keeping secrets...
Something I Wrote a Few Months Ago:
I used to think that I’d always be comfortable talking about this stuff. But I’m not. I used to think it wouldn’t really affect me - not in the long run. But is does. I used to think that all this shit was over. But it isn’t. And I don’t think it ever can be.
When is the right time to tell someone? And what do you say? If only life were like a 12-step program: “Hi, I’m Dameron, and I’m a mental patient.” I’m not anymore, it’s been 4 years. But you know what they say - Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. Is it really so different for me? Does this really go away? Could I possibly convince myself that every single day of my life won’t be affected by the 7 times I was put in psych hospitals? By the fact that one of those times lasted 8 fucking months? Nope, I can’t just recover from that…
Lately, I’ve been talking to my new friend, Shari. I met her a week ago, at my new job and we’ve already hung out several times. I think we’ve really hit it off. I think she could be an important person in my life. I think she’s really easy to talk to… But I’m not ready to tell her yet. The other night, I said something about having attended 4 high schools. She wanted to know why. I explained how I came to each of the first 3 and hadn’t gotten to the 4th yet. I didn’t quite know what I was gonna say - how I was gonna explain the hellish institution at which I spent my senior year. I was probably gonna write it off as some sort of boarding school that my parents made me go to - not an outright lie, I guess. But I never had to say anything. We arrived at the bar we were walking to, and our conversation was lost in beer, pool, and karaoke. It’s just as well that way.
The last time I saw her, it came up in conversation that I had run away when I was 17 - that I left and never did move back home. “But hey, isn’t you mom really awesome?” She asked me. “Yeah, she is now…” I started trying to explain how I needed to leave before it could be okay, but without really explaining anything. I did the it’s-really-complicated and it’s-a-long-story things and said enough to end the conversation, but I didn’t leave feeling too good about the whole thing. When did I start hiding? When did I start being ashamed?
And What I'm Writing Now:
I still work at the same place. I'm still close friends with Shari. And I still haven't ever told her. I've just gotten better at steering clear of conversations that could raise the topic.
Actually, I'm really close with a lot of my coworkers. They are, for the most part, my social life here, and there are several of them whom I love and trust very much. But even though I want to sometimes, I just can't tell them. My old life, back "home", was full of the stigma of being "crazy." I don't miss that, but I can't decide if it was better or worse than this new silence.
Last night, I was driving Kelly home. Kelly and I have worked together for about 2 months now and are incredibly alike in all kinds of good and surprising ways. I can't imagine someone I'd rather be friends with. On the way to her house, we were talking about a friend of hers, who she said had had a really "fucked up life." I contended that pretty much everyone has had a fucked up life. She agreed sort of, but said that some were much more so than others and told me a little more about him. She didn't say it, but the assumption seemed to be that people like me had had pretty normal, okay lives and couldn't possibly compare. I wanted so badly to tell her. I thought about it, and I almost did.... but then my fear of losing a new friend kicked in and held me back. I don't want anyone else writing me off as just another fucked-up, crazy kid.
Am I wrong? If I told people, would it just be okay, no big deal? Would the fact that it's so far in the past serve as some sort of sanity leverage for me now? I wish I knew. I've never been the type to hold back, but I've always been the "crazy" one. Will it always have to be some either/or compromise? And do I have to risk everything to find out?
I used to think that I’d always be comfortable talking about this stuff. But I’m not. I used to think it wouldn’t really affect me - not in the long run. But is does. I used to think that all this shit was over. But it isn’t. And I don’t think it ever can be.
When is the right time to tell someone? And what do you say? If only life were like a 12-step program: “Hi, I’m Dameron, and I’m a mental patient.” I’m not anymore, it’s been 4 years. But you know what they say - Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. Is it really so different for me? Does this really go away? Could I possibly convince myself that every single day of my life won’t be affected by the 7 times I was put in psych hospitals? By the fact that one of those times lasted 8 fucking months? Nope, I can’t just recover from that…
Lately, I’ve been talking to my new friend, Shari. I met her a week ago, at my new job and we’ve already hung out several times. I think we’ve really hit it off. I think she could be an important person in my life. I think she’s really easy to talk to… But I’m not ready to tell her yet. The other night, I said something about having attended 4 high schools. She wanted to know why. I explained how I came to each of the first 3 and hadn’t gotten to the 4th yet. I didn’t quite know what I was gonna say - how I was gonna explain the hellish institution at which I spent my senior year. I was probably gonna write it off as some sort of boarding school that my parents made me go to - not an outright lie, I guess. But I never had to say anything. We arrived at the bar we were walking to, and our conversation was lost in beer, pool, and karaoke. It’s just as well that way.
The last time I saw her, it came up in conversation that I had run away when I was 17 - that I left and never did move back home. “But hey, isn’t you mom really awesome?” She asked me. “Yeah, she is now…” I started trying to explain how I needed to leave before it could be okay, but without really explaining anything. I did the it’s-really-complicated and it’s-a-long-story things and said enough to end the conversation, but I didn’t leave feeling too good about the whole thing. When did I start hiding? When did I start being ashamed?
And What I'm Writing Now:
I still work at the same place. I'm still close friends with Shari. And I still haven't ever told her. I've just gotten better at steering clear of conversations that could raise the topic.
Actually, I'm really close with a lot of my coworkers. They are, for the most part, my social life here, and there are several of them whom I love and trust very much. But even though I want to sometimes, I just can't tell them. My old life, back "home", was full of the stigma of being "crazy." I don't miss that, but I can't decide if it was better or worse than this new silence.
Last night, I was driving Kelly home. Kelly and I have worked together for about 2 months now and are incredibly alike in all kinds of good and surprising ways. I can't imagine someone I'd rather be friends with. On the way to her house, we were talking about a friend of hers, who she said had had a really "fucked up life." I contended that pretty much everyone has had a fucked up life. She agreed sort of, but said that some were much more so than others and told me a little more about him. She didn't say it, but the assumption seemed to be that people like me had had pretty normal, okay lives and couldn't possibly compare. I wanted so badly to tell her. I thought about it, and I almost did.... but then my fear of losing a new friend kicked in and held me back. I don't want anyone else writing me off as just another fucked-up, crazy kid.
Am I wrong? If I told people, would it just be okay, no big deal? Would the fact that it's so far in the past serve as some sort of sanity leverage for me now? I wish I knew. I've never been the type to hold back, but I've always been the "crazy" one. Will it always have to be some either/or compromise? And do I have to risk everything to find out?