divulging secrets

There’s secrecy in some relationships and it’s not always a terrible thing.

Perhaps it’s the true number of partners, or the fact that you once got arrested.

Sometimes you hide because you’re ashamed, sometimes because the fear of that shame is unbearable.

I have secrets I’m not proud of.  Though, truth be told, there can’t be that many left.

Many of the things I share with you here, I would be traumatized to share with friends and family, the people who are supposed to love you, no matter what. Because they wouldn’t understand, because it doesn’t fit with their image or perception of me.

There are deep dark secrets inside everyone.  Though what’s dark to one is fluff to someone else.

How do you know when you trust someone enough to tell it all?  To lay everything on the table, and let the chips fall where they may. When does the anxiety of keeping silent outweigh the need to protect yourself, the urge to keep hidden, keep it quiet?

Do you confess your inner demons?

Will the person hearing this confession understand, empathize, listen?  Or will you face distrust, misunderstanding, hatred, fear, anger, disappointment?

I like to think I’m the kind of friend people tell everything to.  That they can trust me with their secrets when they can trust no one else.  This is both a blessing and a burden.  But, I listen and trust that they’re telling me because they have to.  Because no one else can listen and still accept them.


A very talented friend of mine sent me a song a couple months ago.

It doesn't belong to me, he didn't write it for me, but it touched me.

I listen to it often, as I've wound it into my normal listening.

It sticks in my brain, playing over and over… a song for a woman who has been breaking him.

It dawns on me; I'm the singer, never the muse. 

I'm just not the kind of woman anyone writes songs about.


When I left, there were so many questions unanswered.

I knew where I was going.  But was it going to work? I had spent nearly a month trying to figure out how best to move.  How best to exit, to extricate myself from my marriage, my life in Tennessee, where to go.

Eventually, I went with the easier method.  Pack up and store my things, figuring I could come back later.  It was cheaper to leave without, and easier, since I didn’t know if where I was going would be a temporary stop or a new home.  At the time, I thought I made the best choice.  It was hard to leave, hard to make that drive alone.  To have done so while carting my stuff and having to worry about undoing / unloading a truck or something into a local storage space was not how I could picture my first couple days out.

So I packed my trunk. Only the essentials. Some clothes, necessary paperwork, things I didn’t want to leave in storage, or couldn’t.  And then I drove away.

In all reality, I didn’t leave that much behind.  A bed, and everything that went with it;  a dresser belonging to my grandmother, the match of which stayed behind.  The rest is a mix of clothes, books, shoes & household odds and ends.

I apparently have a collection of things behind at the apartment as well.   Things I mistakenly left behind, things sorted out after I left, mail that belongs to me and so on.  As the apartment is about to be vacated, ahead of the leased schedule, my stuff begins to be an issue.  Am I coming to get it?  Should it be sent to me?  Is there a way to put it with the rest of my things in storage?

I’m frustrated.  Mostly at myself for not planning better, slightly at this new deadline for cropping up.  I should have, and expected, to get my stuff before the end of the year.  Now we’re nearing February, and there’s things I want, and need.  But I’ve discovered getting stuff is more complicated and more expensive than I could have anticipated.

I’m tired of being nagged about it too. 


Everyone has them.

You place them on yourself, if you’re lucky enough to be with someone who seems not to have any of you.  You feel the ones placed on you by your upbringing, by society.

You try to live up to said expectations, and even when you realize they’re entirely too unreasonable, you still blame yourself for failing.

Ok, wait.  Maybe that’s just me.

He seems (and claims) to have no expectations, of me, of what our friendship, our potential relationship should be.  I seem to function better when I know what’s expected of me.

And yet, I’m terrified to ask again, if indeed he has developed expectations.  If he has some that he doesn’t want to share.  Because I’m scared I won’t live up to them, the way I can’t seem to live up to my own.

No fitting title. no pretty words.

I'm not sleeping, I'm feeling insecure.  I'm once again over-analyzing and unable to empty out my brain.

I have this urge to crawl out of my own skin.  To get out and run away from myself.

He's hard
where I'm overly soft
where I'm sensitive
hard but not callous
rigid where I bend
secure where I waver

there are weak spots, worn down
or just never exposed
prior to now, I can't tell

small pieces
given to me like parts to a puzzle
sometimes I have enough
to make them fit
to figure it out
sometimes they're put aside
so I can try them later


He's told me, multiple times, that he'll tell me anything I want to know.  That he'll answer anything I ask, and on the off chance he doesn't want to tell me, he'd explain why.

Sometimes I wonder if I just don't know what to ask.

Some days he's more talkative, telling me things, and I find myself pausing, being quiet, because often listening is the only prompt someone needs to tell you more.

Sometimes I do ask, but I phrase my questions carefully.  He's not secretive, but he is private.  His past is his and some of it isn't pleasant.  He isn't compelled to share everything the way I am.  Hell, I probably share too much. 

I want him to tell me things, but I think it doesn't occur to him to tell me without being asked.