I hate secrets and lies. My life is full of them, though — has been as long as I can remember. It was a survival skill in my parents’ home, being able to say something completely untrue to any person in my immediate family, or anyone in their church, while looking them in the eyes and showing how sincere I was. Knowing how to convince myself that the lie was truth, even temporarily, was essential to make sure I didn’t shake things up.
In addition, I listen. I know how to listen; people feel comfortable talking to me about all sorts of things that trouble them, and I can’t begin to count the times I’ve heard variations on “I don’t know why I shared that with you, I’ve never told anyone about that, I just felt like I could give you my deepest, darkest secrets…” I know things. Things I can’t share, things that could hurt people, or destroy their careers, or endanger their families and loved ones. Things that I’d really rather not have to carry with me.
And then there’s my secrets. There are things about me that I know, things I want, things I hate, things I’ve done… stuff that I’ve never shared, some of it stuff that I’d rather forget, some of it that I’d love to celebrate.
But it’s all secret right now. Some of the lies I’ve kept on telling because I know that telling the truth now would make good people hurt, and because at least for the moment I still can benefit from dishonesty. That scares me, but right now that’s less scary than tearing away the layers of lies, risking loss and causing emotional harm. The secrets others have given me, many of them are meaningless out of the context they were given, many are ancient or from people I knew “once upon a time,” but still filed in the great database in my brain, waiting only for the right query to retrieve them and fill me with the turmoil of remembering that I know and cannot tell.
The things I keep for myself, I need a very safe place with someone I very much trust, and the opportunity to do some emotional digging — I’m certain I’ll be able to manage a lot of that with a therapist, and there’s some chance of making that happen in the foreseeable future, so I’m hoping that’s the case.
I’m falling asleep while writing here, so I should probably post and sleep. My dreams lately have been quite full of the sex that I’m so sorely lacking in reality… I welcome the escape.