Keeping up appearances.
The last week and half of my life has felt a lot more like 3 months. There has been a much higher than average amount of drama, which I generally try to shy away from, and I've found myself thinking, more than once, "I'm 25 years old, I shouldn't have to be dealing with this shit".
I kinda feel like if I talk about any of it, I have to talk about all of it, which I'm not quite willing to do, which is causing a bit of an internal crisis.
I spent a long time not really sharing anything about myself with anyone, and I'm still a little terrified that I'm gonna end up back there again one of these days, and it's not a good place for me. I have a history of deciding that the way things look are more important than the way things are, and of clinging to that belief with all the fervor of someone who has been "born again". And I'm not just talking about relationships here, though that pattern has certainly reared its ugly little head in my relationships past, but every aspect of my life, for literally (and not the figurative sort of literally either) as far back as I can remember, has at one point or another been glossed over for the sake of appearances.
So many of my childhood memories are tainted with this, I sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between what actually happened, and what the story we told was, and there were so many stories. Stories that were close to the truth, and stories that contained not even the finest grain of the truth.
I don't want to live that life. I don't want to tell half stories, to gloss things over to make myself, or someone else, look good. If I'm going to try to tell my stories here, I want to tell them as fully as I can, knowing, of course, that my version will be biased, just for the fact that it's mine, but also knowing that I will do what I can to make it as accurate as possible.
But I don't feel I can do that right now, which is why, despite the fact that I'm sure you all want to hear about it, I will not, for the time being, tell you all the story of how I came to see a teenager's vagina this week.
I kinda feel like if I talk about any of it, I have to talk about all of it, which I'm not quite willing to do, which is causing a bit of an internal crisis.
I spent a long time not really sharing anything about myself with anyone, and I'm still a little terrified that I'm gonna end up back there again one of these days, and it's not a good place for me. I have a history of deciding that the way things look are more important than the way things are, and of clinging to that belief with all the fervor of someone who has been "born again". And I'm not just talking about relationships here, though that pattern has certainly reared its ugly little head in my relationships past, but every aspect of my life, for literally (and not the figurative sort of literally either) as far back as I can remember, has at one point or another been glossed over for the sake of appearances.
So many of my childhood memories are tainted with this, I sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between what actually happened, and what the story we told was, and there were so many stories. Stories that were close to the truth, and stories that contained not even the finest grain of the truth.
I don't want to live that life. I don't want to tell half stories, to gloss things over to make myself, or someone else, look good. If I'm going to try to tell my stories here, I want to tell them as fully as I can, knowing, of course, that my version will be biased, just for the fact that it's mine, but also knowing that I will do what I can to make it as accurate as possible.
But I don't feel I can do that right now, which is why, despite the fact that I'm sure you all want to hear about it, I will not, for the time being, tell you all the story of how I came to see a teenager's vagina this week.